One of THOSE Weeks

    I am having one of THOSE weeks. Ya'll know the kind I speak of.
    The week where you look in the mirror and you can't find a single thing about your features that you like.
    The week where you know you can't avoid a situation any longer but you know there is not a single freaking thing you can say which will change the outcome of it.
    The week where you need to give just the right kind of parental advice because it's just that important but you, yourself, don't even know how the hell to handle people so how can you give advice on it.
    The week where everything you had planned to accomplish has been left on the to do list because you're so busy putting out fires that you don't have time to do anything else.

   And hell, it's only Tuesday!

   Whew, that is finally off my chest. Am I venting? Yes, dear. And I have to apologize because you come here to my blog...well, heck I don't even know why people come here. I think it's for my witty and charming advice on what not to do in life. Why can't they have a show about that?
   "What Not to Do in Life!"
 
    When at the zoo, do you put your hand in the alligator cage or not?
    Mmm, lets bring in our experts.
    Expert 1:  "Well, first of all, why are wearing that skirt to the zoo? Really, do you know how ugly it is? That alligator should just be allowed to eat all of you and put us all out of misery for having to see such a fashion atrocious."
    Expert 2: "What year was she born in? Daring the alligator is so in your twenties stupid."

    Yes, these shows where experts are allowed to bully others just teaches everyone else that if they want to be cool, they should just annihilate people emotionally. Forget nurturing and caring. This is Sparta and if you don't agree.
   We kill you.
  
   I'm tired of bullies. I'm tired of dealing with school systems that don't stop situations until they become a mine field of broken psyches and bruised hearts.
   But with that being said. I have to applaud my elementary school. Last year, as you can recall, we had issues with bullies. This year, things have changed a bit. Abu was in school, and another student teased her about Baby Blueberry's hands. How hurt does someone have to be on the inside that they would taunt a newborn?
   Has our society fallen so much?
   Anyway, the teacher was informed, who promptly turned it over to the principal and he pulled the student from the class and reprimanded him for his actions.
    Will it change the child?
    Will it make him more conscious of others' needs and wants and feelings?
    I don't know.
   How do you get to the age of nine and you're bullying newborns to fill that empty inside you?

  People are a complicated bunch. Complex. Driven by pain and grief and joy and experiences.

   Bean is having trouble at school. Some of it she's at fault for. Social skills are not her best...yet.
    But to give her credit, for as hard as it's been for her this year as she moves closer to being a young woman and less a child, she tried to make it right.
     She told another girl's secret and of course, the girl was hurt. Bean tried to apologize, genuinely and repeatedly but the other girl was too hurt. So Bean stopped talking to the other girl, because at that point I felt like it was better if she just left the other girl alone.  But the other girl didn't want to drop it. So in her pain, she is harassing Bean to show her anger.

      A school system, heck a society, that was centered on the four things a soul needs to grow; physical, spiritual, education, and social; would have been able to step in and assist the girls in dealing with their hurts and their actions and help them grow from the experience.
   Instead, middle school is hell. It's about survival. It's about sending our children there and hope they come out without too many wounds.
  Yet, that's how the world is. You go out into the world, most people with the best intentions, and you return; hurt and scarred and wounded. Some people hide away from the world, others focus on things that won't hurt if they fail, others turn to substance abuse to cover up their insecurities, and others become bullies because they figure it's better to hurt first than be hurt.

   I was listening to a TEDtalk on Youtube, given by this kid. A kid around Bean's age. Who said when asked what he wanted to do with his life, gave the answer...happy. He wanted to be happy. So I stopped asking my kids what they want to be when they grow up.
   A career will happen. I value knowledge too much not to pass that love of learning on to my kids. And I want to help them find something that they will be able to support themselves in a changing and broken economy.

   And maybe the questions shouldn't be what do you want to be? Who do you want to be?
  
   I want my kids to be happy.
   I want them to be strong.
   I want them to nurture and love the people in their life.
   I want them to find spouses who love them and support them and challenge them. Who encourage them and help them to continue to grow.
   I want them to have families. To make a family structure for themselves, their spouses, and their children that encourage growth and a path of faith. That is based in LOVE.
  I want them to make the world a better place but also realize they can be themselves. Flaws, and faults and quirks and all.
  I want them to find their spiritual path. Their faith.
  I want them to give and be generous. To do the right thing.
  I want to know them, as adults. To have a relationship with them.
  I want them to realize that learning never, ever, stops. That 12th grade isn't the end of learning...in fact, it's just the beginning.
 
