Recap 4/29

1. Always keep one of two things in your sight at all times on Easter.  The kids or their candy-filled Easter baskets.

2. The best part of playing Easter Bunny is filling your basket with the good stuff because it’s not fair for the Easter Bunny to miss anyone.

3. Now that I’m a parent, I’m thankful for short Spring Breaks.

4. Why do the girl Jedi action figures keep disappearing?

5. Aidan found his penis.  I’ve warned him about the rules.

6. The boys gleefully went to school in their underwear.  Obviously I have to shame them more.,

7. I found a house; only to have someone turn in her application TEN minutes before I did.

8. But I called again on another house that is being fixed up.  The realtor chuckled as he pointed out I’ve called a few times and that I’m first on his list to see it.

9. I think we need to take a vote on if we want a siesta culture or not.  I vote yes.

10. I’m still trying to figure out what happened Wednesday that kept me too busy to go online.  What happened?

Q-TIP

Once upon a time, a young, Hispanic, single mother became an EMT.  She worked her ass off to get through school, juggling kids and work.  When she got her first assignment, she was sent to a suburb known for catering to retirees, usually from the Northeast of the country.  Her supervisor gave her a tour of the facility on her first day.  She found it odd that on every computer, on every desk, nearly everywhere she looked she saw a Q-Tip. 

“Uh, why are there Q-Tips taped everywhere?” asked the EMT.

“Oh that.  Good question.  It’s to remind us to Quit Taking It Personal.  Q-TIP.  One day you’ll answer a call, and it’ll be a little old woman.  And you will try to help her, and she will scream, ‘Get away from me; I want a man.’  If you take it personally and back off, she will die.  You have to ignore her and do your job,” said the supervisor.

The teacher at the parenting class told us that true story and then related it back to parenting.  Often our children behave in certain ways or do certain things or say certain things, and we are so very sure they are acting out to get us.  We assign “adult” motive to behaviors that just are.  They are not insolent; they’re kids.  They’re not ignoring you out of spite; they’re ignoring you because they HAVE to finish their projects.  They don’t mean they hate you; they are just so angry they can’t express it.  Once you let go of the assigned “motive,” it’s easier to get to the root of the problem and handle it appropriately. 

When we take it personally, we let our emotions get the better of us.  And when we act in that way, well, we’re killing the souls of our children.  Slowly.  We want our children to question, to lead, to think for themselves, but we want our children to listen and mind us. Parenting is a balancing act of teaching a child morals, values, and social norms and allowing the child autonomy to be who he/she is meant to be. We don’t want to squash them, so we must give them enough rope and realize that we are the adults and need to act like it.

It works with adults too.  We are self-centered people.  We assume every action was done to us for some reason, but often what is done to us is done by someone just as selfish as us and did it for personal reason, not having to do with us at all.

So, Q-TIP.  Quit Taking It Personal.

Talking?!

I’m starting to second guess how early babies talk.  Or my kid is a genius.  Or babies really do talk earlier than we imagine.

Two weeks ago, I was grocery shopping with Sean and Aidan, rambling on with some grocery monologue.

Me: . . . And now we’re going to get some parmesan.

Aidan: Parmesan.

Me: That’s right.  Parmesan.  It’s a tasty cheese we put on pasta- Wait!  What did you say?!

Aidan just beamed at me.  I’m sure it happened.

Last week, Evan was playing with his Star Wars characters.  Aidan spotted him and crawled over with record speed.  He used Evan to pull himself up.

Aidan: Brozzzzer!

Me: Brother!

Wait!  Did he do it again?!

Three days ago, we were at my parents’ house, and Aidan wanted my mom’s plant.  He reached out to grab a leaf.

My mom: No!  Not your pretty.  Nana’s pretty.  (Nana because my mom is desperate for a nickname.)

Aidan: (grinning) Yeah.

My mom: No!

Aidan: Yeah!

My mom: No!

Aidan: Yeah!

My mom: Fae, listen to this.  No!

Aidan: Yeah!

Holy crap.

Then yesterday, Aidan fell down and said Uh-oh. 

It’s like all those parenting books are BS.

It also looks like I have another talker in the family.  God, we’re not quiet.

Not just another Saturday night

Back in college, if I could scrape the money together and snag a ride, I loved going to straight edge clubs, small venues, selling caffeine and sugar, rocked by garage bands.  The cover was cheap.  The music was LOUD and enthusiastic.  Perhaps not good, but the energy of it could make you high for the week.  It was the perfect place for me.

