Do you remember this exchange?
Daffy - "It's RABBIT season!"
Bugs - "It's DUCK season!"
Daffy - "It's RABBIT season!
Bugs - "It's RABBIT season!"
Daffy - "It's DUCK season!"
Bugs - "Okay... It's DUCK season!"
And Daffy gets shot.
Folks, if you buy that line of bullshit that it's a dangerous time to be a man in America... congratulations, you're Daffy Duck.
You're angry at what I just said because this "me too" movement is getting out of hand and everyone is getting accused and how the hell do we know what to believe? How do we protect ourselves from these insidious harpies out to bring down our innocent boys?
Answer me something first... where was the outcry when the priests got accused? Why aren't we guarding all those poor innocent priests who stand to be falsely accused? Good lord! Accusers are coming out of the woodwork!! Why didn't they say anything earlier? How can we believe them NOW? What are those terrible men trying to get out of it?! They just don't want a priest in power who disagrees with their views.
And where was the outcry about the Boy Scout leaders? Man, their accusers came out right and left! How about all those innocent football coaches who stand to be accused after Jerry Sandusky? A high school wrestling coach at my Alma Mater was brought down after what turned out to be 20-30 years of abusing boys who wrestled there. Where's the outcry about all those poor innocent wrestling coaches who stand to be accused now? And where are all the doubters slamming those men and boys who came forward and asking them "Jeez! Why didn't you come forward sooner?"
And I AM NOT saying it only happens to women. I know men who have been assaulted and molested and abused. THEY know. They didn't come forward either. Because they know the absolute "mind fuck" it is to be abused. How everything you knew or thought your knew got upended. How you suddenly don't trust your own brain and your own gut and your own decisions. And they know the fear of being "counter-accused" or "victim blamed". They know they will be asked what they did to provoke it, or were they REALLY abused? They know that they'll relive the trauma over and over and that their victimhood will be met with ANGER by some who cannot BELIEVE they would speak out about someone so well liked, or so powerful, or who ran a good team or who won championships or who has the right "political leanings".
Why didn't she come forward earlier? ARE YOU SERIOUS? Why? Maybe because at her age she can barely handle the ridicule, doubt and questions. The "well, why were YOU there? why were YOU drinking? How can YOU let it happen? What are you trying to get out of it?" What makes you think a terrified 14 year old could have handled it IF she had the maturity and gotten beyond the mind fuck it is to be abused. WHY? Because we're STILL blaming victims people. We're still saying they PUT themselves in that position.
Ms. Ford, and the gymnasts who accused the doctor, and the wrestlers who accused our high school coach, Cosby's accusers, and the boys on that horrible team at a high school in Texas who got sodomized by older players in full knowledge of the coach, THEY HAD NOTHING TO GAIN and much to lose. They didn't ask for money. They KNEW the ridicule and doubt and victim blaming they would face. So why on earth would they come forward unless it's because they hoped that their truth would CHANGE something for the better.
And IF YOU TRULY BELIEVE that all our sons and fathers and brothers are in danger of being victims, well then, no worries. Let's just teach them to protect themselves the way we've been teaching women.
Boys DO NOT:
Go to parties
Drink underage
Drink at all
Be alone in a room with a woman
Attempt to disrobe a woman who cannot disrobe herself
Be in a room where there is more than one male but only one female
Remove a single iota of your clothing, even if you get warm
Dance with a female
Join a fraternity
Walk anywhere near an unattended drink without reliable sober witnesses
Offer a woman a drink
Pour a drink of any kind without drinking it in full, DO NOT SET IT DOWN!
Forget to lock a bathroom door at a party, that way no horrible woman can say you lured her in
Walk to another part of a house/building during a social gathering alone, if you do and encounter a lone woman, make sure you have protection on you
And if you do any of the above... do NOT expect to be believed if you are falsely accused. Because then we'll start asking you the same questions you ask victims now.
How can YOU put yourself in that position?
Why were you even there?
Why did you drink?
How can you expect to be believed if you were drinking? We can't trust your memory!
Why on earth were you dancing with her?
Wait, you brought her a drink? What are you crazy?! You're asking for it!
Why on earth did you not protect yourself?
Now you're either angry or amused at the above. It's not funny. This is serious. Or you think I'm being melodramatic and crazy. Just another crazy woman who thinks all men are guilty and all women are to be believed.
No folks, not so. I'm just saying you don't get to have it both ways. FINE you want to say it's men who are in danger right now? Then just like you've been laying the blame on victims for not being smarter and safer all this time, you have to do the same for these men.
OTHERWISE, if it's not fair, if it's ridiculous to expect boys to have to basically stop living in order to being prevent being victimized, if the only way to stop this ludicrous idea is to finally start making PERPETRATORS responsible, then you have to do the same for women and FOR ALL VICTIMS of assault regardless of gender.
I saw a horrible story where a man spoke about a very close female friend he had in high school who was asked every day to go out by another boy. She kept saying no. That boy brought a gun to school. The author of the story WAS THE ONLY BOY IN THEIR CLASS, when the teacher asked whose fault it was, who said it was the boy who brought the gun. Let me repeat that. HE WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO HELD THAT BOY RESPONSIBLE. The rest were angry WITH HER. Why didn't she just say yes? How could she keep saying no and make him so angry that SHE endangered the entire school. Did you hear that? SHE endangered the school. Not the crazy shithead who brought the gun. She did. For saying no.
When a girl accused 3 basketball players at the University of Oregon of gang raping her, SHE got angry letters and threats for ruining their lives. Did you read that. SHE ruined their lives. Not them. SHE did it. The victim. They admitted to being with her. To "having sex" with her. They admitted to being too drunk to remember really if she said "no". But only her drinking was called into question. Not theirs.
When those young boys on that Texas football team were sodomized by older players, THEY were ridiculed, faced threats, called snitches. The PERPETRATORS played the victim and the town rallied behind those poor players who might lose scholarships and those poor coaches who might be fired. And why couldn't those poor boys just have shut up about the "right of passage"? Never mind their bodies were physically damaged. Never mind that they screamed and cried and were held down and the coaches could hear. The coaches and teachers told everyone to "keep quiet". They couldn't have their lovely town defined by this. Did you catch that? They silenced the VICTIMS for the sake of themselves.
Are there false accusers out there? Girls who don't remember their actions or who regret it and cry rape? I'm sure there are. But if you decide boys are the real victims here or that we just cannot believe anyone because of the few, then you're throwing out the baby with the bathwater. Let's not register voters since a few people cheat the system. Let's not have borders because a few sneak over them. And let's not believe victims, because a few will make up stories. Okay.
But if someone comes forward with no personal gain, no monetary gain and relives a very painful time in their life, chances are... they're telling the truth.
And until you've faced the fear of assault. Until you've found yourself frozen, unable to move or so baffled, bewildered and crazed by where you've found yourself that you cannot BELIEVE this is reality, kindly SHUT UP. You don't know. You don't know how you would respond. You don't know the fear of coming forward. You don't know the pain and embarrassment of being doubted, questioned, blamed or embarrassed. You're asking yourself, does she? Who is she to write this? I do know. I know the above. The fear, the doubt, the blame. I know the PTSD because of it. I know the embarrassment. I've been asked "how can YOU let this happen?" I only came forward through a story in my blog a few years ago, not to gain anything from the perpetrator. But in the hopes that my story might educate my friends who had kids that age. The girls AND the boys. About the signs, the fears, and how easily it happens. How easy it is to be confused and scared and silenced.
Until you have, DO NOT tell victims how to behave.
And while you're at it, if you still think men are the victims here, if you think perpetrators are the victims here - then start advising them to protect themselves from victimization. Like my OBGYN who always has a female nurse in the room, start asking those victims you feel so much for to protect themselves. Tell them not to LET themselves be falsely accused. Tell them to live in a narrow, shallow, hemmed in life to protect themselves. Otherwise, they were asking for it. Weren't they?
It's not Duck Season or Rabbit Season. It's just sad.
Monday, October 8, 2018
Saturday, August 11, 2018
The Kitchen
I had a rare moment tonight... I was alone in my kitchen. Just me. My husband is hurt and in bed, the kids were off to their rooms to sleep as well. I was finishing up tidying up, listening to music and dancing. By myself.
I suddenly stopped and looked around. At peace, but not, marveling at how quickly life changes and how the kitchen seems to be the point around which my household revolves and all my changes too. It always has been the center, since I was little. The thought began an avalanche of images in my head. The various kitchens and the big moments (and small) they held.
