I read this blog post once (or saw it on Oprah, same thing, can't remember, whatever) that resonated within me about the 5 friends you really need. I can't remember exactly who/what they were, but I remember holding onto the detail that you only need a "handful" of friends - one for each finger. My thought? You can have 500 Facebook friends and a myriad of people you are friendly with, but these are the types of BFF friends that I think are the most important:
1. The old friend ... the one you are still friends with from your childhood. (You might not talk all the time but you know there is a good chance you will be roomies at the retirement home one day and you will laugh and laugh about the time she threw the cherry custard out of your sunroof at the car in front of you while you were driving 55 on a highway - it's called physics and we hadn't taken it yet. OBVIOUSLY.)
2. The friend that builds you up and has a positive attitude. (This is the friend you call when you need to be reminded that you don't suck, because even if you do suck, she isn't going to tell you.)
3. The friend who is brutally honest and says things like, "Girl, you really need to lose 10 pounds before you wear that bikini again." (Meh. Not my cup of tea. Might only need 4 friends. There is no irony in the fact that this friend is reserved for the third - or middle - finger.)
4. The neighborhood friends. (These friends can stack up on your finger because these are the friends who are going to have sugar or eggs or Sonic ice when you need it, and can come over for dinner with a bottle of wine in their pajamas because it's just right next door. These are the friends who are going to tell you they saw your kid with a sharp stick or driving too fast or whatever.... this is your village, so to speak.)
5. The Mom Friend(s). This is the one who you do life with as you raise your kids. This friend has been friends with you since your kid stole the unifix cubes in kindergarten, and is still friends with you when that same kid starts to drive a car.
When my oldest (now 15) was a baby, I made mommy friends through playgroups in the neighborhood and Gymboree. [sidenote: My husband fondly refers to Gymboree as GERMboree because .. well .. germs.] I remember deciding that I couldn't be friends with one mom because we took the babies to Olive Garden after class one day and she asked the waiter if the crayons were non toxic. They. Were. Crayons. CRAYONS! Designed for CHILDREN. [another sidenote: I was never the kind of mom that worried about germs. Or toxic crayons for that matter.]
When your kids are itty-bitty like that, all moms pretty much have the same goals for their kids. Share, don't bite, sit nicely in circle time, don't pick your nose, don't cry in Walmart and, for the love of God and all that is holy, don't poop in a restaurant without a changing table. We, as moms, are all on the same page. Then the inevitable happens and these sweet babies start to develop their own little personalities and we start to develop parenting styles that work for us and this, my mommy friends, is where it gets tricky.
It's easy to make mommy friends - it's just finding the ones you are most like. But keeping them as a forever friend is a different story. Not only do you have to have enough in mommon (™Tami because that's common for moms and I just made that up on the spot! Woot!), but you have to be able to either do it the same or agree to disagree.
I met my mom friend, Abbie, when Casey was going into kindergarten. We got set up on this kind of blind date at the neighborhood pool because her son and my son were going to be in the same class. Our oldest and youngest children (at the time because who knew Hallie would come back from Vegas with us in 5 years thanksalotvegasiguessnoteverythingthathappenstherestaysthereinsertdramaticeyeroll) were the same age. Because our oldest kids were 5, we were also totally against bad words like butt and fart and the hoodlums of the Disney channel. However, Abbie and I didn't (and still don't!) parent the same way, but what we ultimately figured out was that our end goal was the same and our styles synced up enough that we could manage each others kids.
Manage each other's kids? Yes. A good mommy friend understands when you call and tell them that your sweet child is on their doorstep and you will be back after an hour or two break and a bottle of chardonnay.
A good mommy friend remembers details about your kids that you forgot. Like the middle child's first word and the last time the youngest had strep. Or the time one puked in the middle of the Mexican restaurant and she had to clean it up for you because vomit grosses you out. Whatever. Details, shmetails.
A good mommy friend says "don't pick that battle" or "don't let them get away with that" and it doesn't hurt your feelings. It makes you think.
Choosing your mom friends can be a hard process. Ten years later, what I need in a mom friend is completely different than it was when Casey was starting kindergarten. Hallie is now my youngest of three with two older brothers who are a LOT older than her. Hallie made a new friend in her first grade class this year. I always cringe when I meet these "new friends" of hers because I am afraid they will not know exactly what Hallie means when she says things like, "Oh!Ma!Gawdddddd!.... did you see the outfit JLO had on last night? Totes adorbs!" or "When I get home I am going to watch teenagers do make up on YouTube for 4 straight hours!" Honestly, if your kid still says fanny or tushie or toot and Disney Channel is not something on your radar, we are just done here. K? K. But this new friend was awesome. When I asked her how cheer-off went [cheer competition between all the local rec squads], her reply was, "It totally sucked. We lost." As much as I don't really want Hallie saying something "sucked" when she is 6, at this very minute I knew this sweet child could be friends with my daughter, and I could, most likely, be friends with her mother. My reply? "How old are your brothers?" (13 and 9)
It's funny how your needs change in regards to your mom friends. If you are lucky enough, like me, for this to be the same mom friend for 10 years, you win. But it's OK if your mom friends change, too .... it's about doing life together with a little humor and a lot of reassurance that you are doing it ok.
Just make sure your hands are full of friends that fit YOUR needs. Is there a type of friend I forgot that you think is important?
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
Will This Matter When They Are 16?
The days are long but the years are short.
The. Days. Are. Long. But. The. Years. Are. Short.
Remember this.
When Casey was born - 15 short years ago - he started screaming. It didn't stop for 4 and a 1/2 very, very long months. Convinced that it couldn't be colic -- because, duh, our child was not flawed like that -- we continually went to the pediatrician for help. Dr. Delisle was an awesome pediatrician with the patience of a saint for a crazy first time mom like me. She got me through those first few months. When Casey was 6 months old, we decided to make a move to Michigan for my husband's job. Dr. Delisle was one of the hardest people to leave. At our last visit with her, she said, "I am going to give you one piece of parenting advice. Pick your battles. And if you aren't sure which ones to pick, ask yourself 'will this matter when they are 16.'"
So here we are. On the brink of 16. Staring me in the face. One. Six. I reflect back on the last 16 years and the battles I have picked OR not picked. Have I made the right choices? I am almost positive that I have thought "will this matter" at least once a day since he turned 1. Which means I have had to decide, if a battle was worth picking, roughly 5000 times. And that number doesn't even reflect my 2 other kids - or poor math skills. #keepingitreal
Here is a perfect example of a battle I chose NOT to pick: When Parker was 2 1/2 we were at lunch and I opened his straw and put it in his cup. Like many toddlers with a different mood swing every 2 minutes, apparently this was not OK because he had wanted to do it himself and started throwing a fit right there in the middle of Macaroni Grill. I thought hmmm .... so if I give him the new straw, he sees that he won the battle of the fit throwing, but if I don't, he continues to whine and cry. Tough call. I was hungry. I gave him the new straw with this explanation: "This is not a battle I am going to pick with you because it does not matter, but listen to me very carefully. I am giving you another straw to do yourself because I did not know that you wanted to do it yourself. I sometimes forget that you are growing up. But the reason that Mommy did not know that you wanted to do it yourself was because you did not tell me. It is unacceptable to throw a fit in a restaurant, and if you do that again, especially over something as dumb as a straw, you will wait in the car - are we clear?" (Don't call child services - I'm not really going to put him in the car) ... This simple exchange of I didn't know and you didn't tell me and that will never happen again. I'd like to say it only worked with him because of his personality, but this approach has worked with all 3 and they have 3 very different personalities - and temperaments!
For SIXTEEN (almost) years I have been picking battles. Battles I have faced most often? Yes, I will share them with you.
