Lame Duck

O.K. folks, here we are, officially in "Lame Duck" season...the time between Christmas and New Year's Eve when resolutions are born and old habits prepare to die.  I've never been one to make and keep resolutions, but this year, I'm holding myself accountable.  I really need to change my mindset.  I'm constantly stuck in this vicious circle of "brilliant" ideas that never come to fruition, closets that never get organized, kid crafts that go horribly wrong, and general malaise for everyday life.  I'm a dreamer, I spend most of my day day-dreaming of what I could be doing, should be doing, but I just hang there like a dense fog, taking up space and doing nothing.  I started this blog (years ago now) after a recommendation from a therapist to journal to motivate self-change.  I have a notebook, a sacred notebook, that I keep with me always, but it's meant for ideas, not the mundane chaos of my daily life.  I was supposed to write on this blog, to put myself out there---his thinking was that if I made my ideas public I would hold myself accountable and actually produce the things I wrote about.  Not so, my friends.  My brain is far too tricky for that...first I would only write about things I had  finished already, then I put off writing altogether because I knew I'd never accomplish the things I was writing about.  That brings me back to New Years Resolutions.
I'm like an old car...one that you have to roll and then kick-start while shifting gears.  I need momentum to get going.  I can't just whip out a resolution on New Year's Eve and start it the next day.  So I'm taking this time to build up my momentum.  Putting this experiment out there is actually kind of scary.  The accountability.  I second guess myself so often that I talk myself right out of doing the things I want to do.  This time though, I have a plan.  I've joined some online FB groups that support creativity, I bought a physical day-planner so that I can mark off and see the time I have to work on a project, and I'm in the middle of hiring a reliable sitter.
I'm hoping that this project, this time I will spend "Wrestling My Muse", will be therapeutic as well.  I tend not to be too public about it, but I do have a mental illness.  It's getting worse, not better, with age and I think that some of my depressive episodes can be linked directly to not giving fruition to an idea that's nagging me on the inside.  That said, I know that in my manic moments the ideas flow forth from an unfettered faucet and I can scarcely keep up.
So that's it friends, I'm officially on the mat.  Wrestling my soul to the ground to eek out whatever nuggets of beauty may reside inside. Wish me luck.

Reviving "Five Ways"

"Sometimes you put walls up, not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to knock them down"
-Socrates

Social Media is supposed to bring people together, but how often do you really connect with somebody online?  Our communication has been broken down into "like" and "dislike" buttons, short acronyms, emoji's, and one line responses.  How often do we mindfully attend to those around us?  To our social circles online?  How often do we come away from reading our updates feeling full-filled?

We have witnessed many stories over this year of violence and unrest because people feel they are not being heard.  They feel alone, angry.  They turn to violence because it is the only outlet that receives attention.  Occasionally though, there is that one story.  The one person who stopped a chain of horrific events with one act of bravery.  The one person who prevented a suicide with a simple act of kindness.  Lives can be changed.  Because of one person.

That moment when you connect with another human being can alter your thinking and change the course of your life.  When it looks as though there is nothing left to live for, when the future looks bleak, a smile, a wave, a friendly glance can repair a soul and feed a starving heart.

Taking a moment to be present in your life can have a ripple effect.  Your kindness leads to another kindness and another until there are waves of kindness sweeping the nation.  We all want to be heard. We all want to be recognized.  We all want to know that we matter.  To someone.

Last year around this time I tried a little experiment called "Five Ways".  I asked friends on Facebook to choose 5 people to private message.  Five people that they hadn't spoken to in a while, or maybe had recently had a falling out with.  I asked that in that message, tell the person in a short letter five ways that that they have had an impact on your life.  Anything from them having shared the best recipe for sugar cookies to having cheered you up with a funny meme when they thought you were having a bad day.  I think that today is a great day to bring that back.  Let's focus on what's really important:  those people that touch our lives.  This year I would like to dedicate the "Five Ways" campaign to my dear friend and former student, Peter Benn.  Peter taught me to slow down and appreciate the simpler things in life:  holding hands, laughing, singing, snuggling, and how important it is to know that you can always "lean on those you love".  Please take a moment and join me in this endeavor.  Scroll through your email lists or your phone contacts or your FB friends and chose five people to reach out to.  Tell each person five ways that they have touched your life, helped shape who you are, or how they may have helped you without even knowing it.  It only takes a moment and it could mean the world to somebody.  Many people fight silent battles every day, battles that nobody around them knows they are fighting.  A kind word from a friend, even if you haven't spoken in years, can be just the thing that turns their lives around.  If you know about hashtags, you can re-post this with the hashtag #fiveways.