It was in a kitchen, over 4 1/2 years ago now, that I huddled in a corner, sobbing because I had chosen to separate from my kids father... they were with him, I was alone and terrified. A small, clean apartment kitchen that looked out at a cherry blossom tree.
Over a year later, it was that same little kitchen that I stood in, cooking, telling my two children as they sat on bar stools facing me, that I was dating someone, again terrified. I had been single over a year, but had planned truly on staying that way for many many years, if not forever. And now they looked at me dubiously as I shared that the man they knew as "my friend Jason" was actually who I was dating.
And in that same small apartment kitchen, I cooked and watched my kids since it looked out on the living room, as they grappled with probably the toughest year of their lives that first year of separation and divorce. It's where I grew from sobbing and scared, to peaceful and confident. Where I danced alone, finding me again. Where I taught my kids that even tough change brings out the best in us.
It was a kitchen, in a small apartment we lived in with my mother, that I roller skated in... until the neighbors complained. My daughters have now been known to scooter through mine.
It was in the dining area, of a large open kitchen with a cold, red, brick floor that my mom told my twin sister and me that she was pregnant with my little brother. I was 10. And excited. I remember crossing that kitchen floor many times in the middle of the night, because the baby was crying and I wanted to tell my mother he was up.
The kitchen, that same open brick one and later, when my parents built the new house, the galley kitchen that opened up to a bar where I would often sit facing my mother... it's where I headed immediately when I got home from school. It was the meeting place. Where I complained about unfair teachers, or cried over broken hearts, or laughed about stupid stuff with my mom. That kitchen saw my mom proving she could still do a kick line like when she was in drill team. It saw numerous cookie baking episodes while we laughed and danced to Motown music, or cheesy Christmas tunes.
My kitchen now is a cross between that galley kitchen and the open one connected to the dining room I grew up in. The oak cabinets I want to refinish and the yellowing tile I can't wait to replace. It's our center though. And there's that bar where our two sons now often sit. And, like my mother, I find myself in my kitchen watching them, talking to them, reliving our days together while I cook or put away groceries. It's from there I can drift back and forth to the dining table while I'm busy to help our two daughters with slime creation or painting or whatever project they or I have come up with and spread across our large table. That kitchen is where you can often find my husband and me together... cooking, planning, washing dishes, goofing off, tagging each other with dish towels.
Our kitchen is where you can often find the entire family together because I made "kitchen clean up" a family together chore instead of leaving it to one person. It's where we learned that working together makes it more fun while it makes it go faster when you have to do a chore. It's where all 4 kids were making insane amounts of noise during our last kitchen clean up because Jason played some "pirate punk" music that got all the kids excited.
Tonight, I took a moment to just sit at the steps that lead from my kitchen up to the boys' rooms and look around and marvel at how much has changed in 4 1/2 years. I took a moment to breathe, and enjoy a moment alone, while being grateful that this spot is often bustling with activity. From my perch on the stairs I could see the last pot I had to wash that held the au jus from the beef dips I made tonight that made William declare "you make the best beef dips ever, mom! I'm serious". I could see the tops of the laptops the boys play on when they are together and I laugh inwardly at their highs and lows while they play the game. I could see the coasters my husband and I have begun collecting and hanging up that mark our travels together. I could see the Indonesian soy sauce I'd forgotten to put away, the "secret ingredient" in so much of what I cook... that I will pass down to all 4 kids as I teach them to cook too. I could see Delaney's certificate from swim instruction hanging by Jayden's report cards on the refrigerator next to the magnet bearing Elizabeth's original artwork and William's own grades. I could see the dishwasher I'd finished emptying only to immediately refill it and a cookie jar my mother made for me with pictures of all the kids. I could see the table bearing William's freakin' Legos that I've asked him to move about 5 times already next to Lizzy's iPad that I'd already asked her to plug into her charging cord about 4 hours previously.
I didn't want to move. I just wanted to sit there, looking around, trying to find more blessings to be grateful for. No other room is quite like this one. Sure the front living room contains our Nightmare Before Christmas collection and the aquarium. The back living room has the board games and blankets. But the kitchen... it's the center. It's what this beautiful life I've been blessed with revolves around. It's where I can see all the places I treasure because they are often occupied by the husband and kids I love and where some of the best conversations and joys and laughs and adventures and lessons take place.
I finally got up, finished my tidying, took one last look in each kids room to see if they were sleeping, and stood in the middle of the kitchen one more time. It was strangely peaceful and lonely all at the same time. And I was utterly happy and peaceful, yet lonely and wistful all at the same time.
I should set up a camera in that room. Create a time lapse video over the years. As the kids grow past me, as we cook together, as we post more report cards and calendars on the refrigerator. How fun would it be to watch it.
I let my own time lapse video play a little longer in my head. The kitchens and the moments. I left my kitchen tidy, dark and quiet. Ready to fill with more memories tomorrow.
Maybe I'll make crepes for breakfast. They get excited when I make those...
I suddenly stopped and looked around. At peace, but not, marveling at how quickly life changes and how the kitchen seems to be the point around which my household revolves and all my changes too. It always has been the center, since I was little. The thought began an avalanche of images in my head. The various kitchens and the big moments (and small) they held.
It was in a kitchen, over 4 1/2 years ago now, that I huddled in a corner, sobbing because I had chosen to separate from my kids father... they were with him, I was alone and terrified. A small, clean apartment kitchen that looked out at a cherry blossom tree.
Over a year later, it was that same little kitchen that I stood in, cooking, telling my two children as they sat on bar stools facing me, that I was dating someone, again terrified. I had been single over a year, but had planned truly on staying that way for many many years, if not forever. And now they looked at me dubiously as I shared that the man they knew as "my friend Jason" was actually who I was dating.
And in that same small apartment kitchen, I cooked and watched my kids since it looked out on the living room, as they grappled with probably the toughest year of their lives that first year of separation and divorce. It's where I grew from sobbing and scared, to peaceful and confident. Where I danced alone, finding me again. Where I taught my kids that even tough change brings out the best in us.
It was a kitchen, in a small apartment we lived in with my mother, that I roller skated in... until the neighbors complained. My daughters have now been known to scooter through mine.
It was in the dining area, of a large open kitchen with a cold, red, brick floor that my mom told my twin sister and me that she was pregnant with my little brother. I was 10. And excited. I remember crossing that kitchen floor many times in the middle of the night, because the baby was crying and I wanted to tell my mother he was up.
The kitchen, that same open brick one and later, when my parents built the new house, the galley kitchen that opened up to a bar where I would often sit facing my mother... it's where I headed immediately when I got home from school. It was the meeting place. Where I complained about unfair teachers, or cried over broken hearts, or laughed about stupid stuff with my mom. That kitchen saw my mom proving she could still do a kick line like when she was in drill team. It saw numerous cookie baking episodes while we laughed and danced to Motown music, or cheesy Christmas tunes.
My kitchen now is a cross between that galley kitchen and the open one connected to the dining room I grew up in. The oak cabinets I want to refinish and the yellowing tile I can't wait to replace. It's our center though. And there's that bar where our two sons now often sit. And, like my mother, I find myself in my kitchen watching them, talking to them, reliving our days together while I cook or put away groceries. It's from there I can drift back and forth to the dining table while I'm busy to help our two daughters with slime creation or painting or whatever project they or I have come up with and spread across our large table. That kitchen is where you can often find my husband and me together... cooking, planning, washing dishes, goofing off, tagging each other with dish towels.
Our kitchen is where you can often find the entire family together because I made "kitchen clean up" a family together chore instead of leaving it to one person. It's where we learned that working together makes it more fun while it makes it go faster when you have to do a chore. It's where all 4 kids were making insane amounts of noise during our last kitchen clean up because Jason played some "pirate punk" music that got all the kids excited.
Tonight, I took a moment to just sit at the steps that lead from my kitchen up to the boys' rooms and look around and marvel at how much has changed in 4 1/2 years. I took a moment to breathe, and enjoy a moment alone, while being grateful that this spot is often bustling with activity. From my perch on the stairs I could see the last pot I had to wash that held the au jus from the beef dips I made tonight that made William declare "you make the best beef dips ever, mom! I'm serious". I could see the tops of the laptops the boys play on when they are together and I laugh inwardly at their highs and lows while they play the game. I could see the coasters my husband and I have begun collecting and hanging up that mark our travels together. I could see the Indonesian soy sauce I'd forgotten to put away, the "secret ingredient" in so much of what I cook... that I will pass down to all 4 kids as I teach them to cook too. I could see Delaney's certificate from swim instruction hanging by Jayden's report cards on the refrigerator next to the magnet bearing Elizabeth's original artwork and William's own grades. I could see the dishwasher I'd finished emptying only to immediately refill it and a cookie jar my mother made for me with pictures of all the kids. I could see the table bearing William's freakin' Legos that I've asked him to move about 5 times already next to Lizzy's iPad that I'd already asked her to plug into her charging cord about 4 hours previously.