1. FOOD
When I was a kid, we ate what was placed in front of us until it was gone. I remember mastering the art of coughing food into a napkin, sliding the napkin up my sleeve, excusing myself to the bathroom, and flushing it away. Before that, when the table was in a different spot, I had an air vent behind my chair on the floor and I used to shove food in there. [sidenote: I still remember how mad my parents were when they pulled out the rotten caesar salad .. but honestly? What kid likes caesar salad?!] I can even remember sitting at the table once until close to midnight because I wouldn't eat a BLT. A BLT, friends!!
So when it came to my kids I decided to take a different approach. I am not a short order cook. I will cook one meal with variations for your tastebuds, but I will not cook an entire separate dinner for someone who doesn't like onions or red sauce. You don't like it? Make yourself something else to eat.
There are allegedly 4 food groups you are supposed to eat in 3 separate meals every day. OK. That means you need 3 pieces of fruit/vegetable a day, 3 proteins, 3 dairy, etc. In our family it does not have to be eaten in one sitting. As long as you get it in, whatevs. Not hungry for dinner? No problem. Eat when you are hungry ... just make good choices.
**exception to this rule** It is rare that we are all here at the same time for a family dinner. Three kids have two adults running in many different directions. So on the rare occasion that we are all here, we eat around a table and talk, and if you don't want to eat, fine, but you must sit with us.
Moral of food battle: Teach them to make good food choices and eat when they are hungry - good life skill to know at 16 and beyond. Forcing them to eat green beans when they are 5 will not matter when they are 16.
2. BED
Some kids need a lot of sleep, some don't. Some are brave, some are not. Some love their own bedrooms, some don't. Sometimes monsters really do live under your bed in the form of scary cats hiding from a dog or a leftover bag of goldfish you snuck up to your room.
The idea of co-sleeping always creeped me out. What crazy-ass family sleeps in one room? Freaks. (*slaps forehead*) How could I be so stupid?! You know who does this? PEOPLE WHO LIKE SLEEP! It started with Casey .... put him to bed, in he comes, we take him back, he comes in again, we make a bed on the floor, night night .... Then it started with Parker. They would sneak in so quietly that sometimes I would wake up in the morning and there was a kid in my bed or the floor OR BOTH! Someone once suggested we put a bell on our door so it would wake us up so we could take them back to bed. WHYYYYY? Wake ME up so I can put them back to bed and start over? Will they still be sleeping with us when they are 16? (Honestly? I actually wasn't sure back then ... I thought maybe.)
There was a point for like three months (fine. years.) where we had one or both of them in our room every night. Guess what happened when Casey turned into a pre-teen? Never saw him again. I rarely see Parker.
So with Hallie I was all like oh helllll no! We are going to train her to sleep in her room. Damn straight I was.
Hallie would cry around midnight from her crib. HB would get her. She would sleep with us. Endless cycle night after night. When she got her big girl bed at our old house, she did great for a spell. Then we did it. Ruined everything by moving into a house where the master bedroom is on a different floor. It's scary up there all alone! It started with her coming down every night. Then she wanted to fall asleep in our bed and we would carry her up. Then she'd come back an hour later. Now we just let her sleep with us. And sometimes we fall asleep holding hands and I love that so much. You know why? Because she won't do that with me when she is 16.
[Note: Hallie is really getting too big for our bed and I suggested to HB that we get a new chair for our room that pulls out into a twin. Hallie overheard and gasped! "I'm getting my own bed in our room?!" OUR room.]
Moral of bed battle: They won't sleep with you when they are 16. If it's not affecting your sex life or sleep habits, who cares? As long as momma sleeps, everyone is happy. Forcing them to lie awake scared in their bed will not form any life skill necessary at 16.
3. MANNERS & KINDNESS
"How do you think this would make _________'s heart feel?"
"Be the kind of friend ________ wants to play with tomorrow."
"Say thank you. Did you say please? Bless you!"
Do I think the guest always gets what they want? No. I think that's not true in real life either and sometimes you should get what you want and sometimes they should get what they want. It's called taking turns and sharing. Life skillz. If you instill this rule in your home, what happens when your child is at a friend's house? They are the ones saying, "I'm the guest! I get to do what I want!" That's not very nice, now is it? So instead I say, "[Your friend] is coming over to play today. Remember that they are our guest so we should make them feel comfortable here and want to come back so make good choices and be a good friend." If I hear a scuffle, I try and let them work it out themselves, but sometimes it's important to point out that someone is not being a nice friend. (And I only ever said that once to a kid that wasn't mine. Scouts honor!)
I did/do pick this battle constantly. CON. STANT. LY. The battle of being kind and having good manners. Although all 3 of my kids are very different, I do think they all have good manners (or I hear they do and you fools are all lying to me) and work hard at being good friends... I'm still working on Hallie's sharing/bossy skills. Girls are a whole 'nother ball game! (AND blog post!)
Moral of manners/kindness battle: Yes, it IS important to remind your kids to be a good friend, to think about how their actions affect others, and to use good manners. This will, in fact, matter much beyond 16.
4. CLEANING CRAP UP
In regards to kids cleaning up their own stuff, I lie somewhere nicely between OCD and psychotic. I think it just depends on the day. About once every 3 months I will lose. my. shit. and scream holy hell until everyone realizes what entitled, unhelpful brats they are. *slowy dusts off mom of the year trophy* The rest of the time, I ask for help or assign chores. Everyone rolls their eyes and does (pretty much) what they are told to do. Sometimes I want to do it all myself (because just once I would like it done right.)
I watch TV some and see commercials where moms with white houses are carrying baskets of laundry around and putting them away while their kids lie on their beds and listen to their iPhones. Nothing is a mess and mom is acting like a good mom. Or the ones where moms are cooking gourmet dinners and everyone is doing (gifted, obviously) homework or reading books curled up in white chairs with pretty blankets while she does this. (Am I making these up?) No one is scattering craft supplies across her great room or tracking mud in from outside or leaving their 6 week old plates from under their bed next to the sink. Not one wayward barbie is in the log basket and no baseball cups (the kind that protect your "grandchildren" ... ifyouknowwhatimean) are lying on the COUNTER where you prepare food. Anyhow, I sit here sometimes and think wait! Maybe making my kids put their laundry away is being a bad mom. Maybe, that IS my job! (omg. no. please.) There is a fine line between being a "good TV mom" type of mom and helping raise functioning people that will be adults in the real world one day.
So besides the one time every 3 months where I flip out, and the moments where my OCD flares up, there are about 2 1/2 months of regular life. Like I mentioned in this blog post two weeks ago, we don't give allowance. Because in the real world, nobody gets paid for merely existing. So you are just expected to do what is asked of you. If you go above and beyond, you get rewarded ... like if you want to go to dinner with friends, I might give you money because you washed the car. That sort of thing. I think this is a better example of how it works in the real world.... the more you work, the more money you get. Instilling work ethic is a huge part of being part of our family. Easier for some kids than others. In general I try and let their rooms be their rooms and let them live in them the way they want to in there, but not gonna lie ... that once every 3 month flip out is when we get to see the floor in Hallie's room and see what Parker's dresser looks like with the drawers shut.
Moral of the cleaning battle: It's important that they learn that the harder they work, the more they make, and sometimes being organized and neat is good so mom doesn't flip her shit on you.
*********************************
As I reflect back on the battles I have picked over the last 16 years, I do think I have done an OK job of picking the right ones as it appears he is turning out pretty good. The other 2 are well on their way to becoming functioning real people as well. It was never easy trying to decide if it really would ultimately matter when they were 16. Some days and situations were a lot harder than others, and you just hope and pray as a mom that you are making the right call.
A friend said to me last week "the days are long but the years are short." Gosh that is so freaking true! It feels like just yesterday I was at Dr. Delisle's office holding my 6 month old baby and saying goodbye, and now I wonder, 16 years later, if she realizes the profound impact those 7 words have had on my family and the kids I raised/am raising. The days may seem long, but, I promise, the years are so, so short. Pick your battles and pick them wisely.