  I want them to be themselves. I want them to find the strength to fill any empty they ever feel with love and not anger, or hate, or fear.

      I want them to know they are stronger than their insecurities.
    
     That God is stronger than their fears.
    
   That love is always more powerful than hate. 

   And so, I am having one of THOSE weeks. The kind of week where I have to list my blessings, so I realize that list is longer than my complaints. (Thank God.)
    The kind of week, where I don't have the words I need to give the advice I need to give Bean, so I pray and pray and pray that my words will be the correct ones.
   And as for everything else in this week; I have to realize it will be what it will be and accept it.

   In the meanwhile; special family outings, weekly visits with friends, a baby who is calling me  Momma, and an Abu who is starting to be more like her happy self again, are all wonderful things to celebrate. So I really can't complain and the hateful part of the world can just deal with that.
   

  

What a Gold Star can't Teach You

     In second grade, my wonderful teacher, Mrs. Tracy, read the story I wrote about a brontosaurus and taught me that I couldn't start every sentence with the word 'AND'. It was a pivotal moment in my writing career. Of course, it took me decades to realize that I could start a sentence with the word 'AND' on occasion. Sparingly. As a tool in story telling.
     And that was the beginning. :-)

     The story wasn't "perfect". It was about a dinosaur who was green and did a lot of boring, routine sort of stuff. My grade in my reading and writing class was a solid B.
    That moment, when she sat down next to me, in the tiny chair the 2nd grade classes had, her knees folded uncomfortably, is burned into my mind. I felt so crushed at first. It wasn't perfect. It didn't get a gold star.
     It wasn't as good as my neighbor's, some girl with long blond hair, perfect teeth and stylish clothes. The complete opposite of me, with my buck teeth and thick brown hair and thrift store clothes. 
     I felt insecure, lacking and if it wasn't for the gentle tones of Mrs. Tracy and her reassuring smile, I probably would have never wrote again.
     In my entire life.
   
     A few days of mulling over what I thought was an epic failure, I realized something important. A gold star doesn't force you to get better. They're nice and all and sometimes you have to award them. But when there is something to learn, we need to listen to the lesson. It's not a failure to learn how to get better.
    It's a failure to think we have nothing to learn.

    Fast forward to college and my easy sailing through classes and assignments came to an abrupt halt as my piano/choral teacher, Mrs. Reed, told me in her blunt and no nonsense tones, "You're getting a B in my class because you think everything should be easy and you shouldn't have to work too hard to obtain it. I know what type of student you are. School is easy for you so you haven't learned how to push herself for something you want. It's sad."
    Ouch. Still not totally my fault though. After 2nd grade, no teacher wanted to push me. I was getting A's easily, so they didn't have to spend time with me. They could focus on other students. I understand. It's difficult to give each student what they need. Obviously, you're going to spend time with the students having trouble. Not with the students who don't.

    But it was still a statement I had to let sink in. I couldn't toss it out and pretend I didn't have any responsibility in the matter.
 You can still be a slacker, even with straight A's.

   Hero Hottie challenges me. He invites me to listen and understand the lyrics to songs. His humor keeps me on my toes.
   Today, my editor, who I adore by the way, sent me a long list of things I needed to correct in my story before I should publish it. That crushing sensation of failure was pressing against my lungs. All the little self doubts came rushing into my head, trying to suffocate me.
 
   Hero Hottie came to the rescue. He read what she wrote, pointed out all the good things she had to say and asked about the points of corrections she was recommending and prevented me from seeing it as a failure.
   
    And instead he reminded me to embrace it as a chance to grow and to learn and to push myself to achieve success. To become the writer I know I can be.
   
    Because the path to success and growth isn't littered with gold stars, it's full of falling down and stumbling and scraping your knee.
    And not using the word 'AND' at the beginning of each sentence.
  
   

    

A Caffeinated Baby in the Land of No Sleep

    I can easily forgive Baby Blueberry for not reading the numerous studies on all the baby websites that say a warm caffeinated breast milk latte isn't going to keep her up at night. After all she can't read yet, so she's not aware of the facts that say she can't consume enough caffeine via my breast milk to get a buzz.
    She should be able to enjoy coffee before bed and expect a nice, restful night of sleep, right? Supposedly, the rumor is, that not enough caffeine enters my breast milk to effect Baby Blueberry, so drink a few cups. After all, I'm a new Mom and up all night long, so I'm going to need the coffee in the morning to survive.