I didn't want to move. I just wanted to sit there, looking around, trying to find more blessings to be grateful for. No other room is quite like this one. Sure the front living room contains our Nightmare Before Christmas collection and the aquarium. The back living room has the board games and blankets. But the kitchen... it's the center. It's what this beautiful life I've been blessed with revolves around. It's where I can see all the places I treasure because they are often occupied by the husband and kids I love and where some of the best conversations and joys and laughs and adventures and lessons take place.
I finally got up, finished my tidying, took one last look in each kids room to see if they were sleeping, and stood in the middle of the kitchen one more time. It was strangely peaceful and lonely all at the same time. And I was utterly happy and peaceful, yet lonely and wistful all at the same time.
I should set up a camera in that room. Create a time lapse video over the years. As the kids grow past me, as we cook together, as we post more report cards and calendars on the refrigerator. How fun would it be to watch it.
I let my own time lapse video play a little longer in my head. The kitchens and the moments. I left my kitchen tidy, dark and quiet. Ready to fill with more memories tomorrow.
Maybe I'll make crepes for breakfast. They get excited when I make those...
Thursday, June 14, 2018
Just Like You
"I hope you have one just like you"
Your parents will utter this, yell this, say this... either in humor, in anger or in frustration, at least once in your life.
Folks, this is not a wish. It's a curse that comes true. One day, little beings that you spawned will be, like a beautifully wrapped karmic gift to your parents, YOU. Utterly you. And suddenly, you'll open your mouth and realize that your parents just came out.
Often now, as I open my mouth to talk to my kids, either my mother, my father... or both come out of my mouth. My mother loves this. She LOVES to see me with my kids. She laughs, and not inwardly, as she sees me shaking my head at my daughter's strewn about socks or digging through my son's black hole of a backpack and saying things like "what am I talking to? A brick wall?"
Exhibit A: William's locker. My mother was visiting recently and offered to walk into the school with William to grab something from his locker before we headed out for the day. So I warned her, "hey ma? You remember my locker or backpack or closet or really... anything of mine? Yeah, that's his locker. Be careful." Apparently, she jumped back a little when he began opening it and he laughed asking "Oma? What are you doing?" My mother replied, "look, your mom told me about your locker." Before he could be offended, however, my mom assured him that NOTHING could shock her since he was basically, ME. She'd already been through this, kids. About 34 years ago, she had seen a middle school locker and stood, half horrified/half amused, at the destruction her daughter could fit in a tiny locker that barely holds 4 school books. Unfortunately, his locker is bigger. And thus, so is the resulting natural disaster it contains.
The first time I saw his locker, I suddenly understood my mother SO MUCH BETTER. Dude, I think there are live beings in that locker. Hidden. Somewhere. Beneath the piles of "oh I think I turned this in", crumpled "shoot, I don't know what that is, ma" and the detritus of a year of assignments he somehow NEVER throws away even after he doesn't need them, I believe there is probably something living. And we'll never know. Because there's too much shit in there. Good Lord Above Holy Mary Mother of God, that locker. The first time he opened it my foot was literally bruised from a binder that weighs more than he does, full of assignments he can't remember, falling on it. Then I had to help him dig through an enormity of what looks to me like garbage, but he insists he needs it, to find a crumpled up, half finished map of Egypt that he needed to finish RIGHT NOW.
"Jeez, William! What is going on in there!" I exclaimed, "I think there's something alive in there! How the hell do you expect to find anything?!" And then I stopped. My mother had just emerged from me. And as he looked at me, bemused, trying with all his might not to roll his eyes at his crazy mother... I realized, he is me. And I'm my mother.
Exhibit B: Lizzy's hair. Now I know why my mother constantly threatened to shave my head. I know why she gave up and cut it so short she could barely cram a little clip onto it (but oh she did). I get it now.
The other morning, I'm trying to brush it because she actually WANTS a hairdo today (which is a massive miracle in and of itself). With each stroke of the brush she screams "OW!" so loud her poor brother's ears seem on the verge of bleeding and she jerks her head around to glare at me as if I've killed her cat. "OW!" "sorry" "OW!" "sorry, I'm trying to be gentle" "OOOOWWWW! GOD MOM!!" "WELL SHIT LIZZY! If you actually BRUSHED your hair after a shower and LET me put it up each night like I ask, it wouldn't be so tangled now WOULD IT?! I'm just gonna shave it all off!"
Folks I haven't combed through a quarter of the mass of platinum that sits on her head yet. Not even a quarter of it. And we're both already exhausted. You see, she has been blessed with not thick, but dense hair. So many individual strands packed onto her lovely head that it is unruly, easily tangled and you can barely get a rubber band around it. Add to that the fact that she has an EXTREMELY sensitive scalp. She can't help it. So do I. So does William. Our family hairdresser informed me that we all flinch continuously as she brushes our hair.
When it's not about the tangles, it's about asking her to do something with it. "Lizzy, brush your hair," I say on a daily basis, to which I always receive the answer, "I just did". At which point I'm obliged to point out that running the brush lightly over the top layer of the sides of her hair that she can see in the mirror does NOT constitute brushing. I see her from the back and it looks like a bird's nest. Or like she caught it in a blender. But, like me at her age, she could care less. She's happy to go about the world unkempt, jelly stains on her shirt, hair looking like some mangled muppet, mismatched outfit and mouth unwiped from the breakfast just consumed. And like my mother, I insist that she at least "not look like an orphan" before she leaves the house.
Exhibit C: The "it's a sign you love someone and want to return" effect. My mother always says I leave stuff behind at her house because I want to return. Kids, Lizzy must want to return to every place she visits. I can't help but laugh at that awesome "oh my god... let me think real quick" dazed look on her face when I pick her up from anywhere and ask, "Lizzy do you have your..." (insert anything here - lunch bag, headphones, hoodie, shoes, socks, homework, folder, sketchbook). Her enormous eyes grow even wider, her mouth opens slightly and I know... she has no clue. The hoodie is likely on the school playground somewhere, she probably set her lunch bag on the floor while getting her backpack and left it there, her socks are flung off immediately wherever she arrives so they're at the last friend's house she visited and her sketch book is likely stuffed into the desk that closely resembles the state of her brother's locker because she pulled it out to sketch instead of doing the math assignment she finds "boring". And I know this, because that was me. And I assume the look I get from her when I say "Jesus, Liz, you'd forget your head if it weren't attached" is an exact replica of the face that met my mother when she uttered the same.
Frighteningly enough, although I no longer scream at hair-brushing, my desk at work is tidy, I prefer to put everything in its place, I LOVE to clean out things and throw away what I don't use... the one part that hasn't changed is my ability to leave things places and lose them. Keys hanging on the hook in a public bathroom? Check. Hoodie left next to me on the banquette at a restaurant? Check. Lunch/coffee/breakfast/wallet/license left behind resulting in 1-2 "turning back" moments before I get to work? Check. Frantic search for my phone because I set it down "somewhere" as I wandered from Lizzy's room to William's to the kitchen to the bathroom in the morning? Check. Poor Lizzy. She'll be 45 and still doing this.
Exhibit D: Does she REALLY have eyes in the back of her head? William and I were having a morning of exchanging less than pleasantries the other day and I'd had enough. I told him he could take his long face and his shitty attitude back up the stairs and come back down when he could manage to not take his sleepless night out on me. I turned back to the breakfast I was making and as he walked back up the stairs, there was something... a pause in his walk, the sound of his shuffling, the way he sniffed... something, and I knew. "Don't roll your eyes at me, either!" I shouted. He turned, open mouthed in amazement. I answered before he asked, "yes, I know you did. I have eyes in the back of my head. I KNOW you." I could see him analyzing the probability of the impossible being possible. Could I REALLY see with my back turned? Did I truly know him SO well that I could FEEL him rolling his eyes?
I couldn't help it, I laughed. I remember wondering just HOW my mother knew I had rolled my eyes. With her back turned. Rooms away. On the phone long distance. She knew. And now I know. Not from some magical mom powers, either. No, because I know exactly when I would roll my eyes at what I had just said. And he is me.