Were you ever given parenting advice that you thought was great? I'd love to hear it!
The. Days. Are. Long. But. The. Years. Are. Short.
Remember this.
When Casey was born - 15 short years ago - he started screaming. It didn't stop for 4 and a 1/2 very, very long months. Convinced that it couldn't be colic -- because, duh, our child was not flawed like that -- we continually went to the pediatrician for help. Dr. Delisle was an awesome pediatrician with the patience of a saint for a crazy first time mom like me. She got me through those first few months. When Casey was 6 months old, we decided to make a move to Michigan for my husband's job. Dr. Delisle was one of the hardest people to leave. At our last visit with her, she said, "I am going to give you one piece of parenting advice. Pick your battles. And if you aren't sure which ones to pick, ask yourself 'will this matter when they are 16.'"
So here we are. On the brink of 16. Staring me in the face. One. Six. I reflect back on the last 16 years and the battles I have picked OR not picked. Have I made the right choices? I am almost positive that I have thought "will this matter" at least once a day since he turned 1. Which means I have had to decide, if a battle was worth picking, roughly 5000 times. And that number doesn't even reflect my 2 other kids - or poor math skills. #keepingitreal
Here is a perfect example of a battle I chose NOT to pick: When Parker was 2 1/2 we were at lunch and I opened his straw and put it in his cup. Like many toddlers with a different mood swing every 2 minutes, apparently this was not OK because he had wanted to do it himself and started throwing a fit right there in the middle of Macaroni Grill. I thought hmmm .... so if I give him the new straw, he sees that he won the battle of the fit throwing, but if I don't, he continues to whine and cry. Tough call. I was hungry. I gave him the new straw with this explanation: "This is not a battle I am going to pick with you because it does not matter, but listen to me very carefully. I am giving you another straw to do yourself because I did not know that you wanted to do it yourself. I sometimes forget that you are growing up. But the reason that Mommy did not know that you wanted to do it yourself was because you did not tell me. It is unacceptable to throw a fit in a restaurant, and if you do that again, especially over something as dumb as a straw, you will wait in the car - are we clear?" (Don't call child services - I'm not really going to put him in the car) ... This simple exchange of I didn't know and you didn't tell me and that will never happen again. I'd like to say it only worked with him because of his personality, but this approach has worked with all 3 and they have 3 very different personalities - and temperaments!
1. FOOD
When I was a kid, we ate what was placed in front of us until it was gone. I remember mastering the art of coughing food into a napkin, sliding the napkin up my sleeve, excusing myself to the bathroom, and flushing it away. Before that, when the table was in a different spot, I had an air vent behind my chair on the floor and I used to shove food in there. [sidenote: I still remember how mad my parents were when they pulled out the rotten caesar salad .. but honestly? What kid likes caesar salad?!] I can even remember sitting at the table once until close to midnight because I wouldn't eat a BLT. A BLT, friends!!
So when it came to my kids I decided to take a different approach. I am not a short order cook. I will cook one meal with variations for your tastebuds, but I will not cook an entire separate dinner for someone who doesn't like onions or red sauce. You don't like it? Make yourself something else to eat.
There are allegedly 4 food groups you are supposed to eat in 3 separate meals every day. OK. That means you need 3 pieces of fruit/vegetable a day, 3 proteins, 3 dairy, etc. In our family it does not have to be eaten in one sitting. As long as you get it in, whatevs. Not hungry for dinner? No problem. Eat when you are hungry ... just make good choices.
**exception to this rule** It is rare that we are all here at the same time for a family dinner. Three kids have two adults running in many different directions. So on the rare occasion that we are all here, we eat around a table and talk, and if you don't want to eat, fine, but you must sit with us.
Moral of food battle: Teach them to make good food choices and eat when they are hungry - good life skill to know at 16 and beyond. Forcing them to eat green beans when they are 5 will not matter when they are 16.
2. BED
Some kids need a lot of sleep, some don't. Some are brave, some are not. Some love their own bedrooms, some don't. Sometimes monsters really do live under your bed in the form of scary cats hiding from a dog or a leftover bag of goldfish you snuck up to your room.
The idea of co-sleeping always creeped me out. What crazy-ass family sleeps in one room? Freaks. (*slaps forehead*) How could I be so stupid?! You know who does this? PEOPLE WHO LIKE SLEEP! It started with Casey .... put him to bed, in he comes, we take him back, he comes in again, we make a bed on the floor, night night .... Then it started with Parker. They would sneak in so quietly that sometimes I would wake up in the morning and there was a kid in my bed or the floor OR BOTH! Someone once suggested we put a bell on our door so it would wake us up so we could take them back to bed. WHYYYYY? Wake ME up so I can put them back to bed and start over? Will they still be sleeping with us when they are 16? (Honestly? I actually wasn't sure back then ... I thought maybe.)
There was a point for like three months (fine. years.) where we had one or both of them in our room every night. Guess what happened when Casey turned into a pre-teen? Never saw him again. I rarely see Parker.
So with Hallie I was all like oh helllll no! We are going to train her to sleep in her room. Damn straight I was.
Hallie would cry around midnight from her crib. HB would get her. She would sleep with us. Endless cycle night after night. When she got her big girl bed at our old house, she did great for a spell. Then we did it. Ruined everything by moving into a house where the master bedroom is on a different floor. It's scary up there all alone! It started with her coming down every night. Then she wanted to fall asleep in our bed and we would carry her up. Then she'd come back an hour later. Now we just let her sleep with us. And sometimes we fall asleep holding hands and I love that so much. You know why? Because she won't do that with me when she is 16.
[Note: Hallie is really getting too big for our bed and I suggested to HB that we get a new chair for our room that pulls out into a twin. Hallie overheard and gasped! "I'm getting my own bed in our room?!" OUR room.]
Moral of bed battle: They won't sleep with you when they are 16. If it's not affecting your sex life or sleep habits, who cares? As long as momma sleeps, everyone is happy. Forcing them to lie awake scared in their bed will not form any life skill necessary at 16.
3. MANNERS & KINDNESS
"How do you think this would make _________'s heart feel?"
"Be the kind of friend ________ wants to play with tomorrow."
"Say thank you. Did you say please? Bless you!"
Do I think the guest always gets what they want? No. I think that's not true in real life either and sometimes you should get what you want and sometimes they should get what they want. It's called taking turns and sharing. Life skillz. If you instill this rule in your home, what happens when your child is at a friend's house? They are the ones saying, "I'm the guest! I get to do what I want!" That's not very nice, now is it? So instead I say, "[Your friend] is coming over to play today. Remember that they are our guest so we should make them feel comfortable here and want to come back so make good choices and be a good friend." If I hear a scuffle, I try and let them work it out themselves, but sometimes it's important to point out that someone is not being a nice friend. (And I only ever said that once to a kid that wasn't mine. Scouts honor!)
I did/do pick this battle constantly. CON. STANT. LY. The battle of being kind and having good manners. Although all 3 of my kids are very different, I do think they all have good manners (or I hear they do and you fools are all lying to me) and work hard at being good friends... I'm still working on Hallie's sharing/bossy skills. Girls are a whole 'nother ball game! (AND blog post!)
Moral of manners/kindness battle: Yes, it IS important to remind your kids to be a good friend, to think about how their actions affect others, and to use good manners. This will, in fact, matter much beyond 16.
4. CLEANING CRAP UP
In regards to kids cleaning up their own stuff, I lie somewhere nicely between OCD and psychotic. I think it just depends on the day. About once every 3 months I will lose. my. shit. and scream holy hell until everyone realizes what entitled, unhelpful brats they are. *slowy dusts off mom of the year trophy* The rest of the time, I ask for help or assign chores. Everyone rolls their eyes and does (pretty much) what they are told to do. Sometimes I want to do it all myself (because just once I would like it done right.)
