Pink Bunnies

Things change awfully quickly these days, and time flies by. Day after tomorrow, I will officially have a teenager. The tides have turned, and the majority of my daughter's time is spent in her room with her guitar and her books. Things could certainly be worse. But as she grows older, as we all do, it scares me. Soon she'll be out doing things and I won't necessarily know what those things are. She will get into cars. Then she will DRIVE a car. Then she'll graduate, and then she'll leave. It's all too fast for me and I'm at the mercy of time. My best friend and I were reminding each other of all our capers today, and it made my blood run cold. We met in 7th grade, which my kid is in now. What does the future hold for her? Hopefully not, by the grace of God, the same adventures that her mom and her Auntie Renee experienced. Perhaps He will be kind, or what goes around comes around, in which case I am in major trouble.

This may be the last Christmas our son believes in Santa. Does he still? I'm not even 100% sure he still does, but I notice his excitement when he changes the advent calendar, and love how excited he is for Christmas. This too, is finite. I remember when my babies were little, praying for a decent night's sleep, looking forward to them being out of diapers and able to feed themselves. Now I want to slow it down and I can't.

So I think about the Pink Bunnies.

When Madeline was very young, she had a lot of bad dreams. She even had a few night terrors, which were awful and scary. When she would awaken from these dreams, calling for me, I would go into her room and pray with her. In fact at the time, our nightly prayer included a ferocious, "and tell those monsters to STAY OUT OF MY ROOM!" One night, she was about three years old, she'd had a particularly bad dream and was crying. We'd prayed and cuddled, but she was still upset. She had collected quite the menagerie of stuffed animals by then, including a number of pink bunnies, both from her baby days and every single Easter. Being a mother, if nothing else, teaches you how to think on your feet. 

(A splendid example of thinking on one's feet came one night the tooth fairy didn't arrive, and we were awakened by a teary child holding a bag with a tooth still in it. I quickly explained from bed that the tooth fairy had probably been frightened away by the cats, as they like to chase flying things. Sure enough, the tooth fairy did arrive the following night, along with a note of apology, explaining that the cats thought she was a butterfly and they'd frightened her away. However, upon her return, she explained who she was to the cats and they allowed her to go about her business. PHEW!!!  She bought it...and her mother escaped fairly unscathed, save for that sinking feeling of FAILURE.) 

Back to the bunnies. While trying to comfort Maddie after her bad dream that night, I said to her, "Did you know that monsters are afraid of pink bunnies?" She looked at my skeptically, as she does, but I persisted. "They are absolutely TERRIFIED of them. No one really knows why, but it's a known fact. Monsters are very, very scared of pink bunnies. So let's pile them all up around you, and I'll bet they stay away!" 

It WORKED! I'm of course, not sure if this is a picture of that very night, it's probably not. But the idea stuck, and that's what's important.  Since that time, it's just something that is KNOWN in our home. If you're scared when you go to bed, bring a pink bunny. If you wake up after a bad dream, get your pink bunny. Lucky for us, we have many, many, many bunnies that fit the bill. And luckier still, the Power of the Bunny translated easily to our second child, as can be seen here:

To this day, with Maddie mere hours from becoming a teenager and Stephen closing in on 9 years old, they both still do this. They probably don't think I notice it, I know Maddie doesn't. But when we check on them before we go to bed, I notice the army of bunnies. Stephen is still pretty forthright about it, and when he has nightmares, I'll sometimes lie down with him for a bit. The last time I did this, probably a couple of months ago, he had an absolute death grip...mom got the right arm, Pink Bunny got the left.

Maddie also still sleeps with the blanket I made for her when she was 9 months old. I am not a crafty person, or anywhere near an adept seamstress, but I was determined to make my child a blanket, so I did! It was flannel on one side, teddy bears of various colors with bows on their necks. The other side was lavender satin. The flannel is all but gone now, and the lavender was replaced with pink, and now cream satin on the other side. It's a tad worse for wear, but I keep trying to revive it. I'm hoping she will take it to college, even if it's in scraps. I hope that it will always comfort her, through bad days, bad dreams, bad breakups and bad grades.

We all need things like this to cling to, whether physically or mentally. It's the constant, the unshakable, the continual presence.  It doesn't even matter if you still have the item, the memory of it will be precious and nothing can replace them. 

The holidays can be an emotional time for a lot of folks, myself included. It's the time one thinks about the people who have moved on, and their absence becomes so PRESENT that sometimes it can be hard to shake off. Or should we shake it off?? In any case, the memories, the attachments, and the safety of childhood, if we were lucky enough to feel safe as children, are all golden. I will always remember Christmas Eve with my father and how relaxed and warm it felt. He always welcomed my friends, who would often stop by. I remember the year we attempted to make Cornish Game Hens, but the power went out and we attempted to finish them in a Dutch oven on the stove. It didn't work. I will always remember Christmas evening at my grandparents home, with the uncomfortable clothes and kid's tables and everyone having to "oooh" and "aahhh" at everyone's gifts. I remember my spunky, crabby great-grandmother sitting in her chair and watching everything unfold. I remember holidays at my friend's homes, who have lost parents of their own. It's all good, folks. 

Put up your pictures, bring out your grandmother's things, hug your babies, create traditions, and don't forget to rely on The Bunnies. They're always there.

Thoughts and stuff

My education and background require me to have complete and cohesive thoughts together before I write anything. Not in reality, but I feel like I have to. The lack of time to do this has resulted in me not writing anything for months, which is not good for ME. So today shall be stream of consciousness, filled with bizarre thoughts that have been nagging at me this week. 

The “Givers”  Ppppffffttt! 

I am weary of people basking in their own virtues. Kindness, mercy, and love are obviously very, very important things and I am lucky to be surrounded by people who practice them on a regular basis. However….do any of you know people who do nothing but talk about their struggles and overcoming their struggles and dedicating themselves to other people and becoming champions for children and people in need and seem to have an incredible need for everyone to know how fabulous and selfless they are? I do, and I have thoughts on this. If you have to go out on your front porch or to the parking lot or into the staff lounge and blow your big loud trumpet about how dedicated you are…you may not be. Isn’t proclaiming your selflessness a bit of an oxymoron? If you want credit and accolades about being selfless, are you? Really? Here’s what I know for sure at 43 ½.  Everyone has been through difficult things in their lives and everyone has a struggle that they have either overcome or are battling out in the present. I hear people put their struggles on display like badges of honor all the time. They grew up in crazy, dysfunctional homes with addicted parents and were children of divorce. They have struggled with addiction themselves. They have struggled with depression. They have issues surrounding trusting others. They have significant mental health history in their families. They have lost loved ones to illness and tragedy. And in every setting, in every context, these folks have to roll all that out before they make their point. This is all kinds of tiresome to me. I actually fit every single one of those scenarios I have mentioned above, and yet I don’t want anyone to make me a t-shirt listing all of them so that people can see them and "feel for me" and form an opinion of me before I open my mouth. Then there  is the truly bizarre phenomenon of people trying to out-struggle one another. "Yeah, that's terrible, but listen to this! You think that's bad??" That experience is particularly putrid and wrong, and I usually take my leave at this point if it's possible for me to do so.Tough things in the past don’t make you relevant, folks. It’s what you do now that does, and if you have to preface everything with your past struggles, I think it makes you look insecure, not strong. There. Yes, I said that. 

