As I have gotten older I have come to a conclusion that I am quite comfortable with, one that I liked to pretend wasn't true when I was younger. I've come to accept the fact that I hate to be scared. Hate it. Don't like it at all. Not. One. Bit. I'm not talking about the adventurous type of "this is a challenge that I don't think I can conquer because of my fear but I can push myself through it and beat it" type of scared. I used to work in a wilderness program, so I am totally down for the ropes course/rappelling/rock climbing sorts of challenges that might elicit some kind of fear, but that are really more about pushing past your personal limits and learning about yourself and how much more you are capable of. No. I'm talking about "Holy shit! That just scared the bejesus out of me and I won't be able to sleep with the lights off EVER again even if I am in a house full of people 24/7" type of scared. The scary movie/haunted house/boogeyman/things that go bump in the night stuff. And because of this, I find it completely ironic that I am the one in my family that this shit always seems to happen to. Never to my husband. Which makes me appear like a complete whackadoodle looney toon. But I'm not. I couldn't make this shit up.
Several nights ago, when my husband was working the night shift from 7pm to 7am (of course he was!!!) I was sitting with my kids playing Life. Suddenly the door from the kitchen into the garage opens up. Little Dude proudly announces "Daddy's home!" because that is the door Dad comes through when he gets home from work. Only it was 8:30pm. So there was no way he was home from work. Once this reality sets in, I find myself looking at 3 little sets of deer-in-the-headlights faces. When I get up and investigate, the garage doors are down and there is no one in the garage. Things that make you go hmmmmmmmm. Now I like to think of myself as a fairly rational and logical thinker. I have a more mathematical, scientific, linear kind of brain so I am very well aware that most things have a very reasonable explanation. In this case, maybe there was a shift in air pressure and the door wasn't closed all the way and the air-pressure change pushed the door open. Could be. So, no reason to panic or freak out right? Right.
The next night I am saying goodnight to the last of my kids as he heads to bed (because its not cool to say your 12 year old wants to be "tucked in" so you just call it "saying goodnight" - whatever allows me to still give my babies good night kisses is just fine by me!). As I head down the hallway, I hear a noise in our bedroom. I go in and discover the exhaust fan is on in our bathroom. This is the same freaking exhaust fan that hasn't worked since we moved in to the house 5 months ago, that no matter what configuration of switches we tried between our bathroom and the kids bathroom (thinking it might be a circuit-thing) the fan just will not work. Until tonight. WTF!! So I run downstairs to get my phone and call the husband to tell him that I don't know how but somehow I managed to get the fan on in the bathroom and I'm going to leave it running all night so the electrician working on our kitchen can look at it when he comes back tomorrow. At this point, I'm not that freaked out at all. With all the electrical work we are having done in the kitchen (moving outlets, putting in lights, installing switches, moving appliances around, etc) its entirely possible that somewhere along the way a circuit was tripped or jiggled or screwed with in some way, and when the kids were doing their showers earlier in the evening, our fan was tripped on when they turned on the fan in their bathroom. Or something like that. Somehow. Maybe. Possibly.
So I'm explaining this phenomenon to him and I head back upstairs so he can hear the fan going. Except that he can't now. Because its not. Going that is. The effer has turned off. By itself. No light switches or bathroom switches or fan switches or circuits being messed with at all. Just turned off. All by itself. Holy shitball-palooza!!!!!!! NOW I'm freaking the hell out. NOW shit just got real! NOW I'm shaking and I really don't see how I am going to be able to sleep tonight because I am having a really hard time finding a logical and rational explanation. And I am looking reeeeeeeeally hard for a logical and rational explanation. I'm not someone who hears the logical explanation and chooses to ignore it and believe the shit is possessed anyway. Oh HELL to the no! I WANT to be told WTF is going on so I DON'T have to think the shit is possessed. And while I don't know for sure if I believe shit CAN be possessed, I do know that I have had experiences in the past that I have not been able to explain for the life of me, which makes me think its entirely possible for shit to be possessed.
Like the time at my mom's house (which was built in 1860) at 11pm when I heard a bedroom door open and close by itself. A bedroom door which has an old-fashioned lift-latch which makes a very distinct noise when its lifted and lowered, and which has to be lifted and lowered in order for the door to move. No one else up. No windows open so there is no air-flow issues going on. No way for the door not to have been fully latched because the door would have swung open already - the house was built in 1860 and there isn't a god damn flat or level surface in the entire place! So the door HAD to have been fully latched in the first place because it was closed.
Or the time I was sleeping on my mom's couch (if you think there was any chance in HELL of me sleeping upstairs in that house EVER again after the bedroom door incident, you are freaking driving the cray-cray train!) and I am awakened at 2am to the voice of a young girl speaking with a British accent coming through the baby monitor sitting on the end table. When I told Mom, she explained that with it being summer, and with the windows open on the front of the house, sometimes when people go by on the sidewalk their voices will carry up through the windows and be picked up by the baby monitor in that bedroom. I asked her to give me the name of the little British girl in the neighborhood who goes for walks at 2am. She couldn't name any.
I know there are people out there who LOVE scary movies and get a thrill out of being scared. I used to try and be one of those people. I would go to the haunted house with my friends and try sooooo hard NOT to be "that" person who gets freaked out and can't handle it. I would try to go to the scary movies and believe that it would be fun to be a little scared and cling to whoever the boyfriend was at the time. It never worked. Because inevitably I would have to be left alone at some point. Even being married there are nights (too many nights to count) where the husband has to go away for a period of time, or is working the night shift, and no matter how long it has been since I have seen a scary movie or had a scary experience, somehow that is ALL I can think of the minute I am home alone. Somehow, I have the unique ability to convince myself that no matter how far-fetched, fake, and impossible the stupid scary movie plots and scenarios are, they can - and inevitably WILL - happen to me in that moment. All of them. At the same time. One after the other. Bam, bam, bam, bam. And nothing...NOTHING...can convince me that it won't.
And its NOT an adrenaline rush for me. Its not fun. So I respectfully request that all the ghosts, spirits, souls, whatever you want to call them, please give your signs to other people. Its not that I am not open to it. I am. I just am not the person you are looking for. I'm not strong enough to be able to convey the message you are trying to send. Unless that message is "OMG OMG OMG WTF WTF WTF SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!!!" in which case, I sooooo got this for you. Consider the message sent.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Ok, Let's Dance.
Dear Mrs. Big-Dude's-Teacher,
I'm not sure if you remember me, as we have only met that one time at the scheduled Parent-Teacher Conference in October. I'm Big Dude's Mom, the straight A student you said was a "really good kid" but who had a bad habit of talking too much in class after his own work was completed. And I'm his Mom, the one who said that we supported the school and did not condone misbehavior in school in any manner, the Mom who sat with you and discussed different behavior modification techniques that you could use with Big Dude to help discourage this overly social behavior. You might also make note of the fact that you haven't heard much from me since that conference. I haven't been barraging you with emails or special requests for my kid. I haven't been bypassing the normally acceptable "chain of command" by contacting the principal before discussing matters with you.
We are not tigers, or helicopters, or snow plows, or any other wacky parenting-label phrase that is currently popular. Rather than try to shield our children from adversity, heartbreak, or obstacles, we are trying to prepare our children to deal with them. It starts with setting a solid example for them, letting them see what a mature adult does in certain situations when things don't go as planned. That is followed by discussing with them how to do this for themselves and even walking them through things that they encounter, holding their hands and helping them along the way. The end goal is to sit back and maybe with some verbal encouragement, watch our children deal with adverse circumstances independently and successfully.
Sometimes, however, as a parent, there comes a time when its important to demonstrate to our children just how important they are to us and just how far we are willing to go for them. Cuz they are right now just children. And if they were capable of handling everything on their own at this age, they'd have their own apartments and jobs, and I wouldn't have to break up fights over whose turn it is to pet the dog, or who should have to put the milk away when Big Dude got it out but Little Dude touched it last. But they aren't. So they don't. And its up to us to help them sort through the batshit crazy that crosses their paths. And this, my dear, is where you come in.
Because you certainly are. Batshit crazy, I mean. Am I right, or am I right?
Okay, maybe batshit crazy seems a bit harsh. How does "power-hungry bully who is completely inconsistent and unpredictable while remaining hyper-focused on minutiae inconsequential to learning" sound? Yeah, batshit crazy does sound better.
But I know batshit crazy. I come from a long and distinguished line of batshit crazy. Not only am I an expert in recognizing batshit crazy, I have honed my skills in playing with batshit crazy. I guarantee that I can out-play, out-wit, and out-last your batshit crazy any day of the week. So, you wanna dance? Let's dance.
Your move: Big Dude finishes his work, and pulls a book out of his desk to read (as per your plan concocted during previously mentioned conference). He finishes this book before everyone is done with his work, asks you if he can get another book from his locker, and you make him "pull a card" because he should have planned ahead and had a book already in his desk if he was almost done with the other one.