Since I was dependent on rides, it took some negotiating to convince someone to come with me.  Lucky for me I knew two lead singers and was friends with a girl whose boyfriend was a guitarist of another band, so I had reasons to go.  My “band” friends like me going because I matched them in loudness and enthusiasm.  Which lead to three years of yelling “I want to have Chris R’s baby” every time I saw him.  Every Time.  He was incredibly embarrassed and flattered.  Though when it came apparent I was with The One, Chris told me I would have to get permission from my fiance now to have any one else’s baby and so I might want to stop yelling “I want to have Chris R’s baby.”  Chris was a good guy.

But since the college days, I’ve given up rocking out with LOUD garage bands high on dreams of making it one day.  I rarely get to go to concerts because of the kids and the money but mainly the kids.  Hell, I don’t even get to go dancing any more.  Unless I want to join my parents at the local honky-tonk.  Uh, no thank you. 

So when The Husband actually bought me a pair of tickets to Mumford & Sons and promised to watch the boys while I went out with a friend.  A range of emotions filled me. Excitement, shock, suspicion, shock, suspicion, shock, excitement.  Really, how many separated couples buy each other gifts?  Then I called a friend that I had just the day before sat with trying to figure out how to get to the concert.  She was filled with one emotion.  Excitement.  As in, Are you freaking kidding me!?!!!!!  Hell, yeah, I’ll go!!!!!!

Saturday we left extremely early to get to the show.  I’m still trying to figure out if we left early so we could get could a good place to stand or that we just excited to be child-free for most of the day.  Since we left extremely early, we were able to grab a bite and make it to the line before it got too long.  My first priority was to secure a shirt for the man who bought the tickets.  And one for me.  Then my friend and I stood and talked and people watched.

I have never seen such a variety of people.  Hippies.  Fashionistas.  Cowboys.  Hipsters.  Goth.  And everything in between.  It was a little crazy.

Then the music started.  I, with 9,999 others, watched an awesome concert.  I just let the music wash over me, since I couldn’t really dance with all the people pushing in, hoping to get just a little closer.  I couldn’t help laughing at all the digital cameras clicking away as though they could actually pick up the musicians.  I loved watching the sign language interpreters as their hands signaled out the lyrics while their bodies moved with the music. Even now, I’m still bopping along to the songs from the concert running around in my head. 

I must admit wearing cute sandals were practical for the heat but not so practical for standing for five hours or so.  When my friend and I got to my car and sat down, I turned to her and suggested drive-thru instead of a bar just so that I could sit a little longer.  Luckily she agreed.  So we sipped milk shakes and Cokes as I sped down the dark desert highway home.

I had an amazing night.

So thanks to my friend who came with me.  We know a hell of a lot more about each other after spending nearly 12 hours together.

And thanks to The Husband for buying those tickets and watching the boys.

15 things

Because I love Ink so very much, and I think we should bring memes back.  Tell us fifteen random secrets, facts, habits, or goals about you.  If you want to play, play; if not, I won’t say you suck (I’ll just think it).  And Ink, we should totally do another 10 books I hate because that was lots and lots of fun.

1. I was thrown from a speedboat.  Across the boat.  Slammed into the side and flipped over before hitting the water.  My first thought upon hitting water was “swim towards the light.”  I was told I was lucky I didn’t crack ribs.  I had a nasty bruise on half of my chest.

2. This happened on my Dad’s birthday.  When I called him to wish him a happy birthday and to NOT mention the accident, he asked me what was wrong and forced it out of me.  I’ve ruined three Thanksgivings and one Father’s Day for my Dad.  Pity him.

3. I pray a children’s prayer every time I hear a siren.  Every time.  Without fail.  I learned it in first grade, and the habit stuck.

4. I only keep books that I will read or reference again.  I still own hundreds of books.  And I do read them again.

5. I didn’t like reading until the 6th grade.  A Wrinkle in Time changed my life. I’ve devoured books ever since.

6. I cross-dressed my Teddy bear as a child.  I knew he was a boy, but he looked so cute in a green dress I had.  I even took him to a party dressed in a dress.

7. I break out in random dance moves.  I have a god-awful victory dance that started as a joke, and I never stopped doing it.

8. Since wearing a pedometer, I’ve walked at least 15,ooo steps a day.  I’m starting to suspect where the boys get there tornado-like energy.

9. Like Ink, I desperately wish I could draw or paint.  One day I’ll take a class.  Over and over again until I get it right.

10. I’m obsessively curious.  When something tickles my curiosity, I will not rest until I know all.  I’m teaching the boys to be the same way.  Did you know a lobster is basically a bug?

11.  The first car I drove was a ’86 Bronco with the annoying habit of dying after fifteen minutes and didn’t have AC in Tucson, AZ.

12. I have theme songs for different parts of my life.  Especially the hard parts.

13. My parents have song they dedicate and sing to me when it comes on the radio.  It’s enough to make me glad they switched from Oldies to Country.

`14. I plan on visiting all 50 states and eventually seeing something outside the US other than border towns.