I watch TV some and see commercials where moms with white houses are carrying baskets of laundry around and putting them away while their kids lie on their beds and listen to their iPhones. Nothing is a mess and mom is acting like a good mom. Or the ones where moms are cooking gourmet dinners and everyone is doing (gifted, obviously) homework or reading books curled up in white chairs with pretty blankets while she does this. (Am I making these up?) No one is scattering craft supplies across her great room or tracking mud in from outside or leaving their 6 week old plates from under their bed next to the sink. Not one wayward barbie is in the log basket and no baseball cups (the kind that protect your "grandchildren" ... ifyouknowwhatimean) are lying on the COUNTER where you prepare food. Anyhow, I sit here sometimes and think wait! Maybe making my kids put their laundry away is being a bad mom. Maybe, that IS my job! (omg. no. please.) There is a fine line between being a "good TV mom" type of mom and helping raise functioning people that will be adults in the real world one day.
So besides the one time every 3 months where I flip out, and the moments where my OCD flares up, there are about 2 1/2 months of regular life. Like I mentioned in this blog post two weeks ago, we don't give allowance. Because in the real world, nobody gets paid for merely existing. So you are just expected to do what is asked of you. If you go above and beyond, you get rewarded ... like if you want to go to dinner with friends, I might give you money because you washed the car. That sort of thing. I think this is a better example of how it works in the real world.... the more you work, the more money you get. Instilling work ethic is a huge part of being part of our family. Easier for some kids than others. In general I try and let their rooms be their rooms and let them live in them the way they want to in there, but not gonna lie ... that once every 3 month flip out is when we get to see the floor in Hallie's room and see what Parker's dresser looks like with the drawers shut.
Moral of the cleaning battle: It's important that they learn that the harder they work, the more they make, and sometimes being organized and neat is good so mom doesn't flip her shit on you.
*********************************
As I reflect back on the battles I have picked over the last 16 years, I do think I have done an OK job of picking the right ones as it appears he is turning out pretty good. The other 2 are well on their way to becoming functioning real people as well. It was never easy trying to decide if it really would ultimately matter when they were 16. Some days and situations were a lot harder than others, and you just hope and pray as a mom that you are making the right call.
A friend said to me last week "the days are long but the years are short." Gosh that is so freaking true! It feels like just yesterday I was at Dr. Delisle's office holding my 6 month old baby and saying goodbye, and now I wonder, 16 years later, if she realizes the profound impact those 7 words have had on my family and the kids I raised/am raising. The days may seem long, but, I promise, the years are so, so short. Pick your battles and pick them wisely.
Were you ever given parenting advice that you thought was great? I'd love to hear it!
Monday, January 12, 2015
Playing Daddy Ball at My Daughter's Beauty Pageant (Alternate Title: Things She Will Discuss in Therapy)
[DISCLAIMER: I know there are plenty of very natural looking and very sweet girls who enter and win beauty pageants. I know this because I have met them and some of them are my friends' kids. I know there are plenty of opportunities that come from pageants and that they can help instill poise and grace and all those other nice things little girls are supposed to have. I get it. But this isn't a story about you. It's a story about me. *adjusts crown*]
I know I'm psychotic. I know it's not normal to scream at umpires and want to fight some adult man for saying your kid sucks (not really but in so many words kinda yes he did ... but I'll save that for another blog post). I know it's not normal to really hate another group of kids because they beat your group of kids in a baseball playoff game. And let's not discuss the kid from the other school who broke your kid's arm in football. (Not really. He fell on it. It's easier to blame the other guy.)
My distaste for other children dates way back to when Casey was about 3 on a playground and some kid didn't want to share the slide. I mean what kind of parent raises a kid who hogs the slide? Not a good parent, that's who!
But I am pretty sure I hit a new low at my daughter's school sponsored beauty pageant last spring. And you know what? Maybe I am still a little bitter?
When I agreed to let Hallie enter the beauty pageant for our school system (AS A FUNDRAISER FOR THE HIGH SCHOOL BAND, MIND YOU), I decided how unfair to win both Miss Photogenic and all the other possible awards like grand supreme and all those other Honey Boo Boo-ish things. So I didn't enter her in the photogenic category because duh. Have you seen those dimples? Winning! And my photos have won many pageants before. (Not my kid, just my pics ... have I mentioned I am a photographer?)
Hallie was 5 at the time. In kindergarten. The information came home and I signed her up for what was to be the first of many pageants she would reign supreme in ... see what I did there? Reign supreme? I borrowed a dress from a neighbor because - hello? - she was 5. We went to the rehearsal. We went as early as we could on the day of the pageant to set up our stuff and get ready. We did her makeup (correction: we did her makeup appropriate for a 5 year old) and we hot rolled her hair. (Embarrassing to admit but I have watched enough Toddlers in Tiaras to know she needed big hair.) We put on her beautiful dress. We pinned her number on. We made friends with the other girls and moms in that room.
I sized up the other girls. Bless their hearts. No. Sweet things. I mean, they seemed very nice and were all very cute. But no. We had this LOCKED. UP. I was fist bumping and high-fiving Hallie in my head. Carefully, of course ... didn't want to wreck the hair.
The head pageant director (or whatever she was called) walked in and gave us the 10 minute warning.
Then it happened. In walks this girl. She had her spray tan and eyelashes on. Full face of makeup. Foundation, friends! FOUND. A. TION. She was 5!! Her pageant coach (not kidding) was with her. And she was carrying a dress bag that was bigger than the one my wedding dress is still stored in (unclean). Out comes this purple gown that had more layers of ruffles than could fit in that tiny room. Hallie said, "OOOOOOOOOOOOH that's a pretty dress!" I said under my breath, but loud enough for God to hear, "No. It's very obnoxious and she will look like that purple guy from McDonalds or, worse yet, Barney." (This was actually me using tact and not saying, "Who the hell would spend that much money on a dress for a 5 year old?")
Had I hit a new low? Obviously. Very obviously. I was irritated. But one look at the purple girl and I knew that Hallie was so much cuter than she was and would ultimately win because Hallie looked like a 5 year old, not a tramp. These are normal thoughts, right? I'm not alone, right?
They send the moms out to sit in the audience. Out I go. I remind Hallie on my way to smile and do her little waves at each post as we have practiced complete with a blown kiss to the judges at turn 3.
12 girls in her group. Obviously she is the cutest one. Duh. And she does great! Short of holding her hands together instead of at her side, she was perfect! Purple dress girl goes last. No waves. No kisses. Ha. Loser. These thoughts cross my mind. We have this won!
They call all the girls out to award prizes. There are like 5 different awards you can win .... sweetheart, queen, this, that, another .... photogenic (!) ..... etc.... Award after award goes to this girl. IN THE PURPLE DRESS! I am like are you serious? Have you seen Hallie's dimples?! She is stunning!! She looks like a 5 year old!! That girl looks ridiculous!! I seethe with each award. At the end, every girl gets a participation trophy. The big purple winner walks off with a couple sashes and 2 trophies - one of which is about 5 feet tall! I say, out loud, "I am so pissed. Oh, so you all think my daughter is ugly? I get it. Fine!"
This is a normal reaction to losing a beauty pageant. OBVIOUSLY.
I go back to get Hallie. I can't get in the room because "last in" purple dress girl is blocking the doorway with her big ass dress and taller-than-her-trophies. I roll my eyes very dramatically. I think about giving her a swift push to get through. This seriously crosses my mind. She looks like a brat anyway and probably never shares her toys with her friends. She probably always wants to be the mom when she plays house or the teacher when playing school, too. I can tell she is just awful like that.
Hallie looks at me and shows me her trophy which is all of 5 inches tall. And she says, "Look Mommy! I won!"
UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!
This goes against everything I stand for. The participation trophy. But she thinks she won? Do I have to go along with this? I look for my parenting handbook. No handbook. There isn't one, damnit.