Counter move: Really?? He should be psychic and be able to predict how long its going to take the other students to finish their work, as correlated against how fast he's going to read the remainder of the book in his desk (because as a psychic, he would know how many words are left in the book as well as his average words per minute reading speed)?? Ok. When you come to school and find a pile of 26 books stacked around his desk, I'm sure you will ask him what they are doing there and I have instructed him to assure you that he is doing exactly as you wished. Planning ahead. So that he is NEVER caught without proper reading material at his desk again.
Your move: You tell the Big Dude and the other students that they aren't allowed to have books in their desk to read because they should be "using their time more wisely" by finishing homework or doing other school work, even when they are done with their other work.
Counter move: You know what? Fuck it. Go ahead and chat it right up.
Your move: You hold Big Dude's lunchbox hostage, telling him you will return it to him when he writes a paper about how you are his favorite teacher and submits this paper to the "voluntary participation" PTA Favorite Teacher contest where the teacher who gets the most submissions wins something from the PTA.
Counter move: Write that paper. Write away. But since honesty is very important to us in this family, make sure you tell the truth. Somehow I don't think the content of this paper is going to be what you are hoping for. Because the first line of this paper will be "I am being forced to write this paper about a teacher who is, in fact, NOT my favorite teacher because its the only way I can get her to return my personal property to me." This will be followed by a lengthy Anti-Bullying PSA diatribe.
Your move: While serving the punishment of classroom lunch for a previous offense, Big Dude witnessed a co-serving peer spill at his desk, and receive permission to get a paper towel to clean it up. When Big Dude spilled some water on his desk and raised his hand to ask for permission to get a paper towel, you instructed him to "Put your hand down and sit down. This is my lunch too, you know."
Counter move: Really? Really?!? Ok. Next time you spill something or there is a mess to clean up, say out loud in a voice that is crystal clear, "Excuse me Dude Who Happens To Be Class Pet Through No Fault Of His Own, would you please ask Mrs. Big-Dude's-Teacher if you can get a paper towel for me, since she will allow you to do things that I am not allowed to do?" See, batshit crazy also has a healthy dose of experience with fucked up passive aggressive. Boo-yah!
Your move: You decide that one of Big Dude's infractions is significant enough to notify me about, but apparently not until the next day, when Big Dude arrives in the classroom in the morning to find an index card with the supposed infraction written in clear bold letters taped face up in the middle of his desk, for the entire classroom to see as they enter the class. Big Dude is supposed to bring this card home to me and have me sign it as proof that he has made his parents aware of his egregious behavior.
Counter move: I am pre-signing an entire package of blank index cards and sending them in to school with Big Dude tomorrow. From now on when there is an infraction that is "parent sign the card" worthy, just write it on the back of one of the pre-signed cards and place it directly in your "Big Dude Bad Behavior" file. Because like the boy who cried wolf, you have seriously over-played your hand. I no longer care when Big Dude has to "pull a card" because when you decide that a kid who trips over another student's chair and accidentally spills something deserves to pull a card for this clear violation of appropriate classroom behavior, I can not take you or your behavioral expectations and standards seriously.
When I was a child my son's age, my father taught me a lesson that I have never forgotten. This lesson has served me well throughout my life and I am optimistic that it can do the same for Big Dude. It is this. "You are going to encounter assholes your whole life. The earlier you learn how to deal with them the better off you will be." What I learned from my father is that sometimes you have to counter batshit crazy with batshit crazy. And a healthy dose of passive aggressive with a side dose of cynical sarcasm can give you just the edge you need to come out on top.
Sincerely,
Big Dude's passive aggressive batshit crazy cynically sarcastic mother who LOOOOVES to dance
I'm not sure if you remember me, as we have only met that one time at the scheduled Parent-Teacher Conference in October. I'm Big Dude's Mom, the straight A student you said was a "really good kid" but who had a bad habit of talking too much in class after his own work was completed. And I'm his Mom, the one who said that we supported the school and did not condone misbehavior in school in any manner, the Mom who sat with you and discussed different behavior modification techniques that you could use with Big Dude to help discourage this overly social behavior. You might also make note of the fact that you haven't heard much from me since that conference. I haven't been barraging you with emails or special requests for my kid. I haven't been bypassing the normally acceptable "chain of command" by contacting the principal before discussing matters with you.
We are not tigers, or helicopters, or snow plows, or any other wacky parenting-label phrase that is currently popular. Rather than try to shield our children from adversity, heartbreak, or obstacles, we are trying to prepare our children to deal with them. It starts with setting a solid example for them, letting them see what a mature adult does in certain situations when things don't go as planned. That is followed by discussing with them how to do this for themselves and even walking them through things that they encounter, holding their hands and helping them along the way. The end goal is to sit back and maybe with some verbal encouragement, watch our children deal with adverse circumstances independently and successfully.
Sometimes, however, as a parent, there comes a time when its important to demonstrate to our children just how important they are to us and just how far we are willing to go for them. Cuz they are right now just children. And if they were capable of handling everything on their own at this age, they'd have their own apartments and jobs, and I wouldn't have to break up fights over whose turn it is to pet the dog, or who should have to put the milk away when Big Dude got it out but Little Dude touched it last. But they aren't. So they don't. And its up to us to help them sort through the batshit crazy that crosses their paths. And this, my dear, is where you come in.
Because you certainly are. Batshit crazy, I mean. Am I right, or am I right?
Okay, maybe batshit crazy seems a bit harsh. How does "power-hungry bully who is completely inconsistent and unpredictable while remaining hyper-focused on minutiae inconsequential to learning" sound? Yeah, batshit crazy does sound better.
But I know batshit crazy. I come from a long and distinguished line of batshit crazy. Not only am I an expert in recognizing batshit crazy, I have honed my skills in playing with batshit crazy. I guarantee that I can out-play, out-wit, and out-last your batshit crazy any day of the week. So, you wanna dance? Let's dance.
Your move: Big Dude finishes his work, and pulls a book out of his desk to read (as per your plan concocted during previously mentioned conference). He finishes this book before everyone is done with his work, asks you if he can get another book from his locker, and you make him "pull a card" because he should have planned ahead and had a book already in his desk if he was almost done with the other one.
Counter move: Really?? He should be psychic and be able to predict how long its going to take the other students to finish their work, as correlated against how fast he's going to read the remainder of the book in his desk (because as a psychic, he would know how many words are left in the book as well as his average words per minute reading speed)?? Ok. When you come to school and find a pile of 26 books stacked around his desk, I'm sure you will ask him what they are doing there and I have instructed him to assure you that he is doing exactly as you wished. Planning ahead. So that he is NEVER caught without proper reading material at his desk again.
Your move: You tell the Big Dude and the other students that they aren't allowed to have books in their desk to read because they should be "using their time more wisely" by finishing homework or doing other school work, even when they are done with their other work.
Counter move: You know what? Fuck it. Go ahead and chat it right up.
Your move: You hold Big Dude's lunchbox hostage, telling him you will return it to him when he writes a paper about how you are his favorite teacher and submits this paper to the "voluntary participation" PTA Favorite Teacher contest where the teacher who gets the most submissions wins something from the PTA.
Counter move: Write that paper. Write away. But since honesty is very important to us in this family, make sure you tell the truth. Somehow I don't think the content of this paper is going to be what you are hoping for. Because the first line of this paper will be "I am being forced to write this paper about a teacher who is, in fact, NOT my favorite teacher because its the only way I can get her to return my personal property to me." This will be followed by a lengthy Anti-Bullying PSA diatribe.
Your move: While serving the punishment of classroom lunch for a previous offense, Big Dude witnessed a co-serving peer spill at his desk, and receive permission to get a paper towel to clean it up. When Big Dude spilled some water on his desk and raised his hand to ask for permission to get a paper towel, you instructed him to "Put your hand down and sit down. This is my lunch too, you know."
Counter move: Really? Really?!? Ok. Next time you spill something or there is a mess to clean up, say out loud in a voice that is crystal clear, "Excuse me Dude Who Happens To Be Class Pet Through No Fault Of His Own, would you please ask Mrs. Big-Dude's-Teacher if you can get a paper towel for me, since she will allow you to do things that I am not allowed to do?" See, batshit crazy also has a healthy dose of experience with fucked up passive aggressive. Boo-yah!
Your move: You decide that one of Big Dude's infractions is significant enough to notify me about, but apparently not until the next day, when Big Dude arrives in the classroom in the morning to find an index card with the supposed infraction written in clear bold letters taped face up in the middle of his desk, for the entire classroom to see as they enter the class. Big Dude is supposed to bring this card home to me and have me sign it as proof that he has made his parents aware of his egregious behavior.
Counter move: I am pre-signing an entire package of blank index cards and sending them in to school with Big Dude tomorrow. From now on when there is an infraction that is "parent sign the card" worthy, just write it on the back of one of the pre-signed cards and place it directly in your "Big Dude Bad Behavior" file. Because like the boy who cried wolf, you have seriously over-played your hand. I no longer care when Big Dude has to "pull a card" because when you decide that a kid who trips over another student's chair and accidentally spills something deserves to pull a card for this clear violation of appropriate classroom behavior, I can not take you or your behavioral expectations and standards seriously.