15. In spirit of the last Friday of Lent, I have eaten meat once on a Lenten Friday.  In defense, it was Mrs. Knott’s fried chicken, and I didn’t live in Orange County at the time.  Who am I kidding?  I would happily kill for Mrs. Knott’s fried chicken.

Creating a little magic

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.  Sort of.  I wasn’t grumpy.  Just blah.  Everything had a negative outlook to it.

My head was filled with dark thoughts that I couldn’t shake.  Even after I meditated.  Even after I played my songs for just this kind of an emergency.  Even after a little bit of chocolate.  Just blah.

Then it took forever to get the boys dressed and ready to go.  And I couldn’t find my sunglasses.  And I had to threaten to get them in the car. And I forgot the coupons I needed.  And no, you may not have any juice.  We were done with one of the errands when I realized I didn’t have my receipt to pick up my pictures.  I drove back to the house.  Where is the damn receipt?  F-it.  And sure, there was no line at the bread store.  And sure, I did clean the bathrooms while waiting for the boys.  But I was blah.

Then I learned that I had waited too long to pick up my pictures, and they were gone.  And I wish I had someone to blame, but really I only had myself.  But we only found a shirt for Evan at the store, so we needed to go somewhere else for an Easter shirt for Aidan.  And then the customer at the cash register was difficult with a difficult problem that took forever.  And then I had to take away our lunch plans because the boys weren’t listening.  And the boys were running around like mad.  We stopped at the fountain outside and threw coins to make wishes.  “Please give me one for the win column,” I whispered for I was feeling blah.

So the next store we found a shirt for Aidan, and the boys sat next to the stroller like I ordered them.  We stood in a long line waiting to pay.  I noticed a tube of touchable bubbles for $2.  What the hell?  I needed something because I was feeling blah.

While we were rung up, the sweet cashier carried on a conversation with the boys.  They stood still and answered her.  She sent us a way with a smile and pocket full of change. 

We returned to the fountain, and I divided the change between the boys.  I opened up the bubbles and started blowing.  Because they were the touchable type, they didn’t pop easily.  In just a few minutes the courtyard to the mall entrance was filled with bubbles.

My boys danced around, popping bubbles, laughing, dodging people.  Other children, walking with their families, stopped to pop a bubble or two and laugh.  People, coming from the parking lot, stopped and smiled before entering the mall.  Those coming out of the mall paused with surprise and amazement.  I kept filling the air with bubbles, laughing.  It was like magic. 

One woman, arms full with bags, stopped and popped a bubble next to her before returning to her conversation with her friend.

A fast-walking man smiled down at the boys, when he had to dodge them as they chased their bubbles.

Aidan squealed from his stroller, tiny hands reaching for the bubbles.

And I laughed to watch it all unfold as I kept filling the air with bubbles.

“They’re having lots of fun aren’t they.”

I turned to the voice.  A guy, dressed fashionably in goth, ear-buds hanging around his neck,  holding a smoking cigarette, smiled down at me. 

“Yes, I am.  Yes, they are.”

“Would you mind if I gave them some coins for the fountains?”

“Uh, no.  Thank you.”

“Here, little dude.  Open your hand.”

He leaned down and poured coins into Sean’s hand.

“What do you say?” I prompted.

“Thank you.”

“Here you go, little dude.  No, open your hand.  There.”

He poured coins into Evan’s hand.

“What do you say?”

“Thank you.”

The guy smiled. 

“Have a good day!”

“Thank you!  You too!”

He walked into the mall. 

I finished off the bottle of bubbles.  Then we left, and the world seemed filled with magic and bubbles.

A Little Assertive

Sean is my shy one, my “quiet” one, my I-don’t-know-you-so-I-don’t-trust-you one.  And I wouldn’t change him for the world.  At home, with the people he knows, he’s a tornado, spinning destruction, shouting and screaming.  With strangers, he’s quiet, hiding behind my leg.  Unless Evan acts like it’s ok.  If Evan, who has never met a stranger, is at ease with the person or situation, then so is Sean.

Saturday we were at the county fair.  Evan was going down the large slide, and Sean wanted to ride the pirate ships again.  Fine.  Sean waited his turn, went in, and choose the boat he wanted.  He waited.

Ride operator: Why don’t you take this boat with this little boy?

Sean: No.

Ride operator: It’ll be fun.  You can ride together.

Sean: No.  I want this one.

Ride operator: It’s more fun to ride with someone.  Do you want to try?

Sean: No.  I want this one.

The ride operator shrugged and put Sean into the boat he wanted.

I smiled because even if he’s a little shy, Sean can handle himself and feels comfortable to stand firm until he gets what he wants.  That’s my boy.