This tendency to spew one’s own virtues certainly applies to faith as well. This applies to any faith, but since MY faith is Christian, I will refer to that. I am not putting this faith above others, or saying it’s better than anyone else’s, so let’s get that out of the way now. That argument is both tired and unnecessary, and I'm just speaking from my specific perspective. I know a lot of amazing people that do incredible things in the name of faith, and they do it quietly. People like this have my absolute respect, and I believe that this type of love in action is what Jesus intended. Then there are the loud, showy Christians, and they make me tired. They may be doing amazing things as well, or they may be misguided in their direction, but the one thing they all do is to make sure everyone knows they’re doing it. This begs the question…are you truly doing it for its own sake, as we are called to do? Or are you doing it so you’ll feel good and everyone will think you’re wonderful? If it’s the latter, you may want to check yourself. 

If you feel a call or a tug to do good and make a difference, that’s wonderful. Do it. Then shut up about it. If you receive unsolicited praise, accept and enjoy it.

I am being very judgmental and I am keenly aware of it. That's not good, I'm not supposed to do that. Oh well, I never claimed to be perfect. Honest? Always.

I’m so happy for you! Really. No, I am!

I think I’m pretty good at owning the fact that I’m selfish. When lovely things befall people I love and respect, I am happy for them. I’m also sad and sullen over the fact that the lovely things may result in the people going away from me. I get very comfortable in the company of amazing people and I like things to stay as they are, I’ve never been that great at change. 

One of my dearest, most important friends just landed an acting role in a series (yay!!) that will require him to move from LA to New York for 6 months (boo!). Acting is his passion, and I’m very proud and happy for him. I actually only get to see him once or twice a year anyhow, but somehow knowing the option to see him will be lot harder and more expensive makes me sad. There aren’t a ton of people in my really close circle, ones who I trust to the moon and back, but he’s one. He has to go for it and do what’s best for him but he’ll be in another time zone now! Waaaaaahhhhh! (But I am thrilled for him...and I love him to pieces!)

My best friend on earth has been living in Newfoundland with her fiancé for about a year now. Prior to that, she lived in NYC for 8 years, and for reasons that baffle me now, I never got out there to see her. We are in daily contact, but we rarely get to see each other. The last two times we've seen each other have been at funerals, and that clearly needs to stop. She’s my touchstone and she knows me better than just about anyone. But Newfoundland is so farrrrrrrr! It looks insanely beautiful, I know I would love a visit there (probably in spring, I’m not crazy), but it’s not that easy to get to and it’s pricey. They’re hoping to migrate to the west coast sooner or later, but I am selfish and want to see them NOW. Now now now.

One of the most skilled people I have ever had the pleasure of working with is leaving the district and moving on to bigger and better things. He is a brilliant, effective, fabulous leader. He is an altogether lovely human being and universally loved. If it were as simple as him just moving on, I think I honestly could just be happy, but due to politics and other crap, I’m mostly mad. I'm one of probably a couple hundred people who are upset over this. If people were ultimately treated well and decisions were made based on merit and not all this other garbage, we would still have a load of good people working for us. I often envy those who are blissfully unaware of what's really going on. He is a GEM and will be sorely missed. I actually feel badly for the person they find to replace him, because no. Not so sure those shoes can be adequately filled.

Finally, my dad. The last 4 years of his life were hell and he’s almost been gone 4 years now. I know for sure that he is much happier where he is now, but there are days it still doesn’t make any sense to me. I don’t actually pick up the phone to call him, I’m past that stage. However, I still find myself wanting to just talk to him and fill him in on everything that is going on. I want him to see and know my children well, since they have almost no memory of him before he was seriously sick and bedridden. I want advice. I want to laugh with him and yell with him and watch musicals with him and I want to be able to go back and spend more time with him than I did. I guess that’s the wish of anyone who has lost someone. So would I actually want him to still be here, as sick as he was? Of course not. I just wish there were a few little allowances to make contact after the fact. Like allotted minutes on a cell phone plan. He does drop by in dreams occasionally, but he rarely does when I want him too. His social life has got to be off the charts with all his brothers with him now. I miss him. 

And so it goes...sigh.

The Unwitting Addict

I hesitate to write this post. Pride, fear, and the desire to NOT look like a big stupid whiner is getting in my way. However, the purpose of this post isn't to have folks listen to me lament. I don't need or want sympathy. The purpose, truly, is for people to read this and never take this medication if they can help it. Xanax is the devil. And I have been taking it for about three years.

I found this today, from a reputable site. "Alprazolam (Xanax) has become one of the most prescribed drugs in the United States. The Centers for Disease Control reported that emergency room visits for problems caused by alprazolam and related drugs in the benzodiapezine family almost doubled between 2004 and 2008."  I also read today that withdrawing from this medication is similar to coming off of heroin.  Awesome.  Has all of this made me feel like a big junkie loser? Yep.

I was prescribed Xanax when my father died. The weeks after he passed leading up to his memorial were incredibly stressful and the Xanax did really help me get through it, but then I should have stopped.  In retrospect, a medication that is for anxiety disorders and panic attacks should have never been prescribed to me in my opinion. Anxiety isn't the same as stress, or more importantly, grief, which our culture largely ignores. I have never had a panic attack in my life. Anxiety Disorder and/or Panic Disorder is what this drug is supposed to be for, and I have neither of those. I was sad and stressed out, and my doctor doled it out like it was candy.  I kept taking it and she kept giving me more. I got to the point where I was taking 6 mg a day!  That's insane, and my doctor never ever mentioned to me that it was a lot to take, or the dangers of mixing it with alcohol, or the dangers of trying to stop taking it cold turkey. When my insurance changed, my new doctor was bewildered and somewhat mortified at the amount I had been taking and I switched to a time release version of 1mg twice a day. I've been taking that since, mostly to just not have to go through withdrawal.

By the time I started taking the time release version of the medication, my body was already physically dependent on it. I never used it recreationally, I was using it how it was prescribed. However, the definition of "addict" is as follows: to become physiologically or psychologically dependent on a habit-forming substance. Despite the fact that it was unintentional, yes, I am addicted to this crap. I meet the criteria, although hopefully I won't anymore in a couple of weeks.

With the time release version, I felt nothing. I didn't feel calmer. I was mostly taking it so I didn't have to go through the weaning process because I knew how hard it would be. So...a controlled substance has been in my body every single day because I didn't want to experience the withdrawal symptoms. When is a good time to schedule weeks of hell??  Then our insurance switched again, and Kaiser doesn't cover the time release version. It would be $80 a month and that ain't happening.  And so the weaning has begun. I really like my new doctor, and she's been very helpful. The thing is I can't wean on the time release, it's too hard. So I have to do this with the regular Xanax, which makes me feel cloudy, dull, headachey, and sleepy.

I'm glad it's not covered anymore, I believe it to be a blessing.  I may have kept taking it forever. Sometimes God has to work pretty hard to get my attention, but I got it.

I am tapering off slowly, as I now know how dangerous it is to do it quickly. How's it going? IT SUCKS.  When it's not in my system, I kind of feel like I'm getting the flu all day long. Headache, dizzy, blurred vision, edgy, and stomachaches. When it is in my system, I feel forgetful, dim-witted, and tired.  One side effect that I feel all the time is some breathlessness. I always feel like I need to yawn, if that makes sense. This is so fun! And I'm having a hard time sleeping. My doctor suggested another medication to help me sleep and I tried it on Thursday night. OH. MY. GOD.  I thought I was going to die. The room spun, I was dizzy, I couldn't turn off my brain, I wanted to throw up, I felt like I was going insane. Those lovely side effects lasted throughout the entire next day.  The weirdest side effect of THAT med was the fact that it made my limbs feel like they were burning. My forearms felt like they were horrifically sunburned for over 24 hours, it was nuts. When I did hobble to the bathroom in the morning, tripping over things because my equilibrium was totally compromised, the first thing I did was flush the rest down the toilet. Aaaaaaccckkkkk!!!  I'd rather be sleepless. 