When I was a child my son's age, my father taught me a lesson that I have never forgotten. This lesson has served me well throughout my life and I am optimistic that it can do the same for Big Dude. It is this. "You are going to encounter assholes your whole life. The earlier you learn how to deal with them the better off you will be." What I learned from my father is that sometimes you have to counter batshit crazy with batshit crazy. And a healthy dose of passive aggressive with a side dose of cynical sarcasm can give you just the edge you need to come out on top.
Sincerely,
Big Dude's passive aggressive batshit crazy cynically sarcastic mother who LOOOOVES to dance
Sunday, February 10, 2013
I Love My Friends!!
I have the best friends! I really do. I have friends I have known since I was 2 years old, and friends I have only known for 6 months, and I must say I feel really blessed to have so many wonderful people to call "friends". As with most people, my friends tend to fall into categories. There's the old friends, like from childhood. There's the good friends, from a particular period or experience. There's the close friends, like a friendship safety net. There's the new friends, with new experiences (and debauchery) to be shared. And there's the family/friends, who just like family, will always be there (whether you want them to or not, because they know too much and most likely can't be trusted to use that information for good and not evil).
The old friends I knew as a kid are the ones I may not have seen in decades. The ones who were there with me when I did all those stupid and embarrassing things that I pray to God don't show up in pictures on Facebook, and yet are the ones who will inevitably post all the pictures on Facebook. They are the ones who were right beside me wearing those awful 70's outfits that our parents put us in. The ones who knew me during my "wonder years" of bad perms, thick Coke-bottle glasses, braces, and teenage acne. These are the friends who might have a preconceived notion of who I am now as an adult based on all the annoying things I may have done as a young kid. Some of these friends may have seen me getting dragged up the T bar lift by my dangling ski because obviously sitting is the logical thing to do on a T shaped piece of wood nestled against my butt! Some of these friends might have been with me when my boat ran out of gas in the faaaaaaarthest corner of the lake from home. These friends might even have been good enough friends to listen to me when I said "Hey, you jump in and push - kick really hard - while I get in and pull it with the ski tow rope, and you two just paddle like hell!" You just can't buy that kind of loyalty. Really. Sometimes these friends won't let you live down a foolish childhood mistake. Like hypothetically taking a vocabulary test you haven't studied for and upon seeing the word "satire" you, hypothetically, write down "a large mythical beast with a bad temper" because you are assuming its a typo and the teacher really meant to write "satyr". Hypothetically.
Then there are the good friends I have met along the way, the ones I have picked up in my many, MANY travels - I've had 17 addresses since college! These are the friends that I might lose touch with but carry so many wonderful memories of, the friends who bring me back to a specific time in my life. They probably haven't met my husband or kids, and I probably haven't seen them in years. I'm sure if I happened to get together with any of them, it would be just like old times but there would also be a learning curve. Because these friends knew me during a certain period in my life, and only for a small fraction of time, and people change and grow up and mature. So getting to know these friends all over again would be one of the most awesomest things I can imagine. But I think at this age I would hope that these friends would not necessarily be running naked through car washes any more. Or sneaking through the back woods of North Carolina trying to find a double wide trailer that sells mason jars of moonshine in 26 flavors. Hypothetically speaking. Or the ones who become your saving grace when you are living somewhere akin to "the worst place EVER", because they can make you spew Diet coke out of your nose by casually discussing smegma over lunch. These are the friends I am probably thinking about when I randomly burst out laughing at things that remind me of them, like references to the office copy machine guy on SNL played by Rob Schneider (Steve-o, The Steve-inator, Baron Von Steve-ster), or when someone tells me a story about trying to set up 2 friends and I instantly think about deaf mutes. It's these shared experiences that connect me to these friends in ways that cannot be undone, regardless of the passage of time, and for that I am so grateful.
There are also the close friends I have met along the way, who I have remained in close and fairly regular contact with, whose kids are friends with my kids long distance, the ones who invite me to their kids' weddings, birthdays, graduations, etc. and even if I haven't seen them in a year or more, it's like putting on a comfortable pair of slippers. These friends understand how tough it can be to relocate every few years, and they know how to make the most of 4 years of friendship. They can make that 4 years stretch out into a lifetime, and even if I never see them in person again, the phone calls, Christmas cards, and Facebook messages somehow manage to sustain that friendship just like I was still living down the street. These are the friends that I can go years without seeing but who can easily make me laugh until I cry, or hypothetically pee myself, in a phone conversation that can often go on for 2+ hours. They may not be able to "be there for me" in person now, but there isn't anything we wouldn't have done for each other when geography wasn't in the way. These are the friends who will drive over at 10:30 pm to help you out when you have fallen down a flight of stairs, because your other friend (who, hypothetically, lives only 2 houses away) has ignored your desperate phone call for help (you know who you are!!!). These are the ones who won't "judge" if your kid, hypothetically, takes a dump on the side of the road while visiting their house because the walk across the yard back to the house and inside to the bathroom was "too long". And this is the friend who jumps in the car on a moments notice to come and sit through the night with you for 6 hours to cry with you and hold your hand during a family emergency. The one that you would do the exact same thing for even if it's been more than 2 years since you've seen each other.
I am also lucky enough to have new friends, friends I am still getting to know and who are still getting to know me, but who already know me well enough to know about my inherent shyness, introversion, abhorrence of sarcasm, and fear of confrontation, and STILL want to be my friend anyway. The people I look forward to creating memories with and hopefully someday soon, being able to call my close friends. These are the friends who will do anything they can to help out when you are living in a hotel for 6 weeks with 3 kids and a dog in a brand new city in a brand new state. The ones who are willing to invite you over and introduce you to their circle of friends, who make you feel "part" of something for the first time in a new place. Its their faces you look for in a crowd because its always reassuring to know at least ONE person when you are walking into a new and unknown situation. They don't realize it, but something as simple as saying hello and chatting at a kid's football game, or asking how a parent/teacher conference went can mean the world when you are the new family in town, especially if said parent/teacher conference didn't exactly go "as planned" and you now have to prepare to kick some major ass when you get home. These are the people who have all the good inside information (which teachers to avoid, which sports team parents are the drama stir-ers, which pediatrician/dentist/ER/urgent care clinic/salon/etc is the best or worst, where to get the best pizza/mexican/italian/chinese/etc food in town....) and are willing to share it! Every friend starts out as a new friend and it is my every hope that they will become my close friends as time goes by.
With family/friends, the line between "family" and "friend" becomes hazy or non-existent. The bond that is shared between these friends is as strong as any family bond I have ever seen. These friends know me better than I know myself. They can tell me what I don't want to hear and know that I'm gonna be pissed as hell at them for calling me out on my shit, but that I'll be over it soon and will eventually thank them for it. These are the friends I can share my deepest secrets, fears, insecurities, failures, anxieties, and sadness with. And these are the people I call first to share in my joys, victories, successes, happiness, and laughter with. These are the people I can just share a "look" with, and they know to go along with me as I tell all the kids about the ever elusive goat-salmon hybrid fish - called the salmoat, but pronounced "smote" - that I'm pretty sure just washed up on the shore of the lake. They just know not to question, to go along with it, and if possible to offer their own bizarre contributions. These are the people who know without a doubt, no matter how pissed off I get at them, they should NOT under any circumstances EVER let me start a bonfire when I have been drinking. Again. Because I like my eyebrows just the way they have grown back in. These are the ones who will go to bat for you, even when they know they are on the losing side. Its these friends who will circle the wagons around you and protect you like a mama grizzly against anyone who hurts you. And its these friends whose new spouses are informed in no uncertain terms that you better treat my friend well because if you ever hurt her you will have to deal with me. Its not like I have ever whispered those exact same words to one (or several) of them as I hugged them in the receiving line at their wedding. Because that might be crossing the line. So I definitely didn't do that.
Regardless of what category a friend might fall into, I am very grateful for all of my friends. I am lucky that I get to make new memories with so many old friends who have chosen to stay in touch and maintain an active friendship. I am lucky to live someplace where people are so open and welcoming to new friends. We don't often take the time to tell everyone how important they are to us, or how much we appreciate them. This is more true with people or friends from the past. There are a lot of people who have touched my life in a very real and significant way but maybe for only a short period of time. Regardless of the length of time or the category of friendship, I want to thank everyone who has touched my life with their friendship. I really do have the best friends.
The old friends I knew as a kid are the ones I may not have seen in decades. The ones who were there with me when I did all those stupid and embarrassing things that I pray to God don't show up in pictures on Facebook, and yet are the ones who will inevitably post all the pictures on Facebook. They are the ones who were right beside me wearing those awful 70's outfits that our parents put us in. The ones who knew me during my "wonder years" of bad perms, thick Coke-bottle glasses, braces, and teenage acne. These are the friends who might have a preconceived notion of who I am now as an adult based on all the annoying things I may have done as a young kid. Some of these friends may have seen me getting dragged up the T bar lift by my dangling ski because obviously sitting is the logical thing to do on a T shaped piece of wood nestled against my butt! Some of these friends might have been with me when my boat ran out of gas in the faaaaaaarthest corner of the lake from home. These friends might even have been good enough friends to listen to me when I said "Hey, you jump in and push - kick really hard - while I get in and pull it with the ski tow rope, and you two just paddle like hell!" You just can't buy that kind of loyalty. Really. Sometimes these friends won't let you live down a foolish childhood mistake. Like hypothetically taking a vocabulary test you haven't studied for and upon seeing the word "satire" you, hypothetically, write down "a large mythical beast with a bad temper" because you are assuming its a typo and the teacher really meant to write "satyr". Hypothetically.