Pessimist

I’m a pessimist.  I always have been.  It’s one of my charming qualities that my mom blames completely on my father like so many other things.  “You’re such a pessimist just like your father.”  “Fae, why do have to be a lone wolf like your father?”  “Your father was not good at math either.”  “I’m so sorry that you inherited your father’s cheeks.”  “Fae, your eyes are like cat’s eyes.  They’re so . . . ugly.  You must have got them from your father.”  (A note: My mom is completely tactless, something I did inherit from her.  She didn’t start critiquing my looks until after I was comfortable in my body.  And my dad has light brown eyes, so the only person I could have inherited my blue/green/grey/everything-in-between eyes is from her.)

As you might have guessed, my mother viewed pessimism as a weakness.  When one sees all the problems to every situation or idea, one naturally becomes melancholy.  Something that I suffered from too, which my mother also disapproved of. No matter how I tried to seeing the world without the problems, I just couldn’t.  The road blocks, the water hazards, the broken bridges glared out at me.  It didn’t mean that those things stopped me, but I couldn’t ignore them.  And I couldn’t change my pessimism.  It was just a part of me. 

So a few weeks ago in parenting class.

Teacher: What other things do you not want your children to learn from you?

Me: I don’t want my boys to be pessimistic like me.

Teacher: Why not?

Me: I was just raised that it was a negative outlook on life.  My boys would be happier without it.

Teacher: Oh, Fae.  Pessimism isn’t good or bad.  It’s a temperament.  Optimists walk through the world with their arms wide open.  Pessimists walk through the world more guarded with more weapons.  It’s a different view of the world.  You’re ready for the fight, and that’s not a bad thing.

Tears sprung to my eyes.  For the first time, someone had shown me pessimism in a good light.  I had a feeling I could use pessimism to my advantage, taking the step further down the view to see the solutions after the problem.  But I had spent my life viewing the problem of viewing the problems, and I never was able to make any of it work.  I could not stop seeing the problems.  I could smile fiercely in the face of those problems and then I could look for the plethora of solutions to solve those problems.

I remembered what my best friend told me on one of my dark days.  “Fae, you don’t get it.  You’re not the victim.  You never were.  You are the hero, the warrior, fighting with a sword and shield.  The best part is you’ll win because not only will you never give up but you’re fighting for your kids.”

So that’s me, ready for the fight.  I have the weapons.  I just have to learn to use them better.

A liar out of me

We stayed longer at the school on Friday afternoon to celebrate Aidan’s birthday.  As the kids played in the only stretch of lush grass on campus, the sprinklers turned on.  Kids being kids, they romped, screaming through the cold water.

The mothers and I shrugged and continued our conversation, stopping to shag the stray soccer ball.

I looked over to see Evan strip his shirt and swing it around and around his head as he galloped around his friends.  Not to be out done, K took off her shirt.  Her mother was horrified using all three K’s names and demanded K put on her shirt this very instant.

I was about to remark that such a thing was natural and ok and -

Evan: Boobies!  Boobies!  Boobies!

Me (In The Voice): Evan C L, you be quiet and come here NOW!

My instincts roared for me to either strangle him or lecture him within an inch of his life.

Instead.

Me: Evan, that was not appropriate.  We do not chant boobies.  We do not make fun of people when they take off their clothes.  We do not talk that way about girls’ bodies.  Now apologize to K and Mrs. E RIGHT. NOW.

K had her shirt on and looked ashamed.  Evan apologized.  I walked over to K’s mom.

Me: She was just copying Evan.  She was just being a kid.

K’s Mom: I know.  But if her father saw.  She’s already kissing boys, and now she’s stripping.  We talked about this.  (sigh)

Me: Well, contrary to the scene just now, I am trying to raise a gentleman and not some white trash frat boy. (sigh)

Kids.  As my grandma says, “They’ll make a liar out of you every time.”

10 things about Aidan

1. His favorite food is food.  He’s always starving if some one has food.

2. He’s already a climber.  Heaven help me.  He doesn’t even walk yet.

3. Aidan adores his brothers.  Even when their love is closer to torture than actual love.

4.  He’s a horrible napper.  But at least he goes to bed super early.

5. He has to sleep with one of my already worn night shirts.

6. He hides his binkies.  I don’t know how he does it, but out of a dozen, we’re down to three.  What the hell?

7. He’s a laid back kind of kid.  Unless he’s teething, then he’s f-ing possessed.  Which he has been.  For over a week.

8. He knows the word “no” already.  He stops, looks at the person saying it, smiles, and then does the thing any ways. 

9. He’s fearless with a death wish.  See number 2.

10. A year later, he’s still blue-eyed and white blonde, but he’s a bit bigger and much more solid.

And, Aidan, if you read this one day, no matter what your father or grandmother say, you don’t have to become an accountant because of your birthday.  I actually prefer you don’t.  Happy Birthday, Baby.