I think that this class of medication has it's place, for temporary use. I wish to God my doctor had taken the time to explain all of the downfalls to me, but she didn't. Is the responsibility ultimately mine? Of course it is. But I'm here to tell you, this crap is so easy to get used to, and then you need it. Needing it is just plain scary. I could write a long diatribe about how I feel that the drug companies are ruling this country, and knowingly and intentionally creating addicts every day. It would be too long, but I absolutely believe this to be true. The drug companies do NOT care about the well being of human beings, they care about money. If they gave a rat's ass about people and what was best for them, the death stats from benzos and pain killer addicts wouldn't be above those of addicts of illicit illegal drugs now. Okay, I'm done. (Drug companies are evil)

I'm in my last week of vacation. I'm trying to drink water like a madwoman and eat well. I'm trying hard to control my edginess and not take it out on my family. Praying helps, talking to my dad (in heaven) helps, and music helps. Sleep would probably be awesome, but it's been hit and miss. According to the schedule I'm following, I should be done and somewhat human again a week from this coming Sunday. I wonder what crystal clear, alert Jane will be like. I haven't seen her in years, I'm looking forward to the reunion.

Just don't do it.

Empathy...OW.

Merriam-Webster defines Empathy as:  the action of understanding, being aware of, being sensitive to, and vicariously experiencing the feelings, thoughts, and experience of another of either the past or present without having the feelings, thoughts, and experience fully communicated in an objectively explicit manner.

In simpler terms, it's the ability to imagine what someone else is feeling and at least attempt to put oneself in someone else's shoes.  As a personality trait, it's always been an interesting topic to me. It's probably why I love learning about sociopaths so much, other than the fact that I'm a bit of a freak. One of the main traits of the sociopath is a complete lack of empathy, and that just fascinates me. Most of the time people focus on the victims of sociopaths, but I want to know what it's like to be a sociopath. What is it like to just not care at all? To have no feeling towards our fellow human beings?  It's just so foreign.

Of course the level of empathy that exists amongst individuals varies quite a bit, I do believe that we all have a built in defense mechanism that keeps a lot of us from ever really going there. That's not always a bad thing, it depends on the time and place. If I let myself feel constant empathy for every single family that I work with, all of the time, I couldn't function. I feel it in the moment with the parents, I feel it when working with the child, and I take it home sometimes. However, I have to have those boundaries up, and I have to leave it there. But that's work, and personal stuff is way different.

As I get older, more and more awful stuff is happening to people I care deeply about. I think a common response to receiving bad news is "Oh my God, I just can't imagine..."  I pray, quite a bit these days. Here's the thing though...sometimes I think it's important to truly MAKE myself imagine and not to just use my big mental leaf blower to get it all away from me.  Now, there's a difference between letting myself really feel it and really imagine what folks are going through and dwelling and soaking in it to the point where it's no longer healthy and I can't sleep. That falls into the category of obsessing and worrying and that doesn't help anyone. There has to be a balance, where is it? I'm still trying to figure that out.

I've experienced sad, difficult things, and loss. I have not, however, really dealt with anything truly tragic in my own family.  Losing my dad was hard. I miss him all the time, but he was sick, suffering, and 80 years old.  His death was expected. The unexpected is what knocks me to the ground, as I think it does to everyone.  Two years ago, my closest and oldest friend lost someone very close to her to a horribly tragic event. It's brought us closer, even though she lives far away. One time she said (texted actually, we text every day), "Imagine if you got a phone call that this happened to me!"  My reaction to that was visceral. NO! I never, ever want to imagine that. I remember feeling really jarred by that request, and I responded, "I can't!" Her response was, "Well, try."  And so I have tried. What I have been able to discern, if I were ever to receive news that something similar happened to her, is that I would DIE. My brain would cease up. My stomach would implode. I have no idea how I would live another day in my life without someone who has been in it for 30 years.  However, in dealing with the loss of her friend, she didn't die. It's awful, it hurts, and it's a struggle, no doubt. But people can go forward. I know her very, very well. It continues to be horribly difficult even after these two years, but what I do know is that she's a lot stronger than she may think she is. It sucked, truly trying to put myself in her position, but ultimately I'm glad I did. I try not to revisit the thought too often, though.

Another very close friend of mine has a mother who is very ill. It's been ongoing, as cancer tends to be. Chemo, remission! Oh, nope, things are recurring, more chemo that was much worse on her this time, and it didn't work. I've known this mom myself for 23 years, and she's one of the sweetest, most loving people I know. My friend is incredibly close to her, mom is the glue in their family, and seeing her ill is ripping my friend to shreds. I really don't want to see my friend go through this, I don't want to see her in so much pain. I don't want her mom to die! And with this particular situation, it isn't as hard to imagine. My dad didn't have cancer, but he was sick for a very long time and was in and out of hospitals, and bed-ridden for four years. It was awful. When she asked how I responded to this time, it was hard to answer because it's a blur. What I did tell her was to find tasks to do that will be helpful to her mom and dad. When faced with something unthinkable, wash their dishes. It sounds kind of stupid, but I think it helps the person who is upset as much as it helps the ill person. It's something tangible, something that one can control, instead of just standing there and feeling as though someone has chopped your hands off and you can do nothing.  You can do something, even if it's not curing them.

I have another dear friend who has fought and beat cancer. She's been a wonderful, loyal friend to me since 1988 when we met in college. When she called to tell me she had cancer in 2008, I honestly think I wouldn't allow my head to wrap around it. She lives out of state. She's my age. She's a single mom. It was just really too close to home, I couldn't fathom I could possibly lose her! I couldn't really think about it, I couldn't put myself in her shoes or hear about the awful treatments and surgeries she had to endure. I think I switched off my brain in that case, and I'm ashamed of it now. Last summer, she and her son came to visit and I apologized for not being there for her. I should have been, and I wasn't. I know that if the same thing happened now, my reaction and response would be totally different. I love her, she's amazing, and her day to day life at 43 is way more complicated than mine, just with the things she has to do to take care of her health alone.  Again, Lisa, I am so sorry. You are one of the toughest, strongest people I know, but strong people need support too. I am here for you, girl, always.

A couple we know is going through the unimaginable, as their sweet nearly 3 year daughter is seriously ill. She just had a brain tumor removed two days ago, and we don't know what the future will hold for this sweet one. Her parents are unequivocally lovely human beings, who want nothing more than to have a happy family, which they do have. And then this. WHY??  It's incredibly unfair, and no one but God knows why this is happening. Luckily, they are part of our amazing church family, and I've been blown away to see people just leap into action. Meal train, done! Website posted to keep folks updated, done! Her favorite princess (Jasmine from Aladdin) coming to visit her in the hospital before her surgery, done! Whoever did that last one, you put me over the edge...unbelievable, thoughtful, unselfish, amazing love. Now the empathy comes...being a parent and trying to imagine this is horrific.  My insides will only let me go so far, and then I transition to prayer. I remember taking Maddie to the ER when she was about a year and a half old because she fell at cut her head on the coffee table. They had to staple her scalp shut. The next day she started throwing up and we had to take her back for a CT scan, and she turned out to be totally fine. I remember when Maddie broke her arm in the 1st grade, and watching them hold her down to get her arm in the right position to get an X-ray and having to listen to her scream. Last summer, Stephen got a touch of heatstroke and dehydrated while at the beach at my mom's house. We didn't know what was up, but woke him up from a nap and he was making absolutely no sense. He was answering questions wrong. He didn't even know where he was, and we freaked. Both Mike and I thought he'd had a stroke or a seizure. This feeling, this fear that something was terribly wrong with our baby lasted only 20 minutes and it scared the crap out of me. All parents have these stories, but mine are nothing compared to what this couple is currently going through. "I just can't even imagine", and then I try to and it becomes too horrible, so I pray and pray and pray. I try to find out what's up, I've signed up to take them dinner. What to they need that I can do? I'd do anything, as everyone at our church who knows them would. Even people who don't know them would.