Then there are the good friends I have met along the way, the ones I have picked up in my many, MANY travels - I've had 17 addresses since college! These are the friends that I might lose touch with but carry so many wonderful memories of, the friends who bring me back to a specific time in my life. They probably haven't met my husband or kids, and I probably haven't seen them in years. I'm sure if I happened to get together with any of them, it would be just like old times but there would also be a learning curve. Because these friends knew me during a certain period in my life, and only for a small fraction of time, and people change and grow up and mature. So getting to know these friends all over again would be one of the most awesomest things I can imagine. But I think at this age I would hope that these friends would not necessarily be running naked through car washes any more. Or sneaking through the back woods of North Carolina trying to find a double wide trailer that sells mason jars of moonshine in 26 flavors. Hypothetically speaking. Or the ones who become your saving grace when you are living somewhere akin to "the worst place EVER", because they can make you spew Diet coke out of your nose by casually discussing smegma over lunch. These are the friends I am probably thinking about when I randomly burst out laughing at things that remind me of them, like references to the office copy machine guy on SNL played by Rob Schneider (Steve-o, The Steve-inator, Baron Von Steve-ster), or when someone tells me a story about trying to set up 2 friends and I instantly think about deaf mutes. It's these shared experiences that connect me to these friends in ways that cannot be undone, regardless of the passage of time, and for that I am so grateful.
There are also the close friends I have met along the way, who I have remained in close and fairly regular contact with, whose kids are friends with my kids long distance, the ones who invite me to their kids' weddings, birthdays, graduations, etc. and even if I haven't seen them in a year or more, it's like putting on a comfortable pair of slippers. These friends understand how tough it can be to relocate every few years, and they know how to make the most of 4 years of friendship. They can make that 4 years stretch out into a lifetime, and even if I never see them in person again, the phone calls, Christmas cards, and Facebook messages somehow manage to sustain that friendship just like I was still living down the street. These are the friends that I can go years without seeing but who can easily make me laugh until I cry, or hypothetically pee myself, in a phone conversation that can often go on for 2+ hours. They may not be able to "be there for me" in person now, but there isn't anything we wouldn't have done for each other when geography wasn't in the way. These are the friends who will drive over at 10:30 pm to help you out when you have fallen down a flight of stairs, because your other friend (who, hypothetically, lives only 2 houses away) has ignored your desperate phone call for help (you know who you are!!!). These are the ones who won't "judge" if your kid, hypothetically, takes a dump on the side of the road while visiting their house because the walk across the yard back to the house and inside to the bathroom was "too long". And this is the friend who jumps in the car on a moments notice to come and sit through the night with you for 6 hours to cry with you and hold your hand during a family emergency. The one that you would do the exact same thing for even if it's been more than 2 years since you've seen each other.
I am also lucky enough to have new friends, friends I am still getting to know and who are still getting to know me, but who already know me well enough to know about my inherent shyness, introversion, abhorrence of sarcasm, and fear of confrontation, and STILL want to be my friend anyway. The people I look forward to creating memories with and hopefully someday soon, being able to call my close friends. These are the friends who will do anything they can to help out when you are living in a hotel for 6 weeks with 3 kids and a dog in a brand new city in a brand new state. The ones who are willing to invite you over and introduce you to their circle of friends, who make you feel "part" of something for the first time in a new place. Its their faces you look for in a crowd because its always reassuring to know at least ONE person when you are walking into a new and unknown situation. They don't realize it, but something as simple as saying hello and chatting at a kid's football game, or asking how a parent/teacher conference went can mean the world when you are the new family in town, especially if said parent/teacher conference didn't exactly go "as planned" and you now have to prepare to kick some major ass when you get home. These are the people who have all the good inside information (which teachers to avoid, which sports team parents are the drama stir-ers, which pediatrician/dentist/ER/urgent care clinic/salon/etc is the best or worst, where to get the best pizza/mexican/italian/chinese/etc food in town....) and are willing to share it! Every friend starts out as a new friend and it is my every hope that they will become my close friends as time goes by.
With family/friends, the line between "family" and "friend" becomes hazy or non-existent. The bond that is shared between these friends is as strong as any family bond I have ever seen. These friends know me better than I know myself. They can tell me what I don't want to hear and know that I'm gonna be pissed as hell at them for calling me out on my shit, but that I'll be over it soon and will eventually thank them for it. These are the friends I can share my deepest secrets, fears, insecurities, failures, anxieties, and sadness with. And these are the people I call first to share in my joys, victories, successes, happiness, and laughter with. These are the people I can just share a "look" with, and they know to go along with me as I tell all the kids about the ever elusive goat-salmon hybrid fish - called the salmoat, but pronounced "smote" - that I'm pretty sure just washed up on the shore of the lake. They just know not to question, to go along with it, and if possible to offer their own bizarre contributions. These are the people who know without a doubt, no matter how pissed off I get at them, they should NOT under any circumstances EVER let me start a bonfire when I have been drinking. Again. Because I like my eyebrows just the way they have grown back in. These are the ones who will go to bat for you, even when they know they are on the losing side. Its these friends who will circle the wagons around you and protect you like a mama grizzly against anyone who hurts you. And its these friends whose new spouses are informed in no uncertain terms that you better treat my friend well because if you ever hurt her you will have to deal with me. Its not like I have ever whispered those exact same words to one (or several) of them as I hugged them in the receiving line at their wedding. Because that might be crossing the line. So I definitely didn't do that.
Regardless of what category a friend might fall into, I am very grateful for all of my friends. I am lucky that I get to make new memories with so many old friends who have chosen to stay in touch and maintain an active friendship. I am lucky to live someplace where people are so open and welcoming to new friends. We don't often take the time to tell everyone how important they are to us, or how much we appreciate them. This is more true with people or friends from the past. There are a lot of people who have touched my life in a very real and significant way but maybe for only a short period of time. Regardless of the length of time or the category of friendship, I want to thank everyone who has touched my life with their friendship. I really do have the best friends.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
What is "family"?
This is not a rhetorical question. Well, sort of. But I do want to know, and since everyone seems to have their own personal definition of "family" that works for them, I don't really even know if there IS an answer to this question. There are political answers, politically incorrect answers, DNA answers, ancestral answers, adoptive answers, dictionary answers, and on and on and on. I totally get that everyone is going to have their own working definition of what makes a family and what doesn't "count" as family. And this is by NO means an attempt at making ANY sort of political or social commentary on any issues related to family in the legal stratosphere. I am NOT trying to get involved in any public awareness-type issue here, at all! This is merely me, attempting to put into perspective, a question that has come up in my world recently and which has been on my mind ever since. And what it really boils down to is the hypocrisy I see in people's changing definition of "family" depending on the circumstances, and on how their current active definition can benefit them in any given moment.
When people ask me if I come from a large family, I always say yes. I grew up with only 1 older sister, so this may confound those who have a fairly narrow definition of the word. But when I am asked about my family, I don't just think about her and my parents. I think about all my aunts and uncles, my cousins, their spouses, their children, and in some cases, members of their spouse's family. Hell, sometimes I even find myself referring to my uncle's ex-wife as "Aunt So-And-So". Even though So-And-So isn't really her name. In real life I use her name. But I won't do that here. Because she escaped the cray-cray that is our family and might want to keep her name clean from here on out. But I digress...
Here is where my definition might diverge from a more traditional approach, though. I looked it up, and there were like 12 different definitions of this word. TWELVE! No wonder our country can't seem to figure out how to define the word when it comes to public policy - there are 12 friggin' different ways to define it depending on if you are doing so figuratively, legally, literally, socially, scientifically, mathematically, biologically, chemically, emotionally, psychologically, linguistically, or politically. This is why I think its important to be open-minded about everyone's personal definition of family. Because as you can see, there really isn't only one right answer.
Some definitions are very limited and narrow, like "one's wife or husband and one's children". I think most of us would agree that this simple definition doesn't really encompass all those we might consider to be family. Therefore, a more accurate definition might be "a group of persons related by blood" or "a group of persons sharing common ancestry". Yeah, this sounds more like it. But then what about my little sister? She was adopted and doesn't share a drop of DNA with me or a single ancestor, but God help the person who tries to tell me she isn't my family! Or my cousin who was adopted, and his children? He and his kids are as much a part of MY family to me as anyone who shares DNA with me. In fact, I even used to say that he is the one person in my family I actually wouldn't mind being related to and share DNA with, and that it's ironic he is the one who is adopted and doesn't share DNA with me at all! Sad but true. Again, I digress...