    Alright researchers, this is an easy one. We're going to play a game. Have a dozen Moms drink a few grande latte Starbucks coffee drinks in the afternoon and then nurse their babies before bed. We'll put you in charge of the night time care of caffeinated babies and see if your research shows a little bit more insight.
     Because I have problems with research that report:  Moms who heavily drink caffeinated beverages report frequent night time wakings of their little babies. But than you super smart researchers say something stupid like, 'this wasn't statistically significant. So we can't say if the caffeine was the culprit.'
    Are the coffee shops funding your research?

    I love the one research guy who said, 'the caffeine is just disturbing Mom's sleep patterns, that's why she's waking up so many times at night, it's not disturbing the infant.'
     Really? The coffee is waking me up? Does the coffee cry in the middle of the night until I'm dragged from the little bit of REM sleep I have managed to find in the last two weeks and demand to be fed? Does the coffee stay up, bouncing and jumping and grinning because they're wired?
   Does the coffee wake up every hour with a sad scrunched up face and needs to be cuddled? (That or she's after more caffeine and it's a ploy.)

   In my twenties, when I had Bean and Abu, I wasn't a coffee drinker. So I didn't worry about the effects of caffeine. But this time; in my thirties and with more demands on me; I have fallen in love with a cup (or four cups) in the morning.
   When I was put on modified bed rest with Baby Blueberry, I cut out the coffee. I know that caffeine did not tear my placenta but in my worried, panicked state of mind; I decided I better just stay away from it.
   After her birth, I decided I could follow the advice of doctors and have a cup or two of coffee in the mornings. Since I was so extremely tired most mornings from the demands of my newborn; this was considered a necessity. Almost more important than a shower, but not quite.

      (Little Baby you can play on the bathroom floor and enjoy the white noise of the shower running while I remember what it feels like to have clean hair. )

    The problem though, is that I drink my coffee very slowly. Hero Hottie will drink his in about half an hour and start eyeing my cup if I don't clearly claim my territory.
    
     (To set the scene:We did have a coffee pot. Saved us money and trips to the coffee shop. Then one sad morning, while Hero Hottie was cleaning it; it broke leaving us to make coffee with hot water and a strainer. This arduous method lasted one cup before we decided to buy another pot. Which is actually a funny story and I'll have to share it later this week...But in the mean time we have been stalking the coffee shop in search of heavy doses of caffeine.)
    
      After finishing his  20 ounce coffee, he picks up my measly 12 ounce cup and shakes it.
      "You still have half a cup left. You going to finish it?" He asks, quite casually as if he doesn't care either way. But he's licking his lips and he has that gleam in his eye.
        "Hey, you had your coffee. Leave mine alone." I say, as I grip the coffee shop cup in both hands, baring my teeth and ready to fight.
         He holds up his hands, "Hey, I was just asking. Since you're not done yet."
         I glare at him and continue sipping on my coffee as he he makes another run to the coffee shop.

         And this is where the trouble starts. Right on into the afternoon I'm still sipping on my coffee. I try to finish it earlier but I can't gulp coffee. By evening, just after I have the children in bed and the baby finally to sleep; I quickly crawl into bed and an hour later I'm awoken by small baby wanted to play or practice her crawling.
        Nurse her, convince her it's bedtime and try to sleep.
        Wham. An hour later. She's awake again. Happy and content but AWAKE.
        Of course, it doesn't help that I'm feeding her more coffee with each feeding.
   
        It's vicious cycle. I drink coffee, albeit not even that much; but I drink it too late into the day. By the time it must reach her milk; it's time for bed. Except now, that little bit of caffeine doesn't seem so statistically insignificant because neither one of us get much sleep that night.
        And in the morning that coffee shop looks like an oasis in the desert. But I must resist; it's only a mirage. Coffee will keep small child up, thereby keeping Mom up; thereby causing Mom to appear to be a zombie, stumbling and muttering around the house without any coffee to make her human again.

     Moral of the story: No matter how happily hyper Baby Blueberry gets after her caffeinated breast milk lattes; she does not need it.

    Now I just have to convince Blueberry's Mom that tired, exhausted Mom doesn't need coffee either. Wish me luck. :-)