You will have one just like you folks. You will. It's god's way of rewarding your parents for their infinite patience with you. It is. It's this lovely little karmic circle that ensures you will utter exactly what your parents did, you will understand them better and, if you're like my mother and me, you'll laugh your ASSES off together about how life just repeats itself.
I have two little "Mariskas" running around. Two forgetful, unorganized, messy, funny, crazy, insecure yet dying not to be like anyone else, scattered but driven, creative but analytical, argumentative, eye-rolling, stubborn makers of messy lockers, strange potions, half-cleaned rooms and silly games. My house will be full of clothes strewn about as if they were stripping on their way to their rooms. My car will be full of forgotten permission slips and crumpled up homework. I'll keep napkins in the car to clean off the Ovaltine or jelly or pancake syrup they neglected to wipe from their faces. I'll look forward to the laughs and yet fear the annual cleaning out of backpacks only to find pencils they claimed they lost, permission slips I never signed, gum already chewed and unidentifiable objects better suited to my trash can. And I will call my mom... and we'll laugh. And I'll share these stories with my kids because they LOVE it when I read old blogs to them.
And one day, should they become parents, I'll read this to them again. And they'll laugh at their daughter's unkempt head, tornado of a bedroom and fairy potions. And they'll laugh at their son's locker or eye-rolling or forgotten assignments.
I hope you have one just like you. I know I got two of me.
Your parents will utter this, yell this, say this... either in humor, in anger or in frustration, at least once in your life.
Folks, this is not a wish. It's a curse that comes true. One day, little beings that you spawned will be, like a beautifully wrapped karmic gift to your parents, YOU. Utterly you. And suddenly, you'll open your mouth and realize that your parents just came out.
Often now, as I open my mouth to talk to my kids, either my mother, my father... or both come out of my mouth. My mother loves this. She LOVES to see me with my kids. She laughs, and not inwardly, as she sees me shaking my head at my daughter's strewn about socks or digging through my son's black hole of a backpack and saying things like "what am I talking to? A brick wall?"
Exhibit A: William's locker. My mother was visiting recently and offered to walk into the school with William to grab something from his locker before we headed out for the day. So I warned her, "hey ma? You remember my locker or backpack or closet or really... anything of mine? Yeah, that's his locker. Be careful." Apparently, she jumped back a little when he began opening it and he laughed asking "Oma? What are you doing?" My mother replied, "look, your mom told me about your locker." Before he could be offended, however, my mom assured him that NOTHING could shock her since he was basically, ME. She'd already been through this, kids. About 34 years ago, she had seen a middle school locker and stood, half horrified/half amused, at the destruction her daughter could fit in a tiny locker that barely holds 4 school books. Unfortunately, his locker is bigger. And thus, so is the resulting natural disaster it contains.
The first time I saw his locker, I suddenly understood my mother SO MUCH BETTER. Dude, I think there are live beings in that locker. Hidden. Somewhere. Beneath the piles of "oh I think I turned this in", crumpled "shoot, I don't know what that is, ma" and the detritus of a year of assignments he somehow NEVER throws away even after he doesn't need them, I believe there is probably something living. And we'll never know. Because there's too much shit in there. Good Lord Above Holy Mary Mother of God, that locker. The first time he opened it my foot was literally bruised from a binder that weighs more than he does, full of assignments he can't remember, falling on it. Then I had to help him dig through an enormity of what looks to me like garbage, but he insists he needs it, to find a crumpled up, half finished map of Egypt that he needed to finish RIGHT NOW.
"Jeez, William! What is going on in there!" I exclaimed, "I think there's something alive in there! How the hell do you expect to find anything?!" And then I stopped. My mother had just emerged from me. And as he looked at me, bemused, trying with all his might not to roll his eyes at his crazy mother... I realized, he is me. And I'm my mother.
Exhibit B: Lizzy's hair. Now I know why my mother constantly threatened to shave my head. I know why she gave up and cut it so short she could barely cram a little clip onto it (but oh she did). I get it now.
The other morning, I'm trying to brush it because she actually WANTS a hairdo today (which is a massive miracle in and of itself). With each stroke of the brush she screams "OW!" so loud her poor brother's ears seem on the verge of bleeding and she jerks her head around to glare at me as if I've killed her cat. "OW!" "sorry" "OW!" "sorry, I'm trying to be gentle" "OOOOWWWW! GOD MOM!!" "WELL SHIT LIZZY! If you actually BRUSHED your hair after a shower and LET me put it up each night like I ask, it wouldn't be so tangled now WOULD IT?! I'm just gonna shave it all off!"
Folks I haven't combed through a quarter of the mass of platinum that sits on her head yet. Not even a quarter of it. And we're both already exhausted. You see, she has been blessed with not thick, but dense hair. So many individual strands packed onto her lovely head that it is unruly, easily tangled and you can barely get a rubber band around it. Add to that the fact that she has an EXTREMELY sensitive scalp. She can't help it. So do I. So does William. Our family hairdresser informed me that we all flinch continuously as she brushes our hair.
When it's not about the tangles, it's about asking her to do something with it. "Lizzy, brush your hair," I say on a daily basis, to which I always receive the answer, "I just did". At which point I'm obliged to point out that running the brush lightly over the top layer of the sides of her hair that she can see in the mirror does NOT constitute brushing. I see her from the back and it looks like a bird's nest. Or like she caught it in a blender. But, like me at her age, she could care less. She's happy to go about the world unkempt, jelly stains on her shirt, hair looking like some mangled muppet, mismatched outfit and mouth unwiped from the breakfast just consumed. And like my mother, I insist that she at least "not look like an orphan" before she leaves the house.
Exhibit C: The "it's a sign you love someone and want to return" effect. My mother always says I leave stuff behind at her house because I want to return. Kids, Lizzy must want to return to every place she visits. I can't help but laugh at that awesome "oh my god... let me think real quick" dazed look on her face when I pick her up from anywhere and ask, "Lizzy do you have your..." (insert anything here - lunch bag, headphones, hoodie, shoes, socks, homework, folder, sketchbook). Her enormous eyes grow even wider, her mouth opens slightly and I know... she has no clue. The hoodie is likely on the school playground somewhere, she probably set her lunch bag on the floor while getting her backpack and left it there, her socks are flung off immediately wherever she arrives so they're at the last friend's house she visited and her sketch book is likely stuffed into the desk that closely resembles the state of her brother's locker because she pulled it out to sketch instead of doing the math assignment she finds "boring". And I know this, because that was me. And I assume the look I get from her when I say "Jesus, Liz, you'd forget your head if it weren't attached" is an exact replica of the face that met my mother when she uttered the same.
Frighteningly enough, although I no longer scream at hair-brushing, my desk at work is tidy, I prefer to put everything in its place, I LOVE to clean out things and throw away what I don't use... the one part that hasn't changed is my ability to leave things places and lose them. Keys hanging on the hook in a public bathroom? Check. Hoodie left next to me on the banquette at a restaurant? Check. Lunch/coffee/breakfast/wallet/license left behind resulting in 1-2 "turning back" moments before I get to work? Check. Frantic search for my phone because I set it down "somewhere" as I wandered from Lizzy's room to William's to the kitchen to the bathroom in the morning? Check. Poor Lizzy. She'll be 45 and still doing this.
Exhibit D: Does she REALLY have eyes in the back of her head? William and I were having a morning of exchanging less than pleasantries the other day and I'd had enough. I told him he could take his long face and his shitty attitude back up the stairs and come back down when he could manage to not take his sleepless night out on me. I turned back to the breakfast I was making and as he walked back up the stairs, there was something... a pause in his walk, the sound of his shuffling, the way he sniffed... something, and I knew. "Don't roll your eyes at me, either!" I shouted. He turned, open mouthed in amazement. I answered before he asked, "yes, I know you did. I have eyes in the back of my head. I KNOW you." I could see him analyzing the probability of the impossible being possible. Could I REALLY see with my back turned? Did I truly know him SO well that I could FEEL him rolling his eyes?
I couldn't help it, I laughed. I remember wondering just HOW my mother knew I had rolled my eyes. With her back turned. Rooms away. On the phone long distance. She knew. And now I know. Not from some magical mom powers, either. No, because I know exactly when I would roll my eyes at what I had just said. And he is me.
You will have one just like you folks. You will. It's god's way of rewarding your parents for their infinite patience with you. It is. It's this lovely little karmic circle that ensures you will utter exactly what your parents did, you will understand them better and, if you're like my mother and me, you'll laugh your ASSES off together about how life just repeats itself.