One of the definitions I found says family is "all the persons living together in one household". Well, then I guess there are some friends of mine who are now officially family, since they lived with my mom for a while during college when they needed a place to stay. And my cousin's ex-boyfriend must now also be family, since he lived with my mom too, when he and my cousin needed a roof over their heads. Then there are all of the additional definitions...I won't go into them, the scientific definitions of family involving chemistry, math, or biology and genus, species, etc because quite frankly, I'd just embarrass myself (more than I usually do) trying to make sense of something that actually makes no sense to me at all. Suffice it to say, there are other scientific definitions of "family" out there that don't really apply to the intent and purpose of this blog today. Whew. Dodged that bullet.
I also know there are people out there who view their pets as "family". And I'm not talking about the whack-a-dos out there who chew their pet's food for them and and then feed them like baby birds, or who dress their dogs up in children's clothes and have them eating dinner ON the table at meal times off the fine china. I'm talking about the regular, average, every day pet owner who falls in love with their pet and dedicates a sizable amount of time, energy, money, love, and devotion to this animal, just as they would a child. Before I was married and had children, I used to refer to my dog Bebe as my mother's "grand-dog". It used to drive her nuts, which lets be honest was the REAL reason I did it, but I also meant it, because at the time, she was the creature I was responsible for, that I took care of, that I tended to day in and day out, and whose needs (having to be taken out on a leash to use the bathroom before I can go to work in the morning, even though it is pouring down rain) were put ahead of my own (having to get to work on time in professional work attire and to not look like a drowned rat at my morning meeting with the principal and parents), in much the same way the needs of a child (to throw up 3.5 of the 4 oz just ingested and do so on your work clothes exactly 2.7 seconds before you HAVE to leave the house) are put ahead of a my own (to show up at work JUST ONCE not smelling like baby vomit and in an outfit that doesn't look like a homemade baby-puke version of camo). And the day my family lost Bebe was a day we all mourned and grieved, as we learned how to make it through the average day with an empty space in our lives and our hearts that used to be filled by her.
So family can mean blood and DNA, it can mean living together, it can include adoptions, and even pets. And technically, none of them could be considered wrong. Usually, I am pretty open minded and non-judgemental about how another person might define the word "family". However, recently I have encountered a very different application of the word "family" and I must admit, I was somewhat taken aback by it. Not by the way it was defined, or the context in which it was used, but in the gross inconsistencies with which it was applied to multiple different circumstances. How its very definition seemed to change in the course of a single conversation to mean very different things in order to serve an individual's specific purposes in each of those different circumstances. This is where my mind tends to close down. This is where my hackles rise, my tolerance for double standards becomes nonexistent, and where I find it very, very, VERY difficult to bite my tongue.
If you want to define family as "only those related by blood", then I kinda think you have to accept, therefore, that one would NOT have "family privileges" with one's in-laws, whether it be brother/sister-in-law, father/mother-in-law, or son/daughter-in-law. And by "family privileges" I mean any situation in which attendance or decision-making might be limited to "family only". Or for example, if one daughter-in-law isn't "family" because she's not blood, wouldn't that mean another daughter-in-law isn't "family" either, since she's not related by blood? Because if the 2nd daughter-in-law IS in fact family, then she would have to be related by blood, and that would mean the entire family just moved to Arkansas. Which didn't happen. So by the logic I learned in my college Philosophy class, she can NOT, therefore, be "family" either. And if information should only be dispersed within the family to those who are related by blood, one would therefore NOT be entitled to information as it concerns those who are only connected to the family by marriage, and who are not, in fact, blood relatives. Would they? No, they wouldn't.
I'm not really sure what my point here is today (surprise, surprise!) but I know that there are people in this world who don't share a drop of DNA with me, but who have loved me more truly, more faithfully, more loyally, and more unconditionally than some with whom I do share genetics. And I have watched people I love being treated in the most un-family-like manner by people who share DNA with them, and in the most kind, loving, and accepting manner by people who do not. I have watched people treat each other in despicable ways, all in the name of "family". And I think the greatest thing I have gained from these experiences is that blood doesn't make family. Love does. Blood and DNA in the absence of love is merely science. But love in the absence of blood and DNA is still love, and since love is what everyone should be building their families on, I say THAT is family. Take that, genetics.
When people ask me if I come from a large family, I always say yes. I grew up with only 1 older sister, so this may confound those who have a fairly narrow definition of the word. But when I am asked about my family, I don't just think about her and my parents. I think about all my aunts and uncles, my cousins, their spouses, their children, and in some cases, members of their spouse's family. Hell, sometimes I even find myself referring to my uncle's ex-wife as "Aunt So-And-So". Even though So-And-So isn't really her name. In real life I use her name. But I won't do that here. Because she escaped the cray-cray that is our family and might want to keep her name clean from here on out. But I digress...
Here is where my definition might diverge from a more traditional approach, though. I looked it up, and there were like 12 different definitions of this word. TWELVE! No wonder our country can't seem to figure out how to define the word when it comes to public policy - there are 12 friggin' different ways to define it depending on if you are doing so figuratively, legally, literally, socially, scientifically, mathematically, biologically, chemically, emotionally, psychologically, linguistically, or politically. This is why I think its important to be open-minded about everyone's personal definition of family. Because as you can see, there really isn't only one right answer.
Some definitions are very limited and narrow, like "one's wife or husband and one's children". I think most of us would agree that this simple definition doesn't really encompass all those we might consider to be family. Therefore, a more accurate definition might be "a group of persons related by blood" or "a group of persons sharing common ancestry". Yeah, this sounds more like it. But then what about my little sister? She was adopted and doesn't share a drop of DNA with me or a single ancestor, but God help the person who tries to tell me she isn't my family! Or my cousin who was adopted, and his children? He and his kids are as much a part of MY family to me as anyone who shares DNA with me. In fact, I even used to say that he is the one person in my family I actually wouldn't mind being related to and share DNA with, and that it's ironic he is the one who is adopted and doesn't share DNA with me at all! Sad but true. Again, I digress...
One of the definitions I found says family is "all the persons living together in one household". Well, then I guess there are some friends of mine who are now officially family, since they lived with my mom for a while during college when they needed a place to stay. And my cousin's ex-boyfriend must now also be family, since he lived with my mom too, when he and my cousin needed a roof over their heads. Then there are all of the additional definitions...I won't go into them, the scientific definitions of family involving chemistry, math, or biology and genus, species, etc because quite frankly, I'd just embarrass myself (more than I usually do) trying to make sense of something that actually makes no sense to me at all. Suffice it to say, there are other scientific definitions of "family" out there that don't really apply to the intent and purpose of this blog today. Whew. Dodged that bullet.
I also know there are people out there who view their pets as "family". And I'm not talking about the whack-a-dos out there who chew their pet's food for them and and then feed them like baby birds, or who dress their dogs up in children's clothes and have them eating dinner ON the table at meal times off the fine china. I'm talking about the regular, average, every day pet owner who falls in love with their pet and dedicates a sizable amount of time, energy, money, love, and devotion to this animal, just as they would a child. Before I was married and had children, I used to refer to my dog Bebe as my mother's "grand-dog". It used to drive her nuts, which lets be honest was the REAL reason I did it, but I also meant it, because at the time, she was the creature I was responsible for, that I took care of, that I tended to day in and day out, and whose needs (having to be taken out on a leash to use the bathroom before I can go to work in the morning, even though it is pouring down rain) were put ahead of my own (having to get to work on time in professional work attire and to not look like a drowned rat at my morning meeting with the principal and parents), in much the same way the needs of a child (to throw up 3.5 of the 4 oz just ingested and do so on your work clothes exactly 2.7 seconds before you HAVE to leave the house) are put ahead of a my own (to show up at work JUST ONCE not smelling like baby vomit and in an outfit that doesn't look like a homemade baby-puke version of camo). And the day my family lost Bebe was a day we all mourned and grieved, as we learned how to make it through the average day with an empty space in our lives and our hearts that used to be filled by her.
So family can mean blood and DNA, it can mean living together, it can include adoptions, and even pets. And technically, none of them could be considered wrong. Usually, I am pretty open minded and non-judgemental about how another person might define the word "family". However, recently I have encountered a very different application of the word "family" and I must admit, I was somewhat taken aback by it. Not by the way it was defined, or the context in which it was used, but in the gross inconsistencies with which it was applied to multiple different circumstances. How its very definition seemed to change in the course of a single conversation to mean very different things in order to serve an individual's specific purposes in each of those different circumstances. This is where my mind tends to close down. This is where my hackles rise, my tolerance for double standards becomes nonexistent, and where I find it very, very, VERY difficult to bite my tongue.
If you want to define family as "only those related by blood", then I kinda think you have to accept, therefore, that one would NOT have "family privileges" with one's in-laws, whether it be brother/sister-in-law, father/mother-in-law, or son/daughter-in-law. And by "family privileges" I mean any situation in which attendance or decision-making might be limited to "family only". Or for example, if one daughter-in-law isn't "family" because she's not blood, wouldn't that mean another daughter-in-law isn't "family" either, since she's not related by blood? Because if the 2nd daughter-in-law IS in fact family, then she would have to be related by blood, and that would mean the entire family just moved to Arkansas. Which didn't happen. So by the logic I learned in my college Philosophy class, she can NOT, therefore, be "family" either. And if information should only be dispersed within the family to those who are related by blood, one would therefore NOT be entitled to information as it concerns those who are only connected to the family by marriage, and who are not, in fact, blood relatives. Would they? No, they wouldn't.