To to have empathy, we have to be willingly to be vulnerable and to hurt a little...or a LOT.  The best character ever, Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird said, "You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view . . . until you climb into his skin and walk around in it."  I actually thought that quote came from the Bible, and maybe it does, somewhere. I know "go the extra mile" is in the Bible, maybe I got them mixed up. People should do that too, just for good measure!  In any case, to be there to support folks, to REALLY be there?  It hurts like hell. It sucks. It makes you cry. It can overwhelm you with sadness and feelings of helplessness. It's also it's true love in action, and it's what God wants from all of us. Be brave and go do it.

Parenting? Hell if I know...

I always find it kind of amusing when people assume, or just tell me, that it must be nice to have my educational and professional background while I'm raising my children. Because I know all the answers and what to do. Baaaaaaahahahahahahaaaaaa!!!  Oh, no. Nonononono. Noooooooo way. That is a myth of Biblical proportions. Are there Biblical proportioned myths?  Well, if there are, this is one.

I have no idea what I'm doing.

I remember when our kids were babies...I had never felt more inept or ill-equipped in any area of my life before. I'd felt more sure of myself moving away from home, starting my career, getting married, and buying a house, all milestones that were incredibly hard. And those things were nothing compared to coming home from the hospital with an infant. I clearly remember bringing Maddie home in her carseat, setting her down on the floor and looking at Mike, saying, "Now what?"  The infant stage was so scary...I didn't end up nursing my babies, an issue that people are still SO critical of. Every decision felt so monumental. Were were bathing her right? Feeding her right? Was she sleeping according to the best possible schedule?  I remember it taking awhile for Mike and me to realize and understand that babies cry when they're tired. I'd worked babies and small kids my entire life!  But with your own, it's a different ballgame. I remember talking to my sister one night, whose daughter is a year and a half older than Maddie. I told her I felt awful that I wasn't stimulating the baby enough, like I should be showing her more things, reading to her, playing her music.  She was around 6 weeks old at the time, and my sister said to me, "Don't worry about that, there will be plenty of time for that a little later. Basically right now, all you have to do is keep her alive."  My sister was (and is) a hardcore mother, so this was a tremendous relief. I thought once the teeny baby stage was over, with both kids, that it would be smooth sailing from there.  I was wrong.

Stephen was not totally potty trained until he was 4, and I was sincerely ready to throw him out a WINDOW, I was so frustrated.  Then one morning he woke up and decided he was done with pull-ups and that was that. He never even needed them at night.  This child is like this, with everything.  He is as stubborn as the day is long, and when he's ready to do something, he will. Until then, good luck! It's absolutely maddening, because when he decides and wants to try something new, he picks it up incredibly fast. He learned to ride a bike a little on the late side, maybe about a year ago. I didn't think it was going to take, he gives up quickly. He fell once and I thought that was going to be it. Since I can't ride a bike (yes, this is true), Mike had to teach both of the kids. One day it clicked with Stephen, and he was off like a rocket.  Phew!

So...we've met these milestones.  They can ride bikes. They can swim. They both do well in school. Check!  So, we're done for awhile, right?  Not a chance.

If I let my brain run away with my thoughts (which happens ALL the time), it is flooded with questions. Are we too strict? Are we not strict enough?  Yes, they have way too much screen time, and we're limiting that, but I still don't know if we're doing it right. Should I let them bicker and work it out themselves, or should I intervene?  With their teachers, I've always communicated with them and it's been positive, but have I overreacted at times? Our children have chores and get an allowance. They're 12 and 8. They know what their chores are, but should I remind them or should they remember on their own?  We are not good with regular meal times, a habit that started back when I was in graduate school and had night classes. As a result, Mike and I eat late and the kids often eat beforehand.  I believe this is the culprit for our children's picky eating habits, although it is getting better. When they're on vacation, we often just let them graze. Is that okay or is that validating bad habits? I know it's important to have kids in outside activities, but I also know that it's easy to overbook so they have no down time, which is a mistake. What's the right amount of activity? Right now they're on vacation, as am I, and I'm wishing they had nearly no down time, as they're driving me nuts.  Aaaaaaaaack!!!

Maddie is in full blown puberty, with all of the delightful mood swings and attitude that come with it. It's normal, I keep having to remind myself. Actually, when I think of myself in 7th grade and how I treated my own mom, she's comparatively kind to me. However, I lose it. I yell. Her current combover-type hairstyle drives me absolutely batty.  I know how she wants it, and I've taken her to have it cut that way. Then she...ug!!!!  It makes me crazy.  That, and the constant ball cap. However, as Mike and I were just saying, we'll probably be wishing for that cap in a couple of years. I also have the lovely job of monitoring her phone and computer use, and half the time she speaks in a language I don't even understand. 

Stephen can be frustrating as well. He plays video games way too much. He's also just oddly sensitive, it's hard to explain. He gets his feathers ruffled about nothing, and then is unable to explain why he's upset. He can get slightly injured, like your standard 8 year old boy scraped knee and he'll act like he'll need an amputation and a wheelchair.  I accept that it's likely he got some of this from my dad, but probably from me as well. I was a dramatic kid. I suppose God is laughing pretty hard about all of this.

There's solid evidence that the human brain is not done developing until the early 20's, so when my children act as if they have brain damage a-la-Cosby, I have to remember this. They aren't done cooking yet. They aren't able to think like adults, although sometimes I think we expect that from them. Why is it so extremely difficult to remember to pick up a towel? Every day? Why does my daughter never ever bring dishes out of her room? And then I remember being that age, head in a cloud, not thinking of anything but my friends and my moods. It's not blatant disrespect, it's brain damage. Bill Cosby is a genius.

I think one of the scariest things about being a parent is when you glimpse parts of you in them, and they may be parts you don't like. That happens frequently to me, and I think to myself, "damn, she's going to be stuck with this gross personality trait of mine!". But she isn't me. She'll have sprinklings of me, of course, but she's also who she is. The other scary thing is when I see glimpses of my own parents in me. There are traits about both I love and aspire to, but of course there are parts I don't want to repeat. I catch myself using phrases they've said and tones they've used. It freaks me out. But just like Maddie isn't going to be me, I am not going to be my parents, exactly. 

I was watching Parenthood yesterday, the movie. It was near the end when Steve Martin is talking to his own dad about his brother with the gambling problem and his dad says, "You know it never ends", referring to worrying about one's children. I know this is true, both of my parents have said as much, and that's really scary. Maybe a lot of my over-thinking comes from my job, because I see firsthand all the things that can go wrong. Some of the things are out of the parent's control, and some of them are within their control and they just make bad choices. Either way, yikes! I see little ones who are fairly cooked on a regular basis, and I just want to go home and do things the right way. There is no exact right way though, I don't know a parent alive who doesn't make mistakes. There are the basics: Be present. Follow through. Make them feel secure. Create and enforce rules. Let them know you love them. Beyond that?  It's every man for themselves, and I pray for strength and patience for every single parent out there, including the two that live in this house. 