I have two little "Mariskas" running around. Two forgetful, unorganized, messy, funny, crazy, insecure yet dying not to be like anyone else, scattered but driven, creative but analytical, argumentative, eye-rolling, stubborn makers of messy lockers, strange potions, half-cleaned rooms and silly games. My house will be full of clothes strewn about as if they were stripping on their way to their rooms. My car will be full of forgotten permission slips and crumpled up homework. I'll keep napkins in the car to clean off the Ovaltine or jelly or pancake syrup they neglected to wipe from their faces. I'll look forward to the laughs and yet fear the annual cleaning out of backpacks only to find pencils they claimed they lost, permission slips I never signed, gum already chewed and unidentifiable objects better suited to my trash can. And I will call my mom... and we'll laugh. And I'll share these stories with my kids because they LOVE it when I read old blogs to them.
And one day, should they become parents, I'll read this to them again. And they'll laugh at their daughter's unkempt head, tornado of a bedroom and fairy potions. And they'll laugh at their son's locker or eye-rolling or forgotten assignments.
I hope you have one just like you. I know I got two of me.
Thursday, January 25, 2018
Accidental Community
I've been advising a couple of people close to me lately on the topic of divorce or splitting or dating or blending families. It's made me reflect so much on the crazy, twists and turns on this weird road I've traveled over the past 5 years. It's made me so thankful that something that started out so painful, hard, lonely and difficult... can turn into an AMAZING journey and into a happy accident and blending of people that I could have never predicted, and yet, has given me so much to be thankful for.
Dating and/or remarriage after a divorce is a tricky, complex, strange little world. So many friends seem to be in the same or similar spot as me and it's been an interesting ride for us all. Trying to blend families, juggling relationships with new people or more children, or exes... it's a complex dance. It really is. Some new relationships can't get past the hurdle of blending. Some are so poisoned by ex's, that they don't get off the ground or exist in an anxious state of continued animosity.
And some of us feel so blindsided by blessings that we are standing here stunned at the turns life takes. I'm lucky enough to be in that third category. Stunned and blessed.
I've learned, or taught myself, over the past few years to look at the positive. I have been lucky enough, in my dating, remarriage... despite the ups and downs, to have SO much positive to find. What I've found myself reflecting on recently and very thankful for recently, is this little "accidental community" I have because of this road. I have all these unique, strong, creative, challenging (and I mean in the good way) people in my life. They make me think, laugh, grow, stretch and, best of all, they make me grateful.
One might think one's ex is a strange person to put in this "community", since divorce usually means separate lives...but Mike and I have somehow managed to find and grow our friendship that we found when we were 18 and turn it into a great experiment in parenting (we both detest the term "co-parent"). We helped out TOGETHER this year during my daughter's cookie party. We do that kind of thing a lot... it always raises eyebrows. You don't see a lot of divorced couples showing up at the school together, walking down the hall and laughing, or going on field trips together. We're not "taking turns" or sticking to our "designated days". We even joined her for lunch on the same day a couple weeks before that. He and my husband text each other. They work together and with me on pick ups and drop off and activities. The two of them are even taking our boys together to a WWE event. It's pretty amazing. And, I don't know if it's a product of our single-parenting time, but we've become creative in time spent with the kids and it's been an easy flow when we've had to "reconfigure" schedules do to travel... be it for work or fun. Today, I see Mike post on FB seeking anime suggestions because our daughter really is interested. He finds a friend to private tutor William on the saxophone. He doesn't do it to be thanked or to receive compliments for being a great dad... he did it because he takes an interest in our kids' interest. And then he includes me or asks me about things. We invite him over to a football party or out to breakfast, not out of obligation, but truly, because we can actually all have fun together.
My "new family" is another part of this community that is such a happy accident. Of course, my kids aren't new to me... but this "6 of us" thing with Jason and my step kids Jayden and Delaney, together with me and William and Elizabeth... that's new. And it's amazing. It feels like we've always been family. The kids melded together seamlessly. It's crazy. And I don't mean they always get along or they don't get tired of one another... they do. But they do like birth siblings do. Their compromises and their joys, their disagreements and their excitement, none of it feels forced or weird. We're just a family. A weird, silly, creative, quirky family. And it wasn't an intentional reaching out. It was an accidentally beautiful coincidence that Jason and I met and share so much in our viewpoint of parenting and happened to each have a son and each have a daughter and all are so close in age that they got this automatic sibling to share some experiences with. The boys are two years apart and the girls one year apart and they all just... work. I'm so grateful. William thinks of Jayden when buying a Pop and buys him one. Delaney orders some cute thing online and gets one for Lizzy. Jayden asks if there's a way he and William can play baseball together. Lizzy sees something she wants, but then wants to make sure Delaney gets one too. They're amazing in their regard for one another.
As odd as it is to be thankful for my ex as part of my "accidental community", I'm sure it also seems odd to include my husband's ex, Kelly, in an accidental community to be thankful for...but I am. This year, as the plans I set up for Delaney's spa party began to unravel, Kelly calmly and quickly called a spa she knew about, got it scheduled, switched the "party part" to her home at the last minute since the new spa didn't have a party room and off we went. She'll claim she's not creative or artsy and there she was letting us and the kids make multiple attempts at slime in her kitchen. And together, when we talked about the fancy "spa lunch", she immediately thought of fun little touches like champagne glasses for the cider or flowers on the table to make that last-minute party just right. She patiently puts up with the fact that, because I'll dye Lizzy's hair weird colors, Laney will now ask too if she can dye her hair. Kelly just says yes and goes along with our craziness. She took the time and consideration to ask Laney, when Laney wanted her ears pierced, if she also wanted me and Lizzy along to share in the moment. I mean, that's a pretty big moment for mom and daughter... and she shared it. Not to look like the hero or to be cool or to garner any favor. She did it, because we're all now, for better or worse, this little community bonded by 4 kids.
And speaking of sharing and community, the fun part is when ALL of us end up at the boys' baseball games together. What a fun motley crew we make. Me, Jason, Mike, Kelly, her husband Guy (who's an endless good sport about all this) sitting in a row, behind a dugout... looking like Eugene/Springfield's answer to Modern Family. And I'm THANKFUL for this. Do we all always agree... heck no. Are we going to have disagreements. Well, yes. But I can't worry about that when there's so much to be thankful for in this crazy little community.
My accidental community has been blessed even more by the grandparents. My step kids' grandparents, unlike my kiddos, are local and what a wonderful, happy accident to get to have these people in our lives. Carol (Kelly's mom) are who the kids are with before and after school. And besides being a kind, welcoming, caring soul, she's a rock. She's the one we get a text from when Laney has an anxious morning. She and Steve (her husband) just show up, no questions asked, no favors required in return and help us move. TWICE. Who does that? And it's not false, or for credit or out of obligation, it's just who they are. Steve and Carol just ask "what can we do to help", because that's them in a nutshell. Shawna, Jason's mom, is... you know that person who, as soon as you're around them, you want to laugh together? That's her. She will jump into whatever crazy idea we've decided is the day's creativity and bring laughter with her. She'll come up with great things to do or creative gifts like glitter jars because she's got that ability to jump in and innovate. And laugh. And Dan, Jason's Dad is is that grandpa who's out there ready to teach them (my kids included in the most welcoming manner) about digging ponds and building bird houses and who will sit down at the table with them and ask them questions and actually listen for their answers. He's the one who comes in and asks me how I am, and gives me a hug, even though he's not huggy by nature. He and Shawna have made me and my kids welcome from day one.
And all of this accidental community is because of the coolest accident of all. Meeting my husband. A co-worker, friends with both of us, thought we should meet. We were resistant, both of us rather content to be alone, quite frankly. Rick, our friend, kept bringing it up though. So three nights of FB chatting and a lunch later, I found myself knowing I was headed down a path that was going to upend EVERYTHING I knew. How did I know this from a few chats and one lunch with him? No idea. But I did. I don't know if it was instantly because we could joke like we'd known each other all our lives, or our shared love of fishing, Nightmare Before Christmas, cold weather and well... "weirdness", but I told a guy who had asked me for a second date (first date was a few days before I began chatting with Jason) and who knew I was "not looking for anything serious" that I'd met someone and there would be no second date. That Jason was that person who you give a whole-hearted chance to, even when you THOUGHT you didn't want anything serious. And an old friend who I'd become too close to, but had drifted from, I wrote to and said, "I've met someone. This one, I have to try with." My mom saw me the day of the lunch and saw me happily flustered by my newly upended world. Jason fit like that long lost, perfectly comfortable t-shirt you never wanted to give up, only... he was brand new. It was crazy. Inexplicable. And lucky.