I'm not really sure what my point here is today (surprise, surprise!) but I know that there are people in this world who don't share a drop of DNA with me, but who have loved me more truly, more faithfully, more loyally, and more unconditionally than some with whom I do share genetics. And I have watched people I love being treated in the most un-family-like manner by people who share DNA with them, and in the most kind, loving, and accepting manner by people who do not. I have watched people treat each other in despicable ways, all in the name of "family". And I think the greatest thing I have gained from these experiences is that blood doesn't make family. Love does. Blood and DNA in the absence of love is merely science. But love in the absence of blood and DNA is still love, and since love is what everyone should be building their families on, I say THAT is family. Take that, genetics.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Proof that I have an "inner monologue"
I'm going to make an audio recording of myself on my phone, saying nothing but "No (brief pause) because its a bad idea." I'm going to keep it cued up and on hand 24/7 and from now on, I'm just going to play it every time one of my children comes to me with another one of their poorly thought-out ideas/requests/questions, many of which they already know the damn answer to before they even come to me! I have come to the conclusion that this plan is the only way for me to survive through their teen years without completely wearing a hole the size of the Grand Canyon through my vocal cords from the number of times I repeat myself.
And its not just the word "No" that gets repeated. I have to repeat the exact same reason for the answer "No" that they received the last time they wanted to do something ridiculously asinine. And despite the fact that I won't let one of them do it, for some inane reason, the other one will be shocked and amazed that I would be upset at finding them attempting the very thing the other one wasn't allowed to do! How is it that they can get awesome grades in school and get on the honor roll every quarter, but truly and honestly believe that me telling one of them to get off the roof wouldn't automatically apply to BOTH of them? Seriously, people. I'm loosing my ever-loving mind. Because the reasons haven't changed. If it was a bad idea yesterday, chances are its a bad idea today.
There are lots of things I'm sick and tired of saying "No" to repeatedly. And its getting difficult. Its getting even more difficult to say "No" without launching into a caustic, sarcasm-laden rant about the complete lack of common sense that must be overflowing in order for them to even THINK about coming and presenting this issue to me yet again. Those that know me may truly be surprised to learn that it hasn't happened yet. At least not in the purest form that I have previously shown myself to be capable of. I have been known, however, to look at one of the dudes and ask "Are you serious right now? I want you to step into the other room, and seriously THINK about whether or not you want to ask me this, and see if you can possibly predict what the outcome will be if you do, in fact, decide to ask me this." Sometimes, this is enough of a CLUE for him to rethink his request. Sadly, sometimes it is not. And this is where I have been able to demonstrate that I do, in fact, have an inner monologue. I am capable of thinking something and not saying it word for ever-loving word, no matter how badly I may want to. I have compiled a few examples as proof for those of you who may doubt me. I know who you are.
1. Mom, can I wear shorts to school? "No" But whyyyyyyyyyyyy? "Because its a bad idea"
My inner monologue: No. No, no, no, no, NO! You did not just effing ask me that question! Pop quiz - what month is it?! That's right its f@#&ing January, dip shit! Bonus question - what temperature does the thermometer say it is outside?! I'll help you with that one, since there is so much god damn FROST on the window that it makes reading the god damn thermometer difficult. It says 12 degrees. TWELVE. Not even in f@#&ing Alaska is 12 degrees considered "balmy" enough to wear shorts. We have been over this question before and the answer has NOT changed. Guess what, Einstein? It ain't gonna change, either. So, do NOT ask me to wear shorts to school until May. Period. If you do, we will be heating the house during this lovely 12 degree weather with a fire in the fireplace courtesy of every god damn pair of shorts you own. Are we on the same page now?
2. Mom, can I change the channel to Gator-Swamp-Catcher-Hand-Fisher-Moonshiner-Chainsawing-Dirty-Dangerous-Logging-Fisherman-Redneck-Hillbilly Reality Show? "No" But whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy? "Because its a bad idea"
My inner monologue: Why? Because you aren't the only member of the freakin' family, you selfish little crumpet! There are 5 of us - FIVE. And, as surprising as it may seem, not all of us what to watch a show about some people who live in a swamp and have no teeth. (No disrespect to people who have no teeth, there are several in my own family so you can understand how I would have no need to watch a show about them. To those who live in swamps, more power to you.) If you are sooooooooo devastated about having to watch a show that is appealing to someone other than yourself, here's a novel idea - you don't have to watch the effing TV at all! Go play with one of the shit-tons of items you so desperately needed to have for your birthday or Christmas! How about that? Now, give me the god damn remote, Dance Moms is on.
3. Mom, Little Dude/Big Dude and I want to make up a game where... "No" But whyyyyyyyyyyy? I didn't even get to tell you what it is! "Because its a bad idea"
My inner monologue: You think I was born yesterday?? This ain't my first rodeo, son. I must be the only one who sees the irony of this moment - you've had soooo many blows to the head and injuries from all the previous bad-idea-games you two have concocted that you don't remember that doing that sort of shit is a friggin' bad effing idea!! Any time you come to me to explain to me a new "game" you want to create, it inevitably ends with someone bruised, bloody, bandaged, or needing a trip to the nearest urgent care clinic or ER. I'm not f@#&ing going to the ER today. NOT. So, NO. You may not do whatever whacked out, crack pot idea is churning up in that little knucklehead of yours. Go read a god damn book or something.
4. Mom, I want a fish/hermit crab/gerbil/guinea pig/2nd dog/..."No" But whyyyyyyyyyyy? "Because its a bad idea"
My inner monologue: Come here. Follow me. I'd like to introduce you to someone. Dude, this is Abby. Abby, this is Little/Big Dude. She is your dog. The pet you already have. You remember, right? The one you piss and moan about having to brush several times a week? The one you fight and argue about whose turn it is to complete the physically draining task of filling her food and water bowls once a day? You know, the one whose shit is all over the yard for you to step in and track into my house when you are playing football in the backyard with your friends, because you just can't seem to find the time to use the f@#&ing pooper scooper a few times a week? The one who its too torturous to walk around the block once in a while? Yeah, the one you wanted and promised you would help take care of and do so much of the work that I wouldn't even know we had a pet? That one. Ring a bell? Yeah. So technically, you already have a pet. And its like pulling teeth with a f@#&ing spoon getting you to take responsibility for her. So no, you may not get another pet. Suck it.
This really is only the tip of the "repetitive No answer to the repetitive questions asked" iceberg, but I feel I've proven my point. I do have an inner monologue. And from time to time, I even use it.
And its not just the word "No" that gets repeated. I have to repeat the exact same reason for the answer "No" that they received the last time they wanted to do something ridiculously asinine. And despite the fact that I won't let one of them do it, for some inane reason, the other one will be shocked and amazed that I would be upset at finding them attempting the very thing the other one wasn't allowed to do! How is it that they can get awesome grades in school and get on the honor roll every quarter, but truly and honestly believe that me telling one of them to get off the roof wouldn't automatically apply to BOTH of them? Seriously, people. I'm loosing my ever-loving mind. Because the reasons haven't changed. If it was a bad idea yesterday, chances are its a bad idea today.
There are lots of things I'm sick and tired of saying "No" to repeatedly. And its getting difficult. Its getting even more difficult to say "No" without launching into a caustic, sarcasm-laden rant about the complete lack of common sense that must be overflowing in order for them to even THINK about coming and presenting this issue to me yet again. Those that know me may truly be surprised to learn that it hasn't happened yet. At least not in the purest form that I have previously shown myself to be capable of. I have been known, however, to look at one of the dudes and ask "Are you serious right now? I want you to step into the other room, and seriously THINK about whether or not you want to ask me this, and see if you can possibly predict what the outcome will be if you do, in fact, decide to ask me this." Sometimes, this is enough of a CLUE for him to rethink his request. Sadly, sometimes it is not. And this is where I have been able to demonstrate that I do, in fact, have an inner monologue. I am capable of thinking something and not saying it word for ever-loving word, no matter how badly I may want to. I have compiled a few examples as proof for those of you who may doubt me. I know who you are.
1. Mom, can I wear shorts to school? "No" But whyyyyyyyyyyyy? "Because its a bad idea"
My inner monologue: No. No, no, no, no, NO! You did not just effing ask me that question! Pop quiz - what month is it?! That's right its f@#&ing January, dip shit! Bonus question - what temperature does the thermometer say it is outside?! I'll help you with that one, since there is so much god damn FROST on the window that it makes reading the god damn thermometer difficult. It says 12 degrees. TWELVE. Not even in f@#&ing Alaska is 12 degrees considered "balmy" enough to wear shorts. We have been over this question before and the answer has NOT changed. Guess what, Einstein? It ain't gonna change, either. So, do NOT ask me to wear shorts to school until May. Period. If you do, we will be heating the house during this lovely 12 degree weather with a fire in the fireplace courtesy of every god damn pair of shorts you own. Are we on the same page now?