So I smile. Hug her. Fight back MY tears.
We literally have to say "excuse me" to get past purple dress and her trophies. (We DO have manners thankyouverymuch.) I smile. Hallie says "I love your dress!" as we walk by. I clench my teeth, set my jaw, and plow forward.
We leave. Go to lunch and she shows everyone who will look at it her trophy. I ask her what she thought of the girl who won the big trophy. She said the big trophy was given to the winner because she had on a purple dress, and she said she would have gotten a bigger trophy, if her dress was purple.
I fight the urge to say bad things about this child who I don't know and dislike anyway. "You are a 43 year old woman," I tell myself. "This isn't normal." But it goes downhill and it gets worse. I know, right?
During the homecoming parade this fall the winners from the spring got to wear their dresses and crowns, ride in convertibles, wave, and throw candy. First grade winner comes rolling by and throws candy at our group with a giant smile and wave. Do you know that I almost picked up the candy and threw it right back at her? Right back at the girl in FIRST GRADE. I honestly almost did that.
[Sidenote: My last blog post was about being a good person 364 days a year. We better make that more like 360 for me and I'll go to confession or something because this ish ain't right. I know.]
Cut to this year. The form came home from school about the pageant and I laughed (evil laugh, mind you) as I ripped it into a million pieces and threw it in the trash. Hallie isn't strong enough to lose twice.
Then I signed her up for soccer. True story.
"Soccer Mom" .... that's worth a try!
I know I'm psychotic. I know it's not normal to scream at umpires and want to fight some adult man for saying your kid sucks (not really but in so many words kinda yes he did ... but I'll save that for another blog post). I know it's not normal to really hate another group of kids because they beat your group of kids in a baseball playoff game. And let's not discuss the kid from the other school who broke your kid's arm in football. (Not really. He fell on it. It's easier to blame the other guy.)
My distaste for other children dates way back to when Casey was about 3 on a playground and some kid didn't want to share the slide. I mean what kind of parent raises a kid who hogs the slide? Not a good parent, that's who!
But I am pretty sure I hit a new low at my daughter's school sponsored beauty pageant last spring. And you know what? Maybe I am still a little bitter?
When I agreed to let Hallie enter the beauty pageant for our school system (AS A FUNDRAISER FOR THE HIGH SCHOOL BAND, MIND YOU), I decided how unfair to win both Miss Photogenic and all the other possible awards like grand supreme and all those other Honey Boo Boo-ish things. So I didn't enter her in the photogenic category because duh. Have you seen those dimples? Winning! And my photos have won many pageants before. (Not my kid, just my pics ... have I mentioned I am a photographer?)
Hallie was 5 at the time. In kindergarten. The information came home and I signed her up for what was to be the first of many pageants she would reign supreme in ... see what I did there? Reign supreme? I borrowed a dress from a neighbor because - hello? - she was 5. We went to the rehearsal. We went as early as we could on the day of the pageant to set up our stuff and get ready. We did her makeup (correction: we did her makeup appropriate for a 5 year old) and we hot rolled her hair. (Embarrassing to admit but I have watched enough Toddlers in Tiaras to know she needed big hair.) We put on her beautiful dress. We pinned her number on. We made friends with the other girls and moms in that room.
I sized up the other girls. Bless their hearts. No. Sweet things. I mean, they seemed very nice and were all very cute. But no. We had this LOCKED. UP. I was fist bumping and high-fiving Hallie in my head. Carefully, of course ... didn't want to wreck the hair.
The head pageant director (or whatever she was called) walked in and gave us the 10 minute warning.
Then it happened. In walks this girl. She had her spray tan and eyelashes on. Full face of makeup. Foundation, friends! FOUND. A. TION. She was 5!! Her pageant coach (not kidding) was with her. And she was carrying a dress bag that was bigger than the one my wedding dress is still stored in (unclean). Out comes this purple gown that had more layers of ruffles than could fit in that tiny room. Hallie said, "OOOOOOOOOOOOH that's a pretty dress!" I said under my breath, but loud enough for God to hear, "No. It's very obnoxious and she will look like that purple guy from McDonalds or, worse yet, Barney." (This was actually me using tact and not saying, "Who the hell would spend that much money on a dress for a 5 year old?")
Had I hit a new low? Obviously. Very obviously. I was irritated. But one look at the purple girl and I knew that Hallie was so much cuter than she was and would ultimately win because Hallie looked like a 5 year old, not a tramp. These are normal thoughts, right? I'm not alone, right?
They send the moms out to sit in the audience. Out I go. I remind Hallie on my way to smile and do her little waves at each post as we have practiced complete with a blown kiss to the judges at turn 3.
12 girls in her group. Obviously she is the cutest one. Duh. And she does great! Short of holding her hands together instead of at her side, she was perfect! Purple dress girl goes last. No waves. No kisses. Ha. Loser. These thoughts cross my mind. We have this won!
They call all the girls out to award prizes. There are like 5 different awards you can win .... sweetheart, queen, this, that, another .... photogenic (!) ..... etc.... Award after award goes to this girl. IN THE PURPLE DRESS! I am like are you serious? Have you seen Hallie's dimples?! She is stunning!! She looks like a 5 year old!! That girl looks ridiculous!! I seethe with each award. At the end, every girl gets a participation trophy. The big purple winner walks off with a couple sashes and 2 trophies - one of which is about 5 feet tall! I say, out loud, "I am so pissed. Oh, so you all think my daughter is ugly? I get it. Fine!"
This is a normal reaction to losing a beauty pageant. OBVIOUSLY.
I go back to get Hallie. I can't get in the room because "last in" purple dress girl is blocking the doorway with her big ass dress and taller-than-her-trophies. I roll my eyes very dramatically. I think about giving her a swift push to get through. This seriously crosses my mind. She looks like a brat anyway and probably never shares her toys with her friends. She probably always wants to be the mom when she plays house or the teacher when playing school, too. I can tell she is just awful like that.
Hallie looks at me and shows me her trophy which is all of 5 inches tall. And she says, "Look Mommy! I won!"
UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!
This goes against everything I stand for. The participation trophy. But she thinks she won? Do I have to go along with this? I look for my parenting handbook. No handbook. There isn't one, damnit.
So I smile. Hug her. Fight back MY tears.
We literally have to say "excuse me" to get past purple dress and her trophies. (We DO have manners thankyouverymuch.) I smile. Hallie says "I love your dress!" as we walk by. I clench my teeth, set my jaw, and plow forward.
We leave. Go to lunch and she shows everyone who will look at it her trophy. I ask her what she thought of the girl who won the big trophy. She said the big trophy was given to the winner because she had on a purple dress, and she said she would have gotten a bigger trophy, if her dress was purple.
I fight the urge to say bad things about this child who I don't know and dislike anyway. "You are a 43 year old woman," I tell myself. "This isn't normal." But it goes downhill and it gets worse. I know, right?
During the homecoming parade this fall the winners from the spring got to wear their dresses and crowns, ride in convertibles, wave, and throw candy. First grade winner comes rolling by and throws candy at our group with a giant smile and wave. Do you know that I almost picked up the candy and threw it right back at her? Right back at the girl in FIRST GRADE. I honestly almost did that.
[Sidenote: My last blog post was about being a good person 364 days a year. We better make that more like 360 for me and I'll go to confession or something because this ish ain't right. I know.]
Cut to this year. The form came home from school about the pageant and I laughed (evil laugh, mind you) as I ripped it into a million pieces and threw it in the trash. Hallie isn't strong enough to lose twice.
Then I signed her up for soccer. True story.
"Soccer Mom" .... that's worth a try!
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Why Santa is Better to My Kids Than Yours .... and Sorry About That!
[Note: Did I hit all the right capital letters in that title? When you are a public grammar nazi you do stress about these things.]