Little did I know that accident, would spawn more and in the end result in my "accidental community". This family and extended family and friends and whatever you want to call all these people who are suddenly a part of my life. Even as I write this, I'm astounded at what one strange little turn of events caused.
Dating and/or remarriage after a divorce is a tricky, complex, strange little world. So many friends seem to be in the same or similar spot as me and it's been an interesting ride for us all. Trying to blend families, juggling relationships with new people or more children, or exes... it's a complex dance. It really is. Some new relationships can't get past the hurdle of blending. Some are so poisoned by ex's, that they don't get off the ground or exist in an anxious state of continued animosity.
And some of us feel so blindsided by blessings that we are standing here stunned at the turns life takes. I'm lucky enough to be in that third category. Stunned and blessed.
I've learned, or taught myself, over the past few years to look at the positive. I have been lucky enough, in my dating, remarriage... despite the ups and downs, to have SO much positive to find. What I've found myself reflecting on recently and very thankful for recently, is this little "accidental community" I have because of this road. I have all these unique, strong, creative, challenging (and I mean in the good way) people in my life. They make me think, laugh, grow, stretch and, best of all, they make me grateful.
One might think one's ex is a strange person to put in this "community", since divorce usually means separate lives...but Mike and I have somehow managed to find and grow our friendship that we found when we were 18 and turn it into a great experiment in parenting (we both detest the term "co-parent"). We helped out TOGETHER this year during my daughter's cookie party. We do that kind of thing a lot... it always raises eyebrows. You don't see a lot of divorced couples showing up at the school together, walking down the hall and laughing, or going on field trips together. We're not "taking turns" or sticking to our "designated days". We even joined her for lunch on the same day a couple weeks before that. He and my husband text each other. They work together and with me on pick ups and drop off and activities. The two of them are even taking our boys together to a WWE event. It's pretty amazing. And, I don't know if it's a product of our single-parenting time, but we've become creative in time spent with the kids and it's been an easy flow when we've had to "reconfigure" schedules do to travel... be it for work or fun. Today, I see Mike post on FB seeking anime suggestions because our daughter really is interested. He finds a friend to private tutor William on the saxophone. He doesn't do it to be thanked or to receive compliments for being a great dad... he did it because he takes an interest in our kids' interest. And then he includes me or asks me about things. We invite him over to a football party or out to breakfast, not out of obligation, but truly, because we can actually all have fun together.
My "new family" is another part of this community that is such a happy accident. Of course, my kids aren't new to me... but this "6 of us" thing with Jason and my step kids Jayden and Delaney, together with me and William and Elizabeth... that's new. And it's amazing. It feels like we've always been family. The kids melded together seamlessly. It's crazy. And I don't mean they always get along or they don't get tired of one another... they do. But they do like birth siblings do. Their compromises and their joys, their disagreements and their excitement, none of it feels forced or weird. We're just a family. A weird, silly, creative, quirky family. And it wasn't an intentional reaching out. It was an accidentally beautiful coincidence that Jason and I met and share so much in our viewpoint of parenting and happened to each have a son and each have a daughter and all are so close in age that they got this automatic sibling to share some experiences with. The boys are two years apart and the girls one year apart and they all just... work. I'm so grateful. William thinks of Jayden when buying a Pop and buys him one. Delaney orders some cute thing online and gets one for Lizzy. Jayden asks if there's a way he and William can play baseball together. Lizzy sees something she wants, but then wants to make sure Delaney gets one too. They're amazing in their regard for one another.
As odd as it is to be thankful for my ex as part of my "accidental community", I'm sure it also seems odd to include my husband's ex, Kelly, in an accidental community to be thankful for...but I am. This year, as the plans I set up for Delaney's spa party began to unravel, Kelly calmly and quickly called a spa she knew about, got it scheduled, switched the "party part" to her home at the last minute since the new spa didn't have a party room and off we went. She'll claim she's not creative or artsy and there she was letting us and the kids make multiple attempts at slime in her kitchen. And together, when we talked about the fancy "spa lunch", she immediately thought of fun little touches like champagne glasses for the cider or flowers on the table to make that last-minute party just right. She patiently puts up with the fact that, because I'll dye Lizzy's hair weird colors, Laney will now ask too if she can dye her hair. Kelly just says yes and goes along with our craziness. She took the time and consideration to ask Laney, when Laney wanted her ears pierced, if she also wanted me and Lizzy along to share in the moment. I mean, that's a pretty big moment for mom and daughter... and she shared it. Not to look like the hero or to be cool or to garner any favor. She did it, because we're all now, for better or worse, this little community bonded by 4 kids.
And speaking of sharing and community, the fun part is when ALL of us end up at the boys' baseball games together. What a fun motley crew we make. Me, Jason, Mike, Kelly, her husband Guy (who's an endless good sport about all this) sitting in a row, behind a dugout... looking like Eugene/Springfield's answer to Modern Family. And I'm THANKFUL for this. Do we all always agree... heck no. Are we going to have disagreements. Well, yes. But I can't worry about that when there's so much to be thankful for in this crazy little community.
My accidental community has been blessed even more by the grandparents. My step kids' grandparents, unlike my kiddos, are local and what a wonderful, happy accident to get to have these people in our lives. Carol (Kelly's mom) are who the kids are with before and after school. And besides being a kind, welcoming, caring soul, she's a rock. She's the one we get a text from when Laney has an anxious morning. She and Steve (her husband) just show up, no questions asked, no favors required in return and help us move. TWICE. Who does that? And it's not false, or for credit or out of obligation, it's just who they are. Steve and Carol just ask "what can we do to help", because that's them in a nutshell. Shawna, Jason's mom, is... you know that person who, as soon as you're around them, you want to laugh together? That's her. She will jump into whatever crazy idea we've decided is the day's creativity and bring laughter with her. She'll come up with great things to do or creative gifts like glitter jars because she's got that ability to jump in and innovate. And laugh. And Dan, Jason's Dad is is that grandpa who's out there ready to teach them (my kids included in the most welcoming manner) about digging ponds and building bird houses and who will sit down at the table with them and ask them questions and actually listen for their answers. He's the one who comes in and asks me how I am, and gives me a hug, even though he's not huggy by nature. He and Shawna have made me and my kids welcome from day one.
And all of this accidental community is because of the coolest accident of all. Meeting my husband. A co-worker, friends with both of us, thought we should meet. We were resistant, both of us rather content to be alone, quite frankly. Rick, our friend, kept bringing it up though. So three nights of FB chatting and a lunch later, I found myself knowing I was headed down a path that was going to upend EVERYTHING I knew. How did I know this from a few chats and one lunch with him? No idea. But I did. I don't know if it was instantly because we could joke like we'd known each other all our lives, or our shared love of fishing, Nightmare Before Christmas, cold weather and well... "weirdness", but I told a guy who had asked me for a second date (first date was a few days before I began chatting with Jason) and who knew I was "not looking for anything serious" that I'd met someone and there would be no second date. That Jason was that person who you give a whole-hearted chance to, even when you THOUGHT you didn't want anything serious. And an old friend who I'd become too close to, but had drifted from, I wrote to and said, "I've met someone. This one, I have to try with." My mom saw me the day of the lunch and saw me happily flustered by my newly upended world. Jason fit like that long lost, perfectly comfortable t-shirt you never wanted to give up, only... he was brand new. It was crazy. Inexplicable. And lucky.
Little did I know that accident, would spawn more and in the end result in my "accidental community". This family and extended family and friends and whatever you want to call all these people who are suddenly a part of my life. Even as I write this, I'm astounded at what one strange little turn of events caused.
Wednesday, January 10, 2018
Letting them fly
I hate it when I can't sleep. Even more so when it's because I'm rolling something around in my head, something I can't control. I'm a planner and when plans change, I have trouble letting the picture form by itself rather than painting it with the strokes I expected. My ex-husband can tell you this. I get a little "worked up" when plans change... I need a little time to deal with it. I usually roll right along with the punches, it just takes me a bit to get to the "rolling" point. My mom seems to think I'm easy going and always ready to fly by the seat of my pants and be spontaneous. Little does she know it's a struggle for me... or maybe she knows but wants to encourage me with positive reinforcement.
The past few days have had me struggling as a parent with what it means to "let my kids be themselves". People who see my posts may think it's a slam on those parents who tsk tsk'd Lizzy's "unicorn hair" again, or an indirect slap at maybe something Mike and I disagreed on (nope), or an indirect shot at parenting choices that differ from my own. Or they think it's something huge and monumental and it's not... so why have I been up since 4:58? The past few days don't contain anything monumental, yet here I am not sleeping.