I know a lot of friends  may respond to this post with comments about how nice our kids are. They are nice kids. They're kind, intelligent, and interesting. They're respectful to adults and authority, and they follow rules. They're also infuriating, mouthy, disrespectful (to us, at times), and messy.  However, they're supposed to be this way with us. I have said this to parents at work, but it applies to everyone. If kids don't test the waters and do the wrong things occasionally, they won't know the difference between the right and the wrong. It's our job to teach them, and it's friggin exhausting. We're often in uncharted waters, and both Mike and I question ourselves and worry about screwing them up all the time. It's like being in a class that never ends, and for me, a class that I've missed a few times. We're all winging it, and I think most honest parents would agree.

Back to Parenthood, I loved the speech by the sweet old grandma about going on the roller coaster with her husband when she was young. Fun fact about the sweet old grandma, the actress went to our church in Altadena, and I think her name really was Helen. She always wore her hair the same way, exactly as she did in the movie.  She's passed on now, but this is a great quote from the movie:

"I always wanted to go again. You know, it was just so interesting to me that a ride could make me so frightened, so scared, so sick, so excited, and so thrilled all together! Some didn't like it. They went on the merry-go-round. That just goes around. Nothing. I like the roller coaster. You get more out of it."

Amen, Helen. It doesn't look like any of us will be allowed off any time soon, so we may as well try to enjoy the ride.

Embarassing Moments and Facts

We all have these moments that we wish we could erase, but when you really look back on them, they're all pretty funny. I'd imagine that the many wonderful people in my life who I have known FOREVER could add to this list. If they'd like to, I hope they'll be kind and email them to me first. These were just at the top of my list, and the ones that popped up in my ever-diminishing memory.

Mint Green Half-Slip

When I was in junior high, we had someone important come to the school, I have no idea who it was or why they were important. We students were told to dress nicely on this particular day. I wore a skirt, it was 1982 or so.  I borrowed my mom's half-slip, because people used to wear slips back in the olden days. Where have slips gone? Don't get me wrong, I hate them. Slips and pantyhose were highly uncomfortable and the norm for so long! Anyhow...the slip I borrowed from my mom was mint green (why?) and too big.  The elastic was probably wearing out as well. After our assembly with our Very Important Visitor, I was standing in the hall outside the office with my then and now best friend, Renee.  Something that was said made me enthusiastic and I started to jump up and down. As I did, the slip slipped down my legs and pooled around my ankles in a sad little mint green pile. In retrospect, I feel like my reflexes were lightning fast, I remember I grabbed it quick and stuffed it into my backpack.  A lot of people saw though...I don't miss the half slip. Renee will never let me forget the half slip, 30 years later!

Eye of the Tiger

There's a part of me that is twistedly proud of this one. In 7th grade, I was in the marching band as a Tall Flag girl. I remember that our uniforms were atrocious and not just in a "it was 1982" way. We hated them then and begged the powers that were to change them to no avail. The top was white cotton with puffy eyelet sleeves and the skirt was pleated green and white, just above the knee.  We marched down Lake Avenue as part of the Old Fashioned Day Parade in Altadena. I should probably be more embarrassed of this than I am:  Hand me a broomstick and I can still perform my entire routine to "Eye of the Tiger". Back then, Eye of the Tiger was not a cheesy ironic song, it was NEW and POWERFUL. We were cutting edge. What ever happened to Survivor?

Night Train, Cool Ranch Doritos, and a Yugo

I already wrote an entire post about this infamous night, but it deserves at least a mention. 15 years old, club in Hollywood, a bottle of Night Train, a Big Grab of Cool Ranch Doritos, a friend who bolted, and no ride home. All kinds of cringe-worthy and proof that God exists, merely because my sorry ass survived that night unscathed.  Kind of.

Vomit Jeans

This doesn't require a lot of explanation as to why this is horrifying, other than the fact they existed. In college, I had a pair of jeans I wore out partying a LOT.  They were awful by today's standard, very high wasted, light colored denim with a button fly. I'm fairly sure they were tapered as well. The jeans themselves weren't to blame, that was the style in 1989-1990.  The sad fact is that we named them my Vomit Jeans. Why, you ask?  Because nearly every time we went out, I drank to the point of vomiting profusely and I always seemed to be wearing those jeans.  I was such a graceful, classy thing. It became part of our ordinary vernacular, as in, "I don't know what to wear tonight, are you wearing your Vomit Jeans?"  I remember I wore them one night to a bar in Los Angeles near USC.  For those of you who know LA, this is not a safe area. However, we knew the owner of the "502", which is the police code for drunk driving. (Lord, this becomes worse and worse as I remember it.) We referred to it as "The 5-0" because we were cool like that. One night at the 5-0, many, many drinks were handed to me. So I drank them. They were shots of something, I have no idea what it was, other than they were guava flavored. Naturally, due to what we were doing and what I was wearing, I barfed a lot that night, and my jeans were re-christened.  Holy moly.  To this day, I can't stand the smell of guava, a fact that my dear friend Lisa knows well.  A lot of hair products smell like guava. They had fresh guava in Hawaii, people have offered me fresh guava juice. No, no, I'm good. Can't do it. The jeans were finally retired at some point in 1990, due to my many falls which resulted in the jeans (and my legs) being shredded beyond redemption.  Yikes.

The Stripper (gross)

When I was in college in San Francisco, we'd rented a very cool house just a few blocks from school. At one point, a roommate moved out and a putrid one moved in. I continued to live with this putrid roommate in an apartment in Burlingame for a year after graduation. That was 1993-1994, or what I like to call "the worst year of my life".  In any case, this was before that. It was my birthday and we were all at the house hanging out. Then a cop knocked at the door and I opened it. My roommates were colorful, and we all did some ill-advised things back then, underage drinking among them. The cop was super convincing and I actually let him in, to have him tell us he'd have to take us in. Yes, the cop was a stripper, ordered up by my putrid roommate.  I was not amused in the slightest, I was upset! My heart was in my throat, the lease of that house was in my name, I thought that would be the worst birthday in my life (it must have been my 22nd). The stripper was gross, as all male strippers are in my opinion. Sorry, has never done anything for me, I think they're absurd. I tried to be a good sport, but that was an awful experience. There wasn't enough alcohol in the world to make that night funny to me. I curse you, putrid roommate.

How Lights Work

Sadly, cringe-worthy moments weren't just reserved for my youth. This one happened maybe four years ago. I was in my office at one of my schools, and one of the fluorescent bulbs had burnt out in the ceiling.  I had two lights in that office, and now one of them was out and it was way too dim in there.  The head custodian is an awesome guy, very helpful, and has always helped me out when I've needed it.  He happened to be walking by, so I called out to him.  "Hey, sorry to bug you, but when you get a chance, can you replace that bulb? It's a little too dim in here."  He looked at me, then reached over to the wall and flicked on the other switch. The light came on. I groaned, "Ohhhh, my god." and put my head on my desk. He laughed. I confided in him that I'm really not that smart and not to tell people! I've been at the school for 8 years now, and he won't let me live that one down, nor should he! (insert 'how many psychologists does it take to change a lightbulb' joke here)

The "Other" One

I was still new at one of my schools when this one happened and was still trying to get to know the staff. There are a LOT of teachers and para-educators and administrators to get to know, and I'm usually pretty good with names. I knew that one teacher had gone out the prior year to have her first baby, and this was the first day back in the new school year.  We were all lined up, loading up our plates with food the PTO provided for our breakfast. I was next to a teacher who looked familiar and I said, "Oh hey! How is your baby?"  She laughed and said, "It's the other one."  What did she mean?  She meant it was the other black woman teacher who had had the baby and I wanted the floor to swallow me. Nooooooooooo.  I clapped my hand over my mouth and said, "Oh no..." and she just laughed. As I tried to apologize, she assured me that it was totally fine and she wasn't offended at all. I remained mortified for the rest of the day and kept trying to think of ways to redeem myself.  My wise co-workers and friends assured me that I would make it worse if I tried, so I let it go. Goodness...can I please not be the chick who thinks all black people look the same? Cause I don't, and anyone who knows me knows this. 7 years later, this teacher knows who I am and is a lovely person with a wonderful sense of humor, thank GOD.