Santa. Ah Santa. The man who can make or break your holiday. That big, fat, jolly guy with his magical sleigh and flying reindeer. Tiny elves making presents at the North Pole in a super cool workshop. Mrs. Claus baking cookies and serving hot chocolate. Snow falling. Bells ringing. Carols playing.
I love Christmas. I love everything about it. I read that Love Languages book once and my love language is giving. There is not much that makes me happier than seeing people receive gifts I have chosen for them whether they cost money or not. Every Christmas I bust my ass with my photography business so Santa has money to spend on our kids. I want to spoil my kids rotten on Christmas. I want piles and piles of presents and lots of wrapping paper to open and a big, hideous mess in the end. I want that magic. It's more about me than them. I know.
"That's not what Christmas is about."
"That's excessive."
"Kids don't need all those presents."
"You are making everyone else look bad."
"That's a want, not a need."
"Well WEEEEE don't do that."
"You are forgetting the real meaning of Christmas."
The real meaning of Christmas. Oh how that is a touchy subject - especially in the bible belt. I buy a Christmas gift at Toys R Us and half expect someone to jump out from under my car and thump me over the head with their bible while reading me the story of Christ's birth.
I got it. I promise. I got it.
We are a family that believes that you live your life in a way that makes God proud 364 days a year. (Yes. 364. You can mess up one day. He'll forgive you -- Hello, I did read the bible. I know why he died. Duh.) You don't go to church on Sunday and be a good person for that hour and then come home and forget about it all the rest of the week. Unless, of course, you remember by posting bible verses and stuff on Facebook because God's favorite pastime when he's not creating life and such is reading your Facebook posts. Anyhow, I digress.
So I get it. Here, in our house, we have a nativity. Everyone knows WHY we celebrate Christmas. We don't open a gift on Christmas morning until we sing happy birthday to Baby Jesus (and, if I remembered, blow out a candle on his cake. Or cupcake. Or cookie that Santa didn't eat. Whatever.) Our kids get 3 presents from Dad and Mom just like Jesus got 3 presents from those wise guys. (One of my kids used to call them "the wise guys" and I can't remember who it was, dangit, but it was cute enough to use again.) Then Santa leaves the rest of the stuff. Some is wrapped and some is unwrapped. Everyone has their own secret Santa wrapping paper. Everyone has the same number of wrapped gifts. Whoever finds the pickle on the tree starts and opens their first gift. Then it goes clockwise until all Santa gifts are open.
This year we had 19 wrapped Santa gifts. NINE. TEEN. Excessive? Yes. Over the top? Yes. Did they need it all? No. Do I care? No.
Here is why. And this is where this long blog post gets real.
For 364 days a year (with the exception of your birthday) if you are a Walsh, you are expected to do your part. Sometimes it's easy. Sometimes it's not. There is no allowance, you are just expected to do. your. part. "If you think in the real world someone is going to pay you for just 'existing,' you are wrong." So no. There are things that are expected of you when you are a Walsh.
A strong work ethic. At home and at school.
Kindness.
Compassion.
Loyalty.
Honesty.
Respect.
Forgiveness.
GOOD MANNERS!
You are expected to be the kind of person that people want to tell me good things about, not bad. Yes, you can slip. Yes, you can fall. But 99% of the time, you need to make us proud. And the more you do around here and the more you give to the family, the more you get in return. Allowance - so to speak - is doled out based on a "what have you done for us lately" basis. I say no or "put it on your list" all year. Rewards are trips to the dollar store. Christmas is the one time each year I spoil my kids rotten. I work hard to do that for them because I want them to grow up and remember how awesome Christmas was when they were kids. And I feel like they deserve it after all they have done for our family for 364 days.
God would want that. He would want me to find joy in giving. I know he knows how happy my soul is on Christmas morning. How "blessed" I feel by the warm feeling of family that surrounds me. That the smiles and surprised looks on their faces are memories that are etched in my heart for-freakin-ever.
Every year we give back - we pick names off an angel tree and stuff the bus at every school with toys for local kids. But this year I added something cool into my giving based off an idea from a friend. The week before Christmas I gave each child some money and told them to think about how they could use it to make someone happy. Do a random act of kindness. Then we headed out. Hallie decided to buy cookies and coke and bring it to the local police and fire stations to say thanks for keeping us safe. Parker decided to use all of his money at the dollar store to buy as many presents as he could to make as many kids happy as possible and we donated them to toys for tots. [Truth: Parker initially wanted to give to the church because he heard if you give to God, he gives back two fold and he was hoping to make a quick hundo. My life is real, yo.] Casey decided to buy 2 big gifts for toys for tots and then we purchased donuts and coffee and went to the hospital floor where HB's dad died a year and a half ago to say thanks for making that awful time so much easier for our family. We didn't think they would remember us or him as it had been a long time, but 2 of those nurses did and there were about 15 of us with tears in our eyes talking about the true meaning of Christmas and thankful hearts. I mean come on. That's good stuff, right? Not going to lie ... I felt a little defeated the very next day when Hallie was diagnosed with the real flu and I realized I had been spreading the flu instead of Christmas joy just 12 hours earlier. AT A HOSPITAL no less! Oops.
So the moral of this very long story is this. You do you. I'll do me. And together we will live in HO-HO-harmony. :o)
Santa. Ah Santa. The man who can make or break your holiday. That big, fat, jolly guy with his magical sleigh and flying reindeer. Tiny elves making presents at the North Pole in a super cool workshop. Mrs. Claus baking cookies and serving hot chocolate. Snow falling. Bells ringing. Carols playing.
I love Christmas. I love everything about it. I read that Love Languages book once and my love language is giving. There is not much that makes me happier than seeing people receive gifts I have chosen for them whether they cost money or not. Every Christmas I bust my ass with my photography business so Santa has money to spend on our kids. I want to spoil my kids rotten on Christmas. I want piles and piles of presents and lots of wrapping paper to open and a big, hideous mess in the end. I want that magic. It's more about me than them. I know.
"That's not what Christmas is about."
"That's excessive."
"Kids don't need all those presents."
"You are making everyone else look bad."
"That's a want, not a need."
"Well WEEEEE don't do that."
"You are forgetting the real meaning of Christmas."
The real meaning of Christmas. Oh how that is a touchy subject - especially in the bible belt. I buy a Christmas gift at Toys R Us and half expect someone to jump out from under my car and thump me over the head with their bible while reading me the story of Christ's birth.
I got it. I promise. I got it.
We are a family that believes that you live your life in a way that makes God proud 364 days a year. (Yes. 364. You can mess up one day. He'll forgive you -- Hello, I did read the bible. I know why he died. Duh.) You don't go to church on Sunday and be a good person for that hour and then come home and forget about it all the rest of the week. Unless, of course, you remember by posting bible verses and stuff on Facebook because God's favorite pastime when he's not creating life and such is reading your Facebook posts. Anyhow, I digress.
So I get it. Here, in our house, we have a nativity. Everyone knows WHY we celebrate Christmas. We don't open a gift on Christmas morning until we sing happy birthday to Baby Jesus (and, if I remembered, blow out a candle on his cake. Or cupcake. Or cookie that Santa didn't eat. Whatever.) Our kids get 3 presents from Dad and Mom just like Jesus got 3 presents from those wise guys. (One of my kids used to call them "the wise guys" and I can't remember who it was, dangit, but it was cute enough to use again.) Then Santa leaves the rest of the stuff. Some is wrapped and some is unwrapped. Everyone has their own secret Santa wrapping paper. Everyone has the same number of wrapped gifts. Whoever finds the pickle on the tree starts and opens their first gift. Then it goes clockwise until all Santa gifts are open.
This year we had 19 wrapped Santa gifts. NINE. TEEN. Excessive? Yes. Over the top? Yes. Did they need it all? No. Do I care? No.
Here is why. And this is where this long blog post gets real.