You see the past few days have seen William struggle with a genius project he had to turn in, observing Lizzy and the "bubble" she walks in at school and then the two things that hit me the hardest... William saying he thinks he's going to give up baseball and Lizzy saying she doesn't want to do swim class.
Gasp!! Oh no! I know, I know, it seems small... so why has it hit me so hard? Why have the past few days combined with those damn FB memories (apparently 3 and 4 years ago I posted a lot about learning to be me and letting my kids be who they are and letting my kids be KIDS, not little adults) hit me like a ton of bricks?
I'll admit the baseball thing hit me hardest. When he said it, I talked to him about why. About if he really LOVES baseball, is he letting the political bullshit that knocked him down last year and now the changes in his new league talk him out of what he loves? I asked him if he had intended on playing at least through high school. His reply of "I really don't know" started with the words "I'm sorry mom..." and maybe that's when my struggle began. Why is he APOLOGIZING to me? When I thought I was just going over the various angles and choices and doubts and reasons with him, was I actually trying to TALK him into staying? Did he think I was disappointed in him? I'm not, I just don't want him to walk away from something he has loved and pursued since he was TWO YEARS OLD, because of some crap that doesn't belong in kids sports, but is there anyway. I don't want him walking away from something he is actually rather skilled at and has potential to grow in because of one disappointing occurrence. But I don't want him playing FOR ME. That's not okay.
So, his apology made me stop. I don't believe in choosing my kids path for them. I'm not that parent who will decide that my child WILL play a particular sport or do a particular activity or join a particular organization. That's just not me. I believe (and you may disagree) that it teaches kids not to trust their own judgement. That their likes and opinions don't matter. I will choose whether or not they can say, hang glide, or what time they go to bed or what chores they share in... I will not choose their path. I will not do their homework for them or tell them how their art should look. I (begrudgingly) will not decide their hairstyles or fashion (besides, isn't it a right of passage to hate your kids hair and clothes? my mother told me I looked like I was always headed for a funeral, but still let me choose it). Yes, I secretly bemoaned the end of William's mohawk while celebrating the fact that at least now when he decides to not do his hair, it doesn't look like a dead squirrel landed there. Yes, Lizzy's fashion choices are sometimes "colorful", but the only thing I put my foot down about was the "anime schoolgirl" look because there is a whole sexual connotation there that is NOT happening when she's 8. Or under my roof. Short plaid skirts and thigh high socks aren't happening here kids. But otherwise, I try to let them fly.
My mother was the strictest parent out there when I was tiny, but as I grew, she TRUSTED me with larger boundaries and choices. She became the least strict parent I know and the most trusting, open one. That trust earned us the amazing relationship we have today. I'm not saying that's the only way to parent, but it worked for us. And I respect her more than anyone and intend on parenting the same way.
You see, by the time other parents were cracking down and freaking out about (now remember this was the 80's, don't laugh)... multiple piercings, spiked purple mohawks, curfews, if there was alcohol at a party, who their kids hung out with, talking about drugs and sex... I was making my own choices. Mom had already been DEAD HONEST with me about the consequences, about what she regretted, about really considering what I was doing... but she let me fly. She did. She made it clear that my fuckups were mine. She WOULD NOT be bailing me out of jail if I drank underage. She WOULD NOT be letting me just cruise along if I decided drugs were for me... my ass would be out of that house. And that trust caused me to REALLY consider my steps. There was alcohol at parties...and I didn't drink it. Didn't drink until I was 21. There were kids skipping school and doing some crazy shit. I would NOT. Because her trust in me meant so much and because disappointing her was bigger to me than being "in trouble". And disappointing her is not in the sense that I didn't make the choice she would have or that she secretly wished I would make... I mean disappointing her because I didn't make my choices with careful consideration. Mom was fine with me messing up, making my own regrets, bruising my own knees. What she WASN'T okay with was us making a choice without thinking or taking responsibility for the consequences. She was most decidedly NOT into what the others think of us, what's "normal" or trendy... she was trying to teach us to THINK FOR OURSELVES.
So William's apology made me wonder... am I pushing him? Yes, I was there when toddler climbed to the top of a hill, watched baseball, went to the stadium with me and watched HOURS of baseball saying "I'm going to play there one day mom.". Yes, I've been there through T-ball and extra classes. Through Rookie Minor and Major and his climbing his way up to 5th in the batting order on the championship AA team. Yes, I watched him switch leagues last year and play for a coach he wishes he could play for for the rest of his life and with boys he wishes he could always play with. And yes I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE baseball. And I love watching HIM play baseball. So was I pushing him when I said, "well... sleep on the decision. maybe try out for both leagues and see what happens. do you not LOVE baseball like you've said" because the idea of no longer watching him and writing to my family about his big hits or amazing catches was not about him but ME? Was I trying to sway him?
Yes, I am worried he'll regret giving it up and get to high school and still want to play. Yes, I'm strangely crushed by the idea of not watching him play at all. But it shouldn't be about me. He's in middle school. The time when my mom's trust really began to open up. So here I am riding this fine line between making sure that whatever choice he makes, he just does it with THOUGHT and not because I'm guilting him into something. Which I don't believe in. At all. I had my chances, this is his life to live. So I'm just trying to ride that line and let him make his choice without his having to consider what I want. Because it's not about me.
And then Lizzy, when I asked about swim said, "I don't think so mom". And I was again crushed. She has struggled so much since she was tiny. Physically she is behind her peers due to her Sensory Processing disorder. The pool was the one place she excelled and relaxed. That girl can swim for HOURS. She's fearless. And to watch her conquer something, when everything else has been so hard, was monumental. And so I said, "are you sure? shall I just sign us up for a membership so we can swim together for fun? you sure you don't want to try the pre-competitive class just to see if you'd like learning starts and turns and strokes". And then I wondered if I was truly letting her choose again. Or was I pushing because as a mom who watched the fits in gymnastics and the freak outs in soccer and the struggles in occupational therapy, I love being the mom watching her glide in a pool. So I ride the line between laying out options and pushing. But if I force it, she'll hate it anyway. So I don't want to force or guilt her into what I want.
I similarly had to back off at school about maybe approaching a certain girl at lunch or inviting particular girls over when she said to me "I'm usually alone". I have to remember Lizzy is NOT me. I can't choose her path and I can't MAKE her be social. And I certainly shouldn't choose her friends. Like Jason said, "friendship, like a marriage, has to be organic". You can't make kids be friends anymore than you can make two people who don't fit have a good marriage. Heck I mostly ate alone at 8 years old. I didn't belong to any organized team or activity. Why am I so worried about Lizzy? It makes me crazy watching her in her own bubble because kids DO approach her and talk to her... she just doesn't hear and doesn't respond. And sometimes she doesn't care. But sometimes she does. And I learned LATER in life that that bubble was what made people think I was unfriendly or snobby or bitchy or stuck up... when I truly was just shy, not socially adept and not overly concerned about being like everyone else. But how do I share that with her without making her think she HAS to be more open. How do I help her learn that if she wants friends that bubble has to pop from time to time, but that I'm not FORCING her to want more friends? That's the line I'm riding.
The other stuff, making sure when I help William with a project or the kids with homework without doing it for them and letting them learn... that is a bit easier. A bit. And as most people know, I can give a rip about their music or clothes or hair. As long as they are kind, thoughtful, mannered kids who give school and life their all, they can do it in an ugly Christmas sweater and plaid pants with mismatched socks and a green mohawk. William can paint his nails and if Lizzy ever wanted to double pierce her ears, I'd be holding her hands. That shit for me is easy.
It's watching them grow old enough to weigh issues like giving up something they've pursued since they were tiny, or giving up something they have natural talent in. It's watching them grow old enough to see that friendships change and sometimes you have to choose to walk away from people. It's watching them learn that I may not care about their appearance, and THEY may not care what is trendy or normal.. BUT they will have to put up with commentary from others if their look doesn't "fit in". It's watching them learn that no matter how badly they want something, they may not be able to achieve it... because while someone is always worse, someone is also always BETTER.
That's when I find myself struggling to really let them be themselves, really spread their own wings, really fall ALL ON THEIR OWN and clean up their own messes and wipe up their own scrapes.
I guess I'm still learning to fly too. Still learning to tune out the voices of others and opinions of others.
We can spread our wings together... I just can't fly for them.