2. Mom, can I change the channel to Gator-Swamp-Catcher-Hand-Fisher-Moonshiner-Chainsawing-Dirty-Dangerous-Logging-Fisherman-Redneck-Hillbilly Reality Show? "No" But whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy? "Because its a bad idea"
My inner monologue: Why? Because you aren't the only member of the freakin' family, you selfish little crumpet! There are 5 of us - FIVE. And, as surprising as it may seem, not all of us what to watch a show about some people who live in a swamp and have no teeth. (No disrespect to people who have no teeth, there are several in my own family so you can understand how I would have no need to watch a show about them. To those who live in swamps, more power to you.) If you are sooooooooo devastated about having to watch a show that is appealing to someone other than yourself, here's a novel idea - you don't have to watch the effing TV at all! Go play with one of the shit-tons of items you so desperately needed to have for your birthday or Christmas! How about that? Now, give me the god damn remote, Dance Moms is on.
3. Mom, Little Dude/Big Dude and I want to make up a game where... "No" But whyyyyyyyyyyy? I didn't even get to tell you what it is! "Because its a bad idea"
My inner monologue: You think I was born yesterday?? This ain't my first rodeo, son. I must be the only one who sees the irony of this moment - you've had soooo many blows to the head and injuries from all the previous bad-idea-games you two have concocted that you don't remember that doing that sort of shit is a friggin' bad effing idea!! Any time you come to me to explain to me a new "game" you want to create, it inevitably ends with someone bruised, bloody, bandaged, or needing a trip to the nearest urgent care clinic or ER. I'm not f@#&ing going to the ER today. NOT. So, NO. You may not do whatever whacked out, crack pot idea is churning up in that little knucklehead of yours. Go read a god damn book or something.
4. Mom, I want a fish/hermit crab/gerbil/guinea pig/2nd dog/..."No" But whyyyyyyyyyyy? "Because its a bad idea"
My inner monologue: Come here. Follow me. I'd like to introduce you to someone. Dude, this is Abby. Abby, this is Little/Big Dude. She is your dog. The pet you already have. You remember, right? The one you piss and moan about having to brush several times a week? The one you fight and argue about whose turn it is to complete the physically draining task of filling her food and water bowls once a day? You know, the one whose shit is all over the yard for you to step in and track into my house when you are playing football in the backyard with your friends, because you just can't seem to find the time to use the f@#&ing pooper scooper a few times a week? The one who its too torturous to walk around the block once in a while? Yeah, the one you wanted and promised you would help take care of and do so much of the work that I wouldn't even know we had a pet? That one. Ring a bell? Yeah. So technically, you already have a pet. And its like pulling teeth with a f@#&ing spoon getting you to take responsibility for her. So no, you may not get another pet. Suck it.
This really is only the tip of the "repetitive No answer to the repetitive questions asked" iceberg, but I feel I've proven my point. I do have an inner monologue. And from time to time, I even use it.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
A Birthday Addendum
Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa. I beg forgiveness. I must set the record straight and clear my husband's good name. In my last post, I mentioned my most recent birthday experience. While I do stand by what I wrote, I must provide an addendum to that post based on recent events in the last 24 hours at my house.
Last night while we were sitting around as a family watching the football games, I was surprised by my husband with a chocolate cake and ice cream, and a family rendition of Happy Birthday. It was a wonderful surprise. So for the record, I will no longer refer to my 7 hour car trip gas station cookies as my birthday celebration for this year. No, this year it was sitting around with my wonderful family watching NFL football playoffs and as a family, polishing off the entire cake AND a whole half-gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Not caring that the kids were eating too much junk, or that it was too close to bedtime to be eating desserts, or that the sugar high was going to be delaying bedtimes by a ridiculously annoying length of time. Just enjoying each other and the sharing the joy of eating a whole cake together. It was such a wonderful feeling to know that we were all enjoying our time together. I have a wonderful family, and a wonderful husband, and I am so lucky to have them. We aren't perfect. Not as individuals or as a unit, and I don't think that we are an exception. So in the spirit of full disclosure, I now consider last night to be my "birthday" this year and for the record, it was all I wanted it to be. I love my family.
Bonus information learned last night: Someone reads this blog. Even if it is just my husband, and it made him feel bad and it got me a birthday re-do. I now have the reassurance that at least one other person is reading what I write here. Thanks, honey!
Last night while we were sitting around as a family watching the football games, I was surprised by my husband with a chocolate cake and ice cream, and a family rendition of Happy Birthday. It was a wonderful surprise. So for the record, I will no longer refer to my 7 hour car trip gas station cookies as my birthday celebration for this year. No, this year it was sitting around with my wonderful family watching NFL football playoffs and as a family, polishing off the entire cake AND a whole half-gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Not caring that the kids were eating too much junk, or that it was too close to bedtime to be eating desserts, or that the sugar high was going to be delaying bedtimes by a ridiculously annoying length of time. Just enjoying each other and the sharing the joy of eating a whole cake together. It was such a wonderful feeling to know that we were all enjoying our time together. I have a wonderful family, and a wonderful husband, and I am so lucky to have them. We aren't perfect. Not as individuals or as a unit, and I don't think that we are an exception. So in the spirit of full disclosure, I now consider last night to be my "birthday" this year and for the record, it was all I wanted it to be. I love my family.
Bonus information learned last night: Someone reads this blog. Even if it is just my husband, and it made him feel bad and it got me a birthday re-do. I now have the reassurance that at least one other person is reading what I write here. Thanks, honey!
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Is Mom's Birthday Really a Birthday?
Really? Seriously? Like, for real????? Come on, people! It's not that difficult! The date hasn't changed since last year, or the year before, or the year before, or the year before... In fact, its been the same date for 42 - er, I mean 35 years. I KNOW it wasn't a surprise cuz I have made a point of mentioning it several times over the last month. And yet somehow, my birthday seems to catch everyone off guard. I know I am not the only mom out there who consistently bends over backwards to make sure everyone's birthday is special and fun. Even for those who insist that "my birthday isn't a big deal so you and the kids don't need to worry about it", a cake is made and Happy Birthday is sung and homemade cards are passed out (because the one year I was out of town on his birthday, and didn't get to talk to him, I got a guilt trip layed on me. And here I thought birthdays weren't a big deal so I didn't need to worry about it...). So why is it that I spent my birthday this year stuck in a car for 7 hours with 3 kids and a dog, eating generic gas-station brand oreos and chocolate chip cookies? That, my friends, is a very good question.
To me, as I get older, it truly is about the thought that counts. This year, my mom thought about me with a card and a check, and my extended family thought about me when they all agreed to go out to dinner with us. Those are wonderful thoughts by people for whom I put forth an equal amount of thought on their birthdays - flowers, edible arrangement, card, etc. So I don't want or don't need more stuff, but everyone wants and needs more love, and to feel special, and appreciated in an above-and-beyond-the-average, "Its your birthday, party like a rock star!" kinda way. One year for me, it was breakfast in bed - my day was made, nothing more was needed, I was feeling the love. Another year, it was a letter from my son's school (folded up and stuck inside his homemade card) saying he had made it into his school's gifted program - cue the water works and proud mommy moment right there cuz that was all I could have asked for. So, you see? I'm not greedy or overly needy on my birthday.
And not to toot my own horn, but I don't think any of my kids have had a birthday without at least one cake. With dad's unpredictable military duties, sometimes we did a family birthday with small cake separate from the kid-crazy fiasco that has its own cake to share with hoards of neighborhood children who need a jacked up sugar high like I need more gray hair. Sometimes its a homemade cake of the size, shape, and flavor requested by the birthday kid. I don't do fancy, character shapes or anything that really requires any degree of talent, mind you. When I say size and shape, I really mean, 1 tier or 2 tier, circle, square or rectangle, or bundt. So I give options and choices, as all good parenting magazines recommend, but I don't give ones that will ultimately result in my epic failure to accurately capture their personal birthday vision and thus require years of therapy to get over how "my mom totally ruined my birthdays with grotesque, misshapen cakes which totally humiliated me and that my friends mocked for years after they stopped coming to my birthday parties altogether". Either way, I'm making the damn cake. Or buying a cake, which is requested almost as often.
And who doesn't love a homemade card? Every year, I sit down with my kids and have them make homemade cards for each other and for their dad's birthday, which they give him after we sing happy birthday over his homemade cake. It takes no time from me whatsoever to have them take a piece of white paper and a bucket of markers and make dad a card. Whatever they draw is perfect and gets folded up into an envelope. Cuz its not about a finished product, its about the thought and love behind it.