Flash Fiction Friday

Having just come off of a month of writing with NaNoWriMo, I'm trying to keep the momentum going with a "Flash Fiction Friday".  I've never tried to write a "crime" story before, so I thought I'd give it a try.  If you have the time, I'd love some feedback. 

The Job

He wakes up at five in the morning with a heavy heart.  Silently, as to not wake his wife, he slides out of bed and dresses; she murmurs “I love you” in her sleepy state anyway.  He goes to the kitchen, starts the coffee, and brings the steaming mug out onto the back porch.  The crisp morning air helps him to wake and he looks out over the trees at the rising sun.  He says a silent prayer, finishes the coffee, heads inside.  He grabs his keys, locks the doors, and starts the car.

At work he checks in and is given his assignment.  He fills a Styrofoam to-go mug with less-than-stellar coffee and nods to his coworker who’s heading out the door.  The place is bustling with activity, even at this early hour.  He keeps his head down to avoid the perky receptionist, who always has too much to say.

Today he’ll be working the rural areas, down by the schools, the back roads and the quiet homes.  He can’t help it, but he feels a certain relief in that.  Quiet is safe.  Quiet is good.  That said, he never shies away from Danger.

The Man gets in his car and starts to drive.  The sun is now fully in it’s rightful place in the sky and the world is live with October color.  It’s kind of relaxing, driving with the sun shining and the brilliant leaves blowing by.  He circles through the first neighborhood.  Children are out waiting for buses.  Mothers in big sweaters and pajama bottoms hold steaming mugs as they watch over their babies.  Most of the kids wave as he drives by and he waves back with a smile.  For the little boy in the blue house, he flashes the lights.  Just once.  

Out of the neighborhood he continues his route.  Down the winding back roads he comes behind a silver Honda, speeding, but not recklessly.  He falls in behind the car, pacing it.  The driver notices and slows to a near crawl.  At the the fork in the road, they go their separate ways.

Another road, another neighborhood.  He crawls through, looking for anything out of the ordinary.  Most folks are off to work at this point.  He guards their treasures while they are gone, one house at a time, until he’s sure all is well.

Back at the neighborhood entrance, he falls in line behind a white Oldsmobile.  He can see The Driver glancing once...twice...three times in the mirror to look back at him.  Instinct and protocol, those are the two things The Man has to go on, and this time instinct is telling him that something is not right.  The driver turns left.  So does The Man.

The Driver drives slowly, almost too slow, following the winding road farther and farther from the houses, then pulls suddenly into the school parking lot.  The Man stays behind him.  As he drives, he types The Driver’s license tag number into his computer.  Nothing comes up.  But still, that nagging feeling is there.  The Driver parks.  Sits for a minute.  He’s looking around a lot, glancing back at The Man who keeps his car running a few yards away.  The Man can see The Driver now, he’s young.  Maybe twenty.  Maybe younger.  The Driver cracks a window and starts to smoke, then suddenly puts his car in gear and pulls off.  The Man follows.

They drive further down the road, to a less populated area.  The Driver starts to pick up speed, he’s weaving slightly over the line at the curves in the road.  Still pacing the car, The Man makes note of the speed.  “That feeling” is washing over his body.  Something is not right.  The Driver is now looking back at The Man more than he’s looking forward.  The Driver misses a stop sign at an empty intersection.  Now is The Man’s chance.

He flicks on the lights and siren.  The car speeds up for a moment, then slows and pulls off onto the shoulder of the road.  The Man makes notes on the make and model and calls in to headquarters that he is making a traffic stop.  Still “that feeling” is eating at him.  He says one more silent prayer and opens the car door.

One hand on his weapon, the other in a non-threatening open gesture, he approaches the driver’s side door of the Oldsmobile car.  He can see The Driver, just looking down, head hung low.  The window is still up.  The Man reaches out and knocks on it three times.

No response from the driver.  Not even a flinch.

The Man knocks again, this time shouting a little to be heard, “License and registration please, Son”.

Nothing.

“That feeling” is welling up, but duty pushes him forward.  He can see now that The Driver is no more than a teenager, maybe eighteen.  His hands are on his lap.  The Man leans forward to get a better look inside the car.  He sees a blue duffle bag on the front seat.  A long black raincoat in the backseat.  He can faintly hear music playing.

This time The Man shouts quite loudly “Son, you need to step out of the car.  Now.”

The Driver turns to look at him, his eyes blank, his mouth in an eerie crooked smile.  He rolls down the window.

“Sorry, Officer.  My favorite song.  What did you say?”

The Man repeated his request, stepping back in the proper stance, hand still on his weapon.  The Driver smiles again and turns to reach across himself and unbuckle his seat belt.  He then unlocks the door and kicks it open.  The Man flinches for a second, only a second, but doesn’t react more than that.  The Driver steps out of the car, then leans against it, cocky.