For 364 days a year (with the exception of your birthday) if you are a Walsh, you are expected to do your part. Sometimes it's easy. Sometimes it's not. There is no allowance, you are just expected to do. your. part. "If you think in the real world someone is going to pay you for just 'existing,' you are wrong." So no. There are things that are expected of you when you are a Walsh.
A strong work ethic. At home and at school.
Kindness.
Compassion.
Loyalty.
Honesty.
Respect.
Forgiveness.
GOOD MANNERS!
You are expected to be the kind of person that people want to tell me good things about, not bad. Yes, you can slip. Yes, you can fall. But 99% of the time, you need to make us proud. And the more you do around here and the more you give to the family, the more you get in return. Allowance - so to speak - is doled out based on a "what have you done for us lately" basis. I say no or "put it on your list" all year. Rewards are trips to the dollar store. Christmas is the one time each year I spoil my kids rotten. I work hard to do that for them because I want them to grow up and remember how awesome Christmas was when they were kids. And I feel like they deserve it after all they have done for our family for 364 days.
God would want that. He would want me to find joy in giving. I know he knows how happy my soul is on Christmas morning. How "blessed" I feel by the warm feeling of family that surrounds me. That the smiles and surprised looks on their faces are memories that are etched in my heart for-freakin-ever.
Every year we give back - we pick names off an angel tree and stuff the bus at every school with toys for local kids. But this year I added something cool into my giving based off an idea from a friend. The week before Christmas I gave each child some money and told them to think about how they could use it to make someone happy. Do a random act of kindness. Then we headed out. Hallie decided to buy cookies and coke and bring it to the local police and fire stations to say thanks for keeping us safe. Parker decided to use all of his money at the dollar store to buy as many presents as he could to make as many kids happy as possible and we donated them to toys for tots. [Truth: Parker initially wanted to give to the church because he heard if you give to God, he gives back two fold and he was hoping to make a quick hundo. My life is real, yo.] Casey decided to buy 2 big gifts for toys for tots and then we purchased donuts and coffee and went to the hospital floor where HB's dad died a year and a half ago to say thanks for making that awful time so much easier for our family. We didn't think they would remember us or him as it had been a long time, but 2 of those nurses did and there were about 15 of us with tears in our eyes talking about the true meaning of Christmas and thankful hearts. I mean come on. That's good stuff, right? Not going to lie ... I felt a little defeated the very next day when Hallie was diagnosed with the real flu and I realized I had been spreading the flu instead of Christmas joy just 12 hours earlier. AT A HOSPITAL no less! Oops.
So the moral of this very long story is this. You do you. I'll do me. And together we will live in HO-HO-harmony. :o)
The "Perfect" Child
I am not one to write a lot about my kids getting straight A's, doing super great on their CRCT's, or their overall sheer perfection. I mean, as their mother, I think it is MY responsibility to think they are perfect. As once was said to me, "your children are perfect in the eyes of 3 people. You [their mom], their dad and God." However, I am one to tell you when one of my kids writes with sharpie on my couch, one gets beat up by a bully probably because he had it coming or just the overall chaos that is called my life. My dad called once and asked me to call him back when I wasn't multi-tasking. Clearly he forgot what it's like to raise children. I said, "Dad - when exactly am I NOT multi-tasking ... maybe when I'm in the car, but if I call you from there, I guess I will technically be multi-tasking."
Anyhow, as Casey reaches that icky pre-teen/puberty stage and I feel him slipping away and long for the days where he would snuggle up with me, thumb in his mouth, rubbing his blankie on his nose and say, "Momma, wead me a stowee" and stuff like that .... and I lie awake at night wondering how did I mess him up so bad? Is my time running out? I wish I would have done this or that differently..... I feel him slipping away and it hurts my heart ohhh sooo baddddd...... we have conversations about qualities we see that we like in other kids and qualities we do not. Sometimes I feel like I am trying a little too hard to shape his personality to become the person I (or we) want him to be instead of just letting him "be" hoping we did an OK job raising him. Then I lie there thinking, "Please God, let him turn out OK." Or "Please God, let me stop fighting his battles for him" ... or "Please God, let him turn out to be someone we are proud to call our own."
And I wonder .... I wonder what it's like when I am NOT there..... not there to remind him to be kind. To remind him to be respectful. And to be a good friend. And all the things he learned in kindergarten like that stupid poster everyone had in 1988 says. And you just don't know.
So here's where the bragging comes in. Within the last 3 weeks I have received 2 e-mails. I am changing the names of the people involved but other than that they are verbatim .....
The first:
From: Anonymous (LOL)Date: April 11, 2011 7:57:17 AM EDTTo: Tami Walsh
Did Casey tell you he helped a girl who got knocked down about a week before
spring break? The girl was my 6th grader, [Katie], who ended up with a
broken arm from her fall (was accidentally tripped in the hall)... He
scooped her up and grabbed her bookbag and helped her to the clinic :) She
didn't know who he was b/c she was crying (I'm sure hysterically, she's my
drama queen), but a friend found out over the break and told her.
If it was indeed Casey, tell him he's a very nice boy :)
[Her mom]
So when Casey got home, in true Walsh fashion, I said, "So I heard you knocked a girl down before spring break and broke her arm?!" He was all like, "No I didn't!!!! I saw it happen and helped her to the clinic!!!!!"
*slaps wrist* Bad mommy. Bad.
(This is why therapists get paid good money, by the way)
Then today I received this e-mail:
From: I'm not telling you who wrote this one either!Date: April 27, 2011 12:14:08 PM EDTTo: Tami Walsh, Tami Walsh
Hey,I just wanted to let you and HB know what a great son you have![Emily] has struggled on so many levels this year. Late last night, she was particularly upset about not having any friends.While talking to her, she said that each day during one of the class changes, she passes Casey and each day he puts his hand up for her to give him a high five. It makes her feel good. It makes her feel that someone cares about her.I wanted you to know that your friendly, caring son has made a difference in [Emily's] life. It is true that you never know what a smile or hello may mean to another person and that little things can really make a difference and have an impact.Just thought you'd like to know that you have raised a super young man!Love you,[Her Mom]
This brought me to tears.
Here's my moral of the story - if someone, especially a child, has done something nice for you or your child, let the mom know. Because maybe - JUST MAYBE - she lies awake at night wondering if she is doing an OK job, too.
xoxo
Facebooking with Preteens (sidenote: when this was still cool)
[edit: This post was originally written in roughly 2010 ...]
So I'll admit it. I have a few friends on facebook that are friends of Casey. They are pre-teen little girls. And I read their stuff but never comment so they forget about me. It's worked well so far. (Maybe until they read this, of course, but I think they should be blocked....) Well, if you are friends with any middle-school age girls, you have probably noticed they are all posting and reposting this crazy list of how you should treat a girl and what you should do when sort of thing..... *rolling eyes*
So I'll admit it. I have a few friends on facebook that are friends of Casey. They are pre-teen little girls. And I read their stuff but never comment so they forget about me. It's worked well so far. (Maybe until they read this, of course, but I think they should be blocked....) Well, if you are friends with any middle-school age girls, you have probably noticed they are all posting and reposting this crazy list of how you should treat a girl and what you should do when sort of thing..... *rolling eyes*
[sidenote: It is important for me to step back right now and remind myself how I was in 7th grade .... Seriously boy crazy and obsessed. But here's the truth of the matter. I'm not anymore. And it's silly to have been. So there.]
Anyhow, I have been debating whether I should discuss this list the girls are posting with Casey to let him know my thoughts .... let me know what you think I should do - my thoughts are in brackets and red.
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Am I Turning into my Mother?
Let me set the scene.... it was 1985-ish... Michael Jackson was going to be my husband [Billie Jean was NOT his lover], my spiral perm was fresh [my hair is thick.... spiral perm was awesome], my preppy handbook said my name was Tiffy, and I really wanted Guess jeans. I can remember wanting them so bad. I can still picture how they were hung on the rack against the white wall at Marshall Fields that backed up to the escalator. Facing forward. Lit up like heaven had shined upon them.