The past few days have had me struggling as a parent with what it means to "let my kids be themselves". People who see my posts may think it's a slam on those parents who tsk tsk'd Lizzy's "unicorn hair" again, or an indirect slap at maybe something Mike and I disagreed on (nope), or an indirect shot at parenting choices that differ from my own. Or they think it's something huge and monumental and it's not... so why have I been up since 4:58? The past few days don't contain anything monumental, yet here I am not sleeping.
You see the past few days have seen William struggle with a genius project he had to turn in, observing Lizzy and the "bubble" she walks in at school and then the two things that hit me the hardest... William saying he thinks he's going to give up baseball and Lizzy saying she doesn't want to do swim class.
Gasp!! Oh no! I know, I know, it seems small... so why has it hit me so hard? Why have the past few days combined with those damn FB memories (apparently 3 and 4 years ago I posted a lot about learning to be me and letting my kids be who they are and letting my kids be KIDS, not little adults) hit me like a ton of bricks?
I'll admit the baseball thing hit me hardest. When he said it, I talked to him about why. About if he really LOVES baseball, is he letting the political bullshit that knocked him down last year and now the changes in his new league talk him out of what he loves? I asked him if he had intended on playing at least through high school. His reply of "I really don't know" started with the words "I'm sorry mom..." and maybe that's when my struggle began. Why is he APOLOGIZING to me? When I thought I was just going over the various angles and choices and doubts and reasons with him, was I actually trying to TALK him into staying? Did he think I was disappointed in him? I'm not, I just don't want him to walk away from something he has loved and pursued since he was TWO YEARS OLD, because of some crap that doesn't belong in kids sports, but is there anyway. I don't want him walking away from something he is actually rather skilled at and has potential to grow in because of one disappointing occurrence. But I don't want him playing FOR ME. That's not okay.
So, his apology made me stop. I don't believe in choosing my kids path for them. I'm not that parent who will decide that my child WILL play a particular sport or do a particular activity or join a particular organization. That's just not me. I believe (and you may disagree) that it teaches kids not to trust their own judgement. That their likes and opinions don't matter. I will choose whether or not they can say, hang glide, or what time they go to bed or what chores they share in... I will not choose their path. I will not do their homework for them or tell them how their art should look. I (begrudgingly) will not decide their hairstyles or fashion (besides, isn't it a right of passage to hate your kids hair and clothes? my mother told me I looked like I was always headed for a funeral, but still let me choose it). Yes, I secretly bemoaned the end of William's mohawk while celebrating the fact that at least now when he decides to not do his hair, it doesn't look like a dead squirrel landed there. Yes, Lizzy's fashion choices are sometimes "colorful", but the only thing I put my foot down about was the "anime schoolgirl" look because there is a whole sexual connotation there that is NOT happening when she's 8. Or under my roof. Short plaid skirts and thigh high socks aren't happening here kids. But otherwise, I try to let them fly.
My mother was the strictest parent out there when I was tiny, but as I grew, she TRUSTED me with larger boundaries and choices. She became the least strict parent I know and the most trusting, open one. That trust earned us the amazing relationship we have today. I'm not saying that's the only way to parent, but it worked for us. And I respect her more than anyone and intend on parenting the same way.
You see, by the time other parents were cracking down and freaking out about (now remember this was the 80's, don't laugh)... multiple piercings, spiked purple mohawks, curfews, if there was alcohol at a party, who their kids hung out with, talking about drugs and sex... I was making my own choices. Mom had already been DEAD HONEST with me about the consequences, about what she regretted, about really considering what I was doing... but she let me fly. She did. She made it clear that my fuckups were mine. She WOULD NOT be bailing me out of jail if I drank underage. She WOULD NOT be letting me just cruise along if I decided drugs were for me... my ass would be out of that house. And that trust caused me to REALLY consider my steps. There was alcohol at parties...and I didn't drink it. Didn't drink until I was 21. There were kids skipping school and doing some crazy shit. I would NOT. Because her trust in me meant so much and because disappointing her was bigger to me than being "in trouble". And disappointing her is not in the sense that I didn't make the choice she would have or that she secretly wished I would make... I mean disappointing her because I didn't make my choices with careful consideration. Mom was fine with me messing up, making my own regrets, bruising my own knees. What she WASN'T okay with was us making a choice without thinking or taking responsibility for the consequences. She was most decidedly NOT into what the others think of us, what's "normal" or trendy... she was trying to teach us to THINK FOR OURSELVES.
So William's apology made me wonder... am I pushing him? Yes, I was there when toddler climbed to the top of a hill, watched baseball, went to the stadium with me and watched HOURS of baseball saying "I'm going to play there one day mom.". Yes, I've been there through T-ball and extra classes. Through Rookie Minor and Major and his climbing his way up to 5th in the batting order on the championship AA team. Yes, I watched him switch leagues last year and play for a coach he wishes he could play for for the rest of his life and with boys he wishes he could always play with. And yes I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE baseball. And I love watching HIM play baseball. So was I pushing him when I said, "well... sleep on the decision. maybe try out for both leagues and see what happens. do you not LOVE baseball like you've said" because the idea of no longer watching him and writing to my family about his big hits or amazing catches was not about him but ME? Was I trying to sway him?
Yes, I am worried he'll regret giving it up and get to high school and still want to play. Yes, I'm strangely crushed by the idea of not watching him play at all. But it shouldn't be about me. He's in middle school. The time when my mom's trust really began to open up. So here I am riding this fine line between making sure that whatever choice he makes, he just does it with THOUGHT and not because I'm guilting him into something. Which I don't believe in. At all. I had my chances, this is his life to live. So I'm just trying to ride that line and let him make his choice without his having to consider what I want. Because it's not about me.
And then Lizzy, when I asked about swim said, "I don't think so mom". And I was again crushed. She has struggled so much since she was tiny. Physically she is behind her peers due to her Sensory Processing disorder. The pool was the one place she excelled and relaxed. That girl can swim for HOURS. She's fearless. And to watch her conquer something, when everything else has been so hard, was monumental. And so I said, "are you sure? shall I just sign us up for a membership so we can swim together for fun? you sure you don't want to try the pre-competitive class just to see if you'd like learning starts and turns and strokes". And then I wondered if I was truly letting her choose again. Or was I pushing because as a mom who watched the fits in gymnastics and the freak outs in soccer and the struggles in occupational therapy, I love being the mom watching her glide in a pool. So I ride the line between laying out options and pushing. But if I force it, she'll hate it anyway. So I don't want to force or guilt her into what I want.
I similarly had to back off at school about maybe approaching a certain girl at lunch or inviting particular girls over when she said to me "I'm usually alone". I have to remember Lizzy is NOT me. I can't choose her path and I can't MAKE her be social. And I certainly shouldn't choose her friends. Like Jason said, "friendship, like a marriage, has to be organic". You can't make kids be friends anymore than you can make two people who don't fit have a good marriage. Heck I mostly ate alone at 8 years old. I didn't belong to any organized team or activity. Why am I so worried about Lizzy? It makes me crazy watching her in her own bubble because kids DO approach her and talk to her... she just doesn't hear and doesn't respond. And sometimes she doesn't care. But sometimes she does. And I learned LATER in life that that bubble was what made people think I was unfriendly or snobby or bitchy or stuck up... when I truly was just shy, not socially adept and not overly concerned about being like everyone else. But how do I share that with her without making her think she HAS to be more open. How do I help her learn that if she wants friends that bubble has to pop from time to time, but that I'm not FORCING her to want more friends? That's the line I'm riding.
The other stuff, making sure when I help William with a project or the kids with homework without doing it for them and letting them learn... that is a bit easier. A bit. And as most people know, I can give a rip about their music or clothes or hair. As long as they are kind, thoughtful, mannered kids who give school and life their all, they can do it in an ugly Christmas sweater and plaid pants with mismatched socks and a green mohawk. William can paint his nails and if Lizzy ever wanted to double pierce her ears, I'd be holding her hands. That shit for me is easy.
It's watching them grow old enough to weigh issues like giving up something they've pursued since they were tiny, or giving up something they have natural talent in. It's watching them grow old enough to see that friendships change and sometimes you have to choose to walk away from people. It's watching them learn that I may not care about their appearance, and THEY may not care what is trendy or normal.. BUT they will have to put up with commentary from others if their look doesn't "fit in". It's watching them learn that no matter how badly they want something, they may not be able to achieve it... because while someone is always worse, someone is also always BETTER.
That's when I find myself struggling to really let them be themselves, really spread their own wings, really fall ALL ON THEIR OWN and clean up their own messes and wipe up their own scrapes.
I guess I'm still learning to fly too. Still learning to tune out the voices of others and opinions of others.
We can spread our wings together... I just can't fly for them.
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