“What’s the problem officer?” he asks, with a wry smile.

“You blew through that stop sign, son.  Didn’t you see it?”

The Driver just stares at him.

“Please turn around, son.  I’m going to detain you and search your car.”  Protocol.

The Driver laughs.  “The hell you are.  I haven’t done anything wrong.  Just write me a ticket.  I know my rights, Officer”.  He says the last word with a drawn-out snarky drawl.

“Kid, turn and face the car” the Man repeats, keeping his tone strong and even and reaching behind him for the cuffs.

The Driver hangs his head, as if in defeat.  Then everything changes.

The Driver lunges at The Man, knocking him back but not over.  They start to struggle.  The Man repeats his command for The Driver to put his hands behind his back.  To stop resisting.  The Driver headbutts The Man square in the chin and then suddenly The Man feels a sharp burning in his arm.  He ignores it and wrestles The Driver to the ground.  With his knee in The Driver’s back, he twists the kid’s arms behind him and applies the handcuffs.  The kid is swearing and spitting and calling The Man every foul name in the book.  The Man hits the button on his shoulder, calling for back up.  He hoists The Driver to his feet and pushes him front first into the back of the car.  He spread the kid’s legs and pats him down from head to toe.  He finds a wallet and a pack of mangled cigarettes.  With the kid spitting and still spewing obscenities, he carefully places him in the back of the cruiser and closes the door.  

The Man realizes that his arm is still burning.  He looks down and sees blood trickling down his hand from under his sleeve.  He reaches up to the top side of his bicep and feels warmth and wetness through the tear in his uniform.  He swears to himself and calls in for a Medic.

He approaches the Oldsmobile once again.  On the pavement where the scuffle occurred lies a black box cutter, blade protruding, covered in his blood.  He walks to the back of his cruiser and takes out an evidence bag.  Carefully, he uses the bag to pick up the knife and lets it fall inside.  He lays the bag on the trunk of the Oldsmobile car.

The second cruiser arrives and the officer notices that The Man is bleeding.  The Man shakes off his concern and starts to lean in to inspect the car.  The second officer approaches the car from the passenger side and removes the duffle bag and places it on the hood.  They continue to search through the car.  They find nothing else, save the black raincoat, which the Man brings out to the hood as well.

The second officer opens the duffle bag and lets out an audible “Fuck”.  Hidden under a couple of t-shirts is a small arsenal.  A Glock, A Sig, and a Hunting rifle.  There are plenty of bullets for each.

The Man puts his hands in the pockets of the rain jacket.  He pulls out a folded piece of paper.  He unfolds it and reads with widening eyes.

“Today is a day that will go down in history.  Evil shall overcome when good men do nothing.  Good men, they do nothing.”

The Man gingerly places the note in an evidence bag and hands it to the second officer to read.

“Shit, Man” he says “You saved the fucking day”.  

If only it were so simple.  

In the weeks to come, The Man is placed on administrative leave siting unlawful arrest and police brutality.  The Driver is claiming that he was using the box cutter to defend himself against The Man.  He is claiming that the items that The Man found in his car, that they were for shooting practice and hunting.  The town is divided; the kid comes from “a good home”.  Nobody seems to see that the guns were real, that the bullets were real.  The kid suffered a few bruises, but his parents are screaming for The Man’s badge.  The Man’s supervisor thinks everything will be fine once they get to Court.  The Man only hopes that is true.  

The Man sits on his back porch a lot now.  His cut is healing, but the damage to his muscle will need physical therapy.  He keeps to himself a lot, sitting silently, looking over his backyard at the trees and the birds.  He keeps wondering how different things would be if he had just written the ticket and walked away.  He wonders if the kid had pulled into the school for a reason, a reason other than getting the police car off his tail.  He wonders where the kid had really been headed.  He wonders if maybe, and this is a big maybe, if maybe he really had gotten the whole thing wrong.  He takes a sip of coffee, leans back, and doesn’t really think so.

 

The Choice

I had a choice today.  I was out running errands with two toddlers and they were getting cranky.  I needed a gallon of milk and a pound of ground beef for dinner.  I was dreading going to the big grocery store, certain of the tantrums and bribing that were going to try my patience and my wallet.  The skies were clouding over and a rain shower was impending and I didn’t relish the idea of carting the kids through a busy parking lot either.  The grocery store was coming up on my right, and I was just about to turn in, when I thought of Provisions in Downtown Waxhaw.  

Provisions is the kind of store that you think only exists in the quaint small towns of 50's sitcoms.  It