Whodini Has No Place in an IEP Meeting

Before I had a smart phone, I had a lot of fun choosing different ringtones for my cell phone. Sometimes I would waste time messing with it and forget what I'd chosen.  I'd also often forget to silence my phone while in IEP meetings at work, which tend to be fairly serious affairs most of the time.  So I was in one...and my phone rang: "Now the party's jumpin', the place is packed and when the crowd's like this, I'm ready to rap, but before I could bust a rhyme on the mic, freaks are all over me like white on rice..."   Yep...I was in the midst of explaining the results of a child's psychoeducational evaluation when my purse started to sing "The Freaks Come Out At Night".  I deftly reached into my purse under the table and silenced it, then looked around confused with a "whose phone was that?" look on my face. That will never happen again. 

The Bee

Oh, and today I sat on a bee. And it stung my leg. We were at a birthday party for some of the kid's friends, and I was sitting in a chair eating. Suddenly my leg started to hurt and it puzzled me. What? Wait...did I pull a muscle there yesterday when I was scrubbing my bathroom floor? Man...that really hurts. Weird. I walked inside and went into the bathroom to look in the mirror. Yep, something had definitely happened, as that part of my leg was red and swollen. When I came back outside, I noticed a honey bee flailing about on the ground below my chair. I stomped on him.  What is embarrassing about this, you might ask?  It's that it took me an extremely long time to figure out what had happened. Honestly, I sat there for 5-7 minutes just wondering aloud why I was in pain. 

I scare myself sometimes.

Thicker Than Water?

Growing up sucks. And I’m not just talking about adulthood and all of the trappings and responsibilities and debt that go with it. I’m talking about emotionally growing up, and I’m still in the process. There are some truths, MY truths that I’m grappling with to the point that I’m a little uncomfortable writing about them. The fact that this makes me cringe is probably a fairly strong sign that I should keep going, keep writing, and get all this out of my head.

Blood is thicker than water. Family should come first, and will always be there for you. It’s a requirement to maintain relationships as you get older, and work hard at staying close to your siblings! Right? Well, as I’ve gotten older and my relationships with my remaining family have undergone a lot of changes, I’ve adjusted my beliefs about this. I do believe that it’s important that I maintain my relationships with my siblings, but I no longer believe that these relationships need to be close, as far as my definition of “close” goes.

• Close: A relationship that incorporates total trust. A relationship in which you can share your true feelings, your weaknesses, your fears and pain. Someone who will support you in your bellyaching, but tell you when it’s too much. Someone who will celebrate with you when wonderful things happen. And this relationship is reciprocal, you will listen to the other person and be just as present and supportive as they are to you.

I am really blessed and always have been with the friendships in my life that I have managed to maintain. With two especially, we have gotten even closer over the past few years as we have all dealt with deaths and divorce. These sad things have re-solidified the bond that’s always been there for over 20 years. These two are my go-to people. I have other close friends as well, and consider my husband my best friend.

I think I truly trust maybe 4-5 people. These are the folks I’m “close” with, and none of them are blood related. I’m friendly with a lot of people, partially because of my job. But true openness and candor is reserved for just a few. I’ve spent the last few years feeling guilty about this fact. My truth is that I’ve spent a huge chunk of my life trying to be “close” to my siblings. Now at 43, I think it’s time to accept that it’s not going to happen, at least not in the way I’d always hoped.

I thought that I had a very close relationship with one of my siblings for most of my life. However, when our father died three years ago, a lot changed. I don't particularly trust this person, and I no longer feel that I’m being paranoid, or over-sensitive, or immature about this decision. I think I’m being smart. I love them, and want the best for them. I am trying and will continue to try to maintain a decent, civil relationship, but it will never be close again. That has to be okay and I need to accept it. We exist in different orbits and see the world completely differently. While I try to be supportive and non-judgmental, I’m sure I fall short. And I am most definitely judged, a fact of which I have myriad examples that I won’t go into. I don’t believe I’m respected, or even liked very much, to be honest. I know that I have disappointed this person over and over and over through the years because they have informed me of this. There is a standard I can’t reach. Apparently I’ve never been able to reach it. Realizing this was somewhat freeing, as I no longer think it’s necessary to try to meet these expectations. It’s made me reflect on all the years, decades in fact, during which I have turned and twisted myself into knots trying to stuff myself into some magically shaped box in order to please them. That’s clearly been a failed endeavor. So, here we are today. I care about these people, of course I do. But will I ever really expose my feelings and open up completely to them again? It doesn’t look promising.

My relationship with my other sibling has improved a lot over the past few years, as we didn’t grow up being close. The lines of communication have gotten better, and we’ve both been able to share more. However, I never really know what I’m going to get from this individual. I’ll be feeling secure and happy with things, and share a little too much (in retrospect). Then I’ll get walloped. It’s happened numerous times over the years, and I’m not going to pretend that I haven’t fought back. There have been times when our disagreements have gotten truly ugly, with endless bickering emails and letters. I will say that now, I try very hard to remain neutral and deal with things calmly, even when upset. It seems to work most of the time.

One of the reasons for this necessary distance was born out of the fact that I am the youngest of three by quite a margin, 5 ½ years for one and 8 ½ years for the other. The three of us didn’t grow up together, or even with the same parents. I have no recollection of my parents ever being together, while one of my siblings lived within an “intact” family for 12 years. My parents divorced and my other sibling moved out of my mother’s home at 14 to go live with our father. Of course I spent a lot of time at my dad’s house, and got to see my sibling on a regular basis, but my mother had primary custody of me. From the age of 10 until I moved away to college, I lived with my mom and boarders that rented the extra rooms in our house. My upbringing was weird, and unconventional. My mom and I have discussed this and I’ve made peace with it. On the brighter side, my humor and sarcasm are direct results of my childhood, and those traits have kept me afloat forever. One of my siblings has said that I’ve never “left” mom’s house and “whatever happened to you there”. I was also encouraged to “fix whatever it is in you that’s broken.” Wow. Well, you know, it’s not a choice I would have made as a parent, to have my daughter alone with strangers for 8 years, but nothing happened to me. As someone who has been in counseling at least a dozen times, and over-thinks everything, and chose to become a psychologist, I can say with 100% certainty that I came out of that living situation un-abused. It’s been a well covered subject.

I’m on great terms with my mother, and that hasn’t always been the case. We’ve had our own jungles to navigate through, and I think we’ve come out on the other side. I truly enjoy her company and am grateful for the relationship we have now. But I wasn’t “close” to my mom growing up, so it’s still different. We had amazing moments and trips that I cherish, and I’m thankful for many, many things that she’s taught me. There wasn’t that close bond when I was younger though, and I think she’d agree with that. I don’t distrust my mom by any means, but she’s not particularly interested in hearing my woes. It’s just not her bag, and I get it. I absolutely love and respect my mother.