I also know that baking is not a forte for anyone in my family. So, not only do I not expect a homemade cake on my birthday, I am ok with not getting one. The simple reason for this is that I don't want extra work on my birthday. I don't want to do any work on my birthday, actually, but since THAT has as much chance of happening as my dog miraculously ceasing her shedding, I set my hopes and dreams to "realistic" and try to avoid the extra. Cuz guess who would end up cleaning up the kitchen after an attempt at making me a homemade birthday cake, anyway? Yup, me. Wanna know how I know this? Because the only time an attempt was made at making me a homemade cake, I was in the kitchen cleaning up from it, even after I was informed "And we even cleaned everything up!". How does one get flour on the underside of the kitchen cabinets? Just curious. This is why I have always made my own birthday cake. Imagine the years of therapy required if I made my kids make their own birthday cakes..."Nope. Sorry. I don't have the time. If you want a cake, you're gonna have to make it yourself." And yet, its perfectly normal for mom to make her own. I have learned that when I don't make my own, I don't get one. I tested this theory once the year before the "we'll make you one and clean up ourselves" fiasco. No cake that year. When the husband and kids asked about it, I very pointedly said, "Well, you guys don't make your own birthday cakes, so who made me mine?" Crickets. Literally, crickets.
So you see, I'm not picky. And once we all had piled into our mini-van on my actual birthday, to begin the 7 hour drive home from our holiday visit, it became apparent to me that I wasn't getting a cake or cards. And for the first 4 hours of the ride, I was totally ok with that. It didn't bother me, wasn't on my mind, I wasn't sighing in a martyr-like fashion waiting for my husband to ask what was wrong so I could tell him how hurt I was - because I truly wasn't. It was fine. Until we stopped for our dinner break. Which was a drive-thru McDonalds and a gas fill up. Once everyone was all potty-ed up, I decided to splurge on a special treat and get some cookies to share in the car. Not something we usually do but something fun as a surprise. My husband passes me as I am on the way to the check out and asks me what I'm getting. When I tell him, he rolls his eyes and gives me his look. The one that says "Really? The kids totally don't need that crap."
That was when it hit me. This is my birthday. I'm not getting a cake. No one gave me a card. I've been in a car for 4 hours with another 3 to go. And you are giving me a hard time because I want to buy cookies?!? Not even BRAND name cookies - but generic gas-station brand cookies?!? That was when I informed him that since no one had provided a cake or any sort of "treat surprise" for my birthday, I was NOT going to feel guilty for buying cheap, gas station cookies to share with my kids on my birthday. NOT. HAPPENING. Once we were all back in the car, I reminded them all that we only do treats like cake and ice cream on birthdays, so if they were at all interested in having a 5th day each year when that happened, ONE of them might want to take the initiative to make happen on MY birthday from now on, because I was no longer going to be making cake on my birthday for anyone but me. If they have to make their own cakes on their birthdays, they can decide who to share them with. So the next birthday cake I make for myself will be eaten in its entirety by me.
Its not even so much about the cake. I'm not that huge a fan of cake. Stick a candle in a bag of chips with a side of Oreos, however, and I'm aaaaaaaall over it!! I just want them to understand how important it is to be on both sides of the "its the thought that counts" equation. They feel great when someone goes out of their way to make them feel special, so I want them to know its important to go out of their way to make others feel special too. I totally get that they are kids and need an adult to step in here and lead them down this road. Which I think I am doing when I have them help make a cake and cards for their dad. I just think I shouldn't be the only one teaching them this lesson and making it important. Did I mention that I was the only one who didn't get a gift from my oldest son this year? Because he didn't have anyone to take him to the store to shop for me. This is why I have gas station cookies in the car for my birthday.
To me, as I get older, it truly is about the thought that counts. This year, my mom thought about me with a card and a check, and my extended family thought about me when they all agreed to go out to dinner with us. Those are wonderful thoughts by people for whom I put forth an equal amount of thought on their birthdays - flowers, edible arrangement, card, etc. So I don't want or don't need more stuff, but everyone wants and needs more love, and to feel special, and appreciated in an above-and-beyond-the-average, "Its your birthday, party like a rock star!" kinda way. One year for me, it was breakfast in bed - my day was made, nothing more was needed, I was feeling the love. Another year, it was a letter from my son's school (folded up and stuck inside his homemade card) saying he had made it into his school's gifted program - cue the water works and proud mommy moment right there cuz that was all I could have asked for. So, you see? I'm not greedy or overly needy on my birthday.
And not to toot my own horn, but I don't think any of my kids have had a birthday without at least one cake. With dad's unpredictable military duties, sometimes we did a family birthday with small cake separate from the kid-crazy fiasco that has its own cake to share with hoards of neighborhood children who need a jacked up sugar high like I need more gray hair. Sometimes its a homemade cake of the size, shape, and flavor requested by the birthday kid. I don't do fancy, character shapes or anything that really requires any degree of talent, mind you. When I say size and shape, I really mean, 1 tier or 2 tier, circle, square or rectangle, or bundt. So I give options and choices, as all good parenting magazines recommend, but I don't give ones that will ultimately result in my epic failure to accurately capture their personal birthday vision and thus require years of therapy to get over how "my mom totally ruined my birthdays with grotesque, misshapen cakes which totally humiliated me and that my friends mocked for years after they stopped coming to my birthday parties altogether". Either way, I'm making the damn cake. Or buying a cake, which is requested almost as often.
And who doesn't love a homemade card? Every year, I sit down with my kids and have them make homemade cards for each other and for their dad's birthday, which they give him after we sing happy birthday over his homemade cake. It takes no time from me whatsoever to have them take a piece of white paper and a bucket of markers and make dad a card. Whatever they draw is perfect and gets folded up into an envelope. Cuz its not about a finished product, its about the thought and love behind it.
I also know that baking is not a forte for anyone in my family. So, not only do I not expect a homemade cake on my birthday, I am ok with not getting one. The simple reason for this is that I don't want extra work on my birthday. I don't want to do any work on my birthday, actually, but since THAT has as much chance of happening as my dog miraculously ceasing her shedding, I set my hopes and dreams to "realistic" and try to avoid the extra. Cuz guess who would end up cleaning up the kitchen after an attempt at making me a homemade birthday cake, anyway? Yup, me. Wanna know how I know this? Because the only time an attempt was made at making me a homemade cake, I was in the kitchen cleaning up from it, even after I was informed "And we even cleaned everything up!". How does one get flour on the underside of the kitchen cabinets? Just curious. This is why I have always made my own birthday cake. Imagine the years of therapy required if I made my kids make their own birthday cakes..."Nope. Sorry. I don't have the time. If you want a cake, you're gonna have to make it yourself." And yet, its perfectly normal for mom to make her own. I have learned that when I don't make my own, I don't get one. I tested this theory once the year before the "we'll make you one and clean up ourselves" fiasco. No cake that year. When the husband and kids asked about it, I very pointedly said, "Well, you guys don't make your own birthday cakes, so who made me mine?" Crickets. Literally, crickets.
So you see, I'm not picky. And once we all had piled into our mini-van on my actual birthday, to begin the 7 hour drive home from our holiday visit, it became apparent to me that I wasn't getting a cake or cards. And for the first 4 hours of the ride, I was totally ok with that. It didn't bother me, wasn't on my mind, I wasn't sighing in a martyr-like fashion waiting for my husband to ask what was wrong so I could tell him how hurt I was - because I truly wasn't. It was fine. Until we stopped for our dinner break. Which was a drive-thru McDonalds and a gas fill up. Once everyone was all potty-ed up, I decided to splurge on a special treat and get some cookies to share in the car. Not something we usually do but something fun as a surprise. My husband passes me as I am on the way to the check out and asks me what I'm getting. When I tell him, he rolls his eyes and gives me his look. The one that says "Really? The kids totally don't need that crap."
That was when it hit me. This is my birthday. I'm not getting a cake. No one gave me a card. I've been in a car for 4 hours with another 3 to go. And you are giving me a hard time because I want to buy cookies?!? Not even BRAND name cookies - but generic gas-station brand cookies?!? That was when I informed him that since no one had provided a cake or any sort of "treat surprise" for my birthday, I was NOT going to feel guilty for buying cheap, gas station cookies to share with my kids on my birthday. NOT. HAPPENING. Once we were all back in the car, I reminded them all that we only do treats like cake and ice cream on birthdays, so if they were at all interested in having a 5th day each year when that happened, ONE of them might want to take the initiative to make happen on MY birthday from now on, because I was no longer going to be making cake on my birthday for anyone but me. If they have to make their own cakes on their birthdays, they can decide who to share them with. So the next birthday cake I make for myself will be eaten in its entirety by me.
Its not even so much about the cake. I'm not that huge a fan of cake. Stick a candle in a bag of chips with a side of Oreos, however, and I'm aaaaaaaall over it!! I just want them to understand how important it is to be on both sides of the "its the thought that counts" equation. They feel great when someone goes out of their way to make them feel special, so I want them to know its important to go out of their way to make others feel special too. I totally get that they are kids and need an adult to step in here and lead them down this road. Which I think I am doing when I have them help make a cake and cards for their dad. I just think I shouldn't be the only one teaching them this lesson and making it important. Did I mention that I was the only one who didn't get a gift from my oldest son this year? Because he didn't have anyone to take him to the store to shop for me. This is why I have gas station cookies in the car for my birthday.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)