ME: Mom, I like totally really want this one pair of jeans...
MOM: What jeans?
ME: Guess. They are totally rad.
MOM: Jordache? Sergio Valente?
ME: No. Guess jeans.
MOM: Levis?
ME: Levis? Gag me with a spoon.
This is kind of how it went with my mother. So I took her to Marshall Fields and showed her the jeans. I could pretty much talk my mom into most things over time so I was sure I would go home with those jeans. I had the outfit for school on Monday picked out in my head - I had this super cute purple Forenza sweater I planned to wear with them. I can, to this day, remember how it felt to want those jeans so bad. And I can remember, to this day, how it felt to go home without that $50 pair of jeans.
MOM: $50 for a pair of jeans?
ME: *tears well in eyes*
MOM: No way.
My mom was the mom who bought the IZOD shirts at garage sales and took the alligator off and sewed it on my polo shirts from JC Penneys. You know your mom did that, too. Oh she didn't? Whatever. But I knew, deep in my heart, she was planning on buying those jeans that way and taking the triangle patch off the back and sewing it on my jeans from Kohls or wherever.
I never did get the Guess jeans that year.
So here we are, like 15 (*cough25cough*) years later, and I actually said these words. Out loud. To my totally rad pre-teenager.
"$12.00 for one pair of socks? That you will put a hole in in a month?"
There is no way to fake these socks but I'm not going to lie. I did think about it. And I have some pretty strong feelings on this sock look the boys are going for these days.
This is the look I am referring to:
And here are my thoughts:
1. Boys. Socks pulled halfway up to your knees with slides [people over 40: slides are the current day version of the flip flops the soccer players used to wear so they didn't ruin their cleats] or tennis shoes [people from the south: tennis shoes are sneakers] is a look you will regret in 20 years. Your future children will make fun of you the way we make fun of my dad for wearing socks with his sandals.
Sidenote: There are no looks I regret.
*slowly creeps out of room*
2. I am already getting ripped off by Nike when I pay $19 for a 3 pack of black socks. That are the wrong socks. (Refer to above picture for wrong socks)
(2 1/2. I know you are still thinking about my big hair and, well, yeah, that's Bill Rancic and me at a date party. We were married. Watch out Giuliana.)
3. How are socks sick? "These socks are sick, mom." Do they have anything contagious I wonder?
[Here I am going to digress. I like to think of myself as a pretty cool and hip mom. Saying I am a hip mom does not make me cool OR hip. It makes me old. I don't get why things are sick or phat or beast. I mean, I *get* it ..... I just think it's stupid. I got swag, I am phat but not fat, my jeans are sick (now that I pay for them myself) and my personality is beast. Word.]
4. Who decided these socks were cool? The ones you had to have. Did some 12 year old mother f-er walk into Dick's Sporting Goods and find the most expensive pair of socks and say these are the socks that are cool and I will tell the world (probably via Twitter because I don't twitter and wouldn't know if this happened) that they are the only socks that are cool and if you don't wear these specific socks, you are a total douche. (Douche is a cool word for dork. For realz yo.)
5. TRUTH: I am going to buy these socks. And I am going to go broke buying these socks. The younger two will have to forgo braces because I will have spent all that money on socks.
6. These socks better not disappear in the washer/dryer like all the other socks do. Or, for $12 per pair, they better come with some sort of tracking device. Like a find my iSock™ app or something. (I don't think iSock™ is trademarked but if it's not, I'm going to invent it so I put that there to protect me. What?)
All I know is that raising kids in today's age really socks. It's really hard to draw the line (onthebackofthesock) in what they can or cannot have. I guess socks are the least of my problem and I should be thankful ..... he'll probably be asking for a corvette when he turns 16.
Um, no.
Would you like to see my peacock?
For Hallie's Halloween costume 2 years ago I decided she should be a peacock. Might be the dumbest decision ever. I thought I'd share it because it was the most expAnsive costume I have ever made (and I want to pimp it out on Pinterest). I did buy the tutu dress from some site on etsy (wish I could link it here but can't remember the name!) but thought making the feathers would be the easy part.... um no. I wish I had a progress pictorial to show you how I did it. But I don't. So I'll just tell you and you will have to use your imaginations... (I am still recovering from the glue gun burns.)
First I bought a turquoise fairy wing set. And some black boa feather things. And 5 zillion peacock feathers. Who knew those were going to be SO expensive? Then I alternately glued the feathers long and short on both sides and put the boa feathers at the bottom to hide the stems....
Now, I am trying to erase the mental images of us walking to the pre-trick-or-treat party at my neighbor Pam's house when she said she wasn't going to wear the feathers and I sent the boys on ahead of me so I could, through gritted teeth, tell her oh-yes-she-was-bless-her-heart.
In my opinion, the cutest part of the costume were the chucks on her feet. Now I am stuck with a 3 foot wide set of feathers and no where to store them. And I can't get myself to sell them.
Here is a close up of the back:
And of the front:
And, of Darth Vadar. Note the feathers. Oh right. Sometimes arguing with a toddler is SO not worth it.
Happy Halloween - just a couple months early. ;o)
My Husband Works from Home
I am going to start a support group for wives whose husbands work from home. I think we could have weekly lunch meetings where we could discuss the following:
1. Will I ever vacuum again?
2. How to keep the dog from barking when he is on a call. Which is all day. So basically 'How to keep the dog from barking. Ever.'
3. Yes I have lunch plans that don't include you.
4. The washing machine .... Friend or foe?
5. Inopportune times for the garbage disposal to make that awful noise like it's chopping up beer bottle tops. (Because it is)
6. What "beer thirty" means for moms. (See 5)
7. No, a nooner is not exercise.
8. Yes, this IS what I do all day.
9. Yes, I do miss you when you travel. (This is the code name topic for "How to pretend you miss him when he travels when really you are happy to have the house to yourself")
The last time my husband went out of town I moved furniture, unpacked boxes (finally), built a dresser and set up an office. I also cleaned the house like Rosa had been here. (Rosa is the best cleaning lady in the south. I love her.)
Now he is working in the office, doors open, on calls, so I tiptoe around afraid to make any noise for fear my loud slippers swish swishing on the floor will make that big deal go bad.
I am actually thankful to have a husband who 1) has a good job and 2) is around. There are times between calls when a mirror needs to be hung or a kid needs to be picked up from the school early because of a tummy ache and I am stuck at Target.
Target. Number 10. Why Target is like a little slice of heaven. Especially if they have a Starbucks when you first walk in.
1. Will I ever vacuum again?
2. How to keep the dog from barking when he is on a call. Which is all day. So basically 'How to keep the dog from barking. Ever.'
3. Yes I have lunch plans that don't include you.
4. The washing machine .... Friend or foe?
5. Inopportune times for the garbage disposal to make that awful noise like it's chopping up beer bottle tops. (Because it is)
6. What "beer thirty" means for moms. (See 5)
7. No, a nooner is not exercise.
8. Yes, this IS what I do all day.
9. Yes, I do miss you when you travel. (This is the code name topic for "How to pretend you miss him when he travels when really you are happy to have the house to yourself")
The last time my husband went out of town I moved furniture, unpacked boxes (finally), built a dresser and set up an office. I also cleaned the house like Rosa had been here. (Rosa is the best cleaning lady in the south. I love her.)
Now he is working in the office, doors open, on calls, so I tiptoe around afraid to make any noise for fear my loud slippers swish swishing on the floor will make that big deal go bad.
I am actually thankful to have a husband who 1) has a good job and 2) is around. There are times between calls when a mirror needs to be hung or a kid needs to be picked up from the school early because of a tummy ache and I am stuck at Target.
Target. Number 10. Why Target is like a little slice of heaven. Especially if they have a Starbucks when you first walk in.
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