I’m also acutely aware that a lot of the changes and realizations coincided with my father’s death. It’s been three years now, and I was exceptionally close to him. In a lot of ways, we may have been too close. He confided a lot in me, too much probably. Ours was a complicated relationship, but very close nonetheless. His listening skills were unparalleled. He knew, welcomed, and loved all of my friends. Sometimes I think that some of them miss him as much as I do. That loss hit me extremely hard, even though he’d been suffering and we expected it. He was my touchstone, and I could go to him with anything. Sometimes his responses would annoy me, and he liked to talk about what was going on with him, a LOT. But we had the kind of relationship where I could say, “Dad? You’ve told me the same story now like four times, can I have the floor?”, and no one would be offended. He found humor in normal, day to day life. We had fun together, he was always silly. I remember once when there was a spider in my room and I was being a total girl and wanting him to come kill it. He came in my room, looked at the spider and said, “Oh. That’s just Rupert.” and walked out. Then I felt like I couldn’t kill it, because it now had a name, and a really cool name at that! Rupert hung out for awhile. So the loss of that bond took a chunk out of me.

With our father gone, things got really odd between me and my siblings. We really only sat down once, all together, to divide up duties and choose a date for the memorial, and that was the day after he died in the house he died in. I understand enough about grief now to understand that people react to death in a lot of different ways, but I was sad and disappointed. I had hoped and expected that the three of us would sit down more than once and remember and talk and laugh about dad. I remembered when we went and spread my grandmother’s ashes in the ocean off Laguna Beach. After her ashes were gone, my mom and her siblings all hugged in what looked like a huddle on the boat. We never huddled. We still haven’t. The first Thanksgiving after his death, we were all together and no one even mentioned his name. Maybe we were all waiting for one of the other ones to bring him up, I don’t know. That bond, that we had all lost our beloved father, has never materialized. I tried once, shortly after his death. I was having a really difficult time one day and I shared it with one of my siblings. The response I got was that I should be happy we had him, not sad he was gone. I understand that sentiment, but on that particular day I was just incredibly sad. My sibling made the analogy of having a really amazing dessert like crème brulee. Shouldn’t I be happy I got to eat this amazing treat and not be upset that it was gone? Hmmmmm. Dad as custard. I realized at that point that we were not on the same page and that we both were grieving in vastly different ways. Yes, I am more emotional by far, but DAMN. Crème brulee?? He’d been gone less than a year. Watching dad die for four years was excruciatingly hard, and I know it was awful for all three of us, and three years later we still have never all talked about it. That makes me sad, but it also makes me feel extremely guarded.

Another point of contention, at least with one sibling, is that I moved away from LA. I moved to San Francisco when I was 20 years old and never looked back south again. It was the single best decision I have made in life. However, one sibling feels as though I was running away from my family. I honestly don't  understand this outlook, I think people are supposed to grow up and move and go about their lives. I wasn't running FROM anything, I was running TO the life that was waiting for me. However, I have been accused of abandoning my family more than once. My mom has said it's because I'm missed-maybe. It's not as though I haven't kept in touch via phone, email, and visits. Hell, I only live 300 miles away too! I have a cousin who moved to a different country and has made his life out there and it doesn't appear to be an issue. I love my family, but I will never regret moving from LA. In addition to needing to go carve my path and decide what I wanted and who I was, I'm not a big fan of LA. I can have an opinion.

So I am in the process of re-framing these relationships. I think as adults, we can form our own families. My priority is with the one I've created with my husband and my children. I'm lucky to have the friendships I do, and they will remain family in my life until I die.  I want relationships with my siblings, but my outlook and expectations have changed. Theirs may not have changed, and I'll have to deal with that when the issue arises. I am dead tired from trying to please people, and I need to stop. I can love people without doing back flips and agreeing to things I don't want to do.  I also need to be prepared for this to be perceived as "not good enough". Oh well...I'm 43 and don't really have to answer to anyone but God and myself.

One of my favorite movies with some of the best lines EVER is Garden State. One scene has resonated with me for years. The main character has returned home for his mother's funeral and is talking about the idea of home:

"It's like you feel homesick for a place that doesn't even exist. Maybe it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't ever have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I don't know, but I miss the idea of it, you know. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people that miss the same imaginary place."

Sometimes I miss the imaginary place too, but I'm living my life today, where I live now.  And I don't want to go backwards. I hope in time that we can go forward together, but if not, that's okay too.

We women ruin EVERYTHING.

So it's been all over the news that women are increasingly becoming the breadwinners in families.  Well, that's cool, a lot has changed since I was little and...wait, what?  This is a bad thing?  It ruins marriages, makes women abort their babies, and is the reason education is swirling rapidly down the drain? 

Oh.  So it's MY fault.  Who knew?  Well, apparently the folks at Fox News are amongst those who know it's my fault.  **Those who know me know I'm not a fan of Fox News, but the intent of this post is not to bash them. 

Working Women Ruin Marriages

I truly enjoyed watching a clip of Megyn Kelly school two men commentators recently on Fox about this very topic. Kelly challenged Lou Dobbs over his comments attributing women's role in the workplace to marriages "shattering" in society."Why are you attributing that to women in the workforce?" Kelly said, interjecting. Dobbs responded with, "Excuse me. Let me just finish what I was saying, if I may, oh dominant one!" WOW, dude.  Condescend much?? That was such a snide, uncalled for remark. These people were not in the same room when this exchange occurred, which is probably good.  If I had been in Megyn's shoes, I would have lunged for that guy.  It's best I'm not a news anchor or in the public eye in general due to my temper. Mr. Dobbs cited some study, of course, but never really adequately elaborated on his point. (I've found that statistics can be enlightening, or absolutely worthless. It was in grad school when I really learned this, after reading a study in which there was one child subject. How that even got published, I will never know.) With regard to Ms. Kelly,  I may disagree with her on many issues, but she is a hardworking, professional woman. How did I feel about Megyn Kelly this time?  Amen, sister! I actually admired her restraint, although I think Dobbs didn't need much help looking stupid.

With regard to shattering marriages, I know everyone is different, but my career helps sustain my marriage. Financially, you may be thinking.  Nope.  My husband has his own business and is usually home in the early afternoon. As much as I love and adore him, if we spent that much time together every day, we might kill each other.  So...score one for marriage!  Next? 

Single Moms=More Abortions??

Eric Bolling, also a Fox contributor, brought the crazy train around in this direction:  "American family is breaking down. Women are forced to go out, be the breadwinners for families. That's why the number's skewed higher now. Here's another offshoot of that: If you are a single mom, breadwinner of the family, and you get pregnant, aren't we pushing towards more abortions? It seems like we are."

Wait wait wait...what are we talking about here?  Single moms being the primary breadwinners? Isn't that done out of necessity, isn't that common sense?  And it's not always the case my any means, but why does this brick wall of blame all topple over on top of the moms?  Why are they single moms?  Maybe the dads split, or are deceased, or are in jail, or were abusive, or were never involved in their child's life in the first place. And it's the single mom's fault?   Bread winning moms are going to have more abortions?  Aye, carumba. Here are just a few points to prove this dude WRONG, and wrong is the nicest word I can think of:

• The single moms that I know aren't really even into dating, let alone sex. It's not that they don't want to eventually find another partner to share their lives with, it's that they have no TIME.  Raising kids solo must be insane, I don't know how some of my friends do it.
• Why does being a single mom equate to being an irresponsible, uneducated trollop? Are they just gallivanting about, having sex with whomever? 
• Let's take a single mom, for argument's sake, who is very sexually active.  Y'know, they have this new earth-shattering thing out now, that's fairly easy to access.  It's called BIRTH CONTROL.

The undertone of what this guy said was pretty damn insidious, I can picture who he's thinking of. I have worked with single moms who have numerous children and they seem unaware of how they came to be.  I've used this analogy before...some women wake up pregnant in the same way the rest of us wake up with a pimple. "Whoa...that wasn't there yesterday!" I'm truly not trying to be judgmental, and I haven't walked in their shoes.  However, I have enough experience in my profession to be able to reference several women like this. They break my heart. BUT, more importantly for this particular point, these women aren't working. So there that is. 

It's the height of arrogance and tremendously insulting to suggest that having more single moms who are the ones bringing home the bacon (duh) will lead to more abortions. We are half of the WORLD.  How can Mr. Bolling know women so well? What a gift he must have, to be able to know the habits and intentions of every single working mother out there.  Ug...again, NEXT??? 

Education is Failing Because Mommy Works

Mississippi Governor Phil Bryant was participating in a Washington Post Live event focused on the importance of ensuring that children read well by the end of third grade. In response to a question about how America became “so mediocre” in regard to educational outcomes, he said "I think both parents started working. And the mom is in the work place."  Interesting.  I'm a full time working mom who works in the schools, so I have some opinions about this mindset. I will acquiesce that in order for children to do well in school, they have to have parent involvement.  This does not mean it has to be mom only, nor does it mean that the parents can't work outside the home. Kids need a parent (or another caregiver) to read with them, check their backpacks, and supervise homework. It's monumentally important to show up to their school events, although I know how hard that can be for a lot of working folks. The main thing that children in school need are reliable adults around them to instill the notion that school is important.  The family should be in a partnership with the school, but that doesn't equate to mom having to be a housewife.

Education isn't where it should be in this country, I don't think anyone could dispute that. However, I can think of at least a dozen other reasons that education isn't doing well in America.

• Education in this country is horribly underfunded, and when cuts are made, education gets slashed first. A number of amazing programs are grant funded, which means they can vanish in a heartbeat.
• Teaching is an incredibly difficult gig, and they aren't paid what they deserve. They get very little respect these days. The amount of abuse that some of my favorite teachers have to endure by unruly parents would truly shock most people.
• There are horrible teachers out there. Again, I try not to judge, but this time I am. I have witnessed and heard awful, shocking things that teachers have said to parents and students. I know of situations in which the teachers do very, very little. Guess what? With only two years to tenure, once that is established it's nearly impossible to let a teacher go. I could name a number of fire-able offenses that I know of, because people tell me stuff. In the private sector, these folks would be gone. 

To Work or Not To Work?

**Disclaimer: I have many friends who are amazing people who have chosen to stay at home and raise their children. Yes, all moms are working moms, and many of them find side jobs that they can do from home. I love y'all and you know who you are.

I could not stay home to raise our kids if we hit the lottery. I am not creative. I don't scrapbook (I'm being serious, not mean). I am not particularly ambitious or good at thinking up cool things to go do.  It is VERY easy for me to stagnate and once a couple of days have passed and I've just been ambling about my house, it's common for depression to follow. I don't know why, I'm jacked up!  So...work provides structure for me, mandatory structure.  I need it for my own mental well-being.  If I don't take care of my own mental well-being, I'm not as good of a mom.  There's the added bonus of a good salary and health benefits for my family, and once in awhile, I do feel like I'm helping people and doing my part to help the children in my midst. I adore my co-workers, and I'm a social person.  I truly enjoy being around people most of the time. Staying home just wouldn't have been the right fit for me and our family, and I don't think that's a bad thing to admit.

I make more money than Mike does, so I guess I'd fall under this "breadwinner" banner. Mike also has absolutely no student loans, so if you really boiled it all down, we're probably fairly even. Bringing home a bigger check has never been an issue for us. I didn't to graduate school for the glory of it! I went because I had to in order to have the career I've now had for 16 years. It was a means to an end and despite the burnout and the stress, I do know that I'm doing what I'm meant to do.  I still want to write though!

Being a mom that works full time outside the home is incredibly hard.  It was actually harder when the kids were babies. I took three months off with Maddie and four with Stephen when they were born. As much as I did love having that bonding time with them, I also started to go batty, especially since newborns have such a schedule!  It wasn't as though I could plan that much anyway, and I was terrified I'd screw something up.  Once I did go back to work, leaving my baby in the care of someone else kind of felt like lopping my own arm off, and nothing was worse than hearing my child cry and knowing that I had to leave.  There were many, many teary commutes in those days.  Then, being exposed to other kids, they start getting sick, like ALL the time.  What followed was usually the argument about whose day was more important and who could take the time off from work. I still feel like my kiddos want ME when they're sick. It's entirely possible I'm wrong, but I think it anyway. So is it hard?  GOD, yes.  But, to quote my mom, "you can do hard things."

My mom was a big time feminist in the 70's when I was coming up and worked outside of the home a lot. I wish she'd been around more, I could have used some supervision for sure! However, what came out of that for me was resilience and independence, and the knowledge that I could pretty much handle myself no matter what happened. You know those kids who are totally over-protected, the ones who have "helicopter moms"? That was as far removed from my experience as a child as you could imagine. So yeah! I wanted her around more, and with my own children, I'm home by 4 or 5. I intentionally pass up evening activities with church or friends in order to be there for their evening routine. I think that's really important.  One time my mom said to me, in regard to working and raising children, "Oh, I remember those days! It's like running in a marathon that never ends."  YES. I can't think of a better analogy, that is exactly what it feels like. 

Working with children for 16 years and then coming home to mine is also exhausting, but it's worth it. I know my children's teachers well, I know who all of their friends are, and get up to the minute updates of all the 6th grade girl drama. That last one makes my eyes cross most of the time, but I still listen. I recently realized that our son wasn't exactly killing it when it came to spelling, so I started to quiz him.  He improved dramatically and I should have done it sooner. I think in our particular situation, it helps that I'm in education in the same district they attend. They are both aware that they can't make a negative move without me finding out about it and there being pure hell to pay.

We are incredibly blessed and in a very unique situation. I work 37.5 hours a week (but of course it ends up being more than that).  I know working parents who work 50-60 hours a week and commute daily to San Francisco, which is two hours each way with decent traffic.  My heart goes out to them, I can't imagine it. They don't get to see their children as much as I do, some of them don't even get to tuck their children in at night.  Mike is home when our kids get out of school, and he starts them on their homework and checks in on their day. So far, we are lucky to have children who do great in school and pick up new information relatively well.  How often does this type of scenario happen? I can go on field trips, I can run over to the school for an awards assembly and it's no big deal. Another amazing stroke of luck is the fact that I live within ten minutes of the schools I service, as well as my own children's school.  Our deal is not typical, and I acknowledge that and am beyond grateful.

For all of these gifts that I have been given, I am sure of one thing as a working mom.  Well, I'm sure of several things.  If something awful ever happened and I became a single mom, it's unlikely that it would be due to Mike leaving because I have a job. If I ever become a single mom, I will not suddenly become a self-involved floozy who indiscriminately begins having unprotected sex which would lead to several abortions. If I ever become a single mom, you best believe that my children would not suddenly earn F's and drop out of school. 

The family unit, however it looks, is incredibly important to our country and our future. However, I take major offense to the notion that I'm the one destroying it due to the fact I have a career. Take it easy on the women, folks.  Our lives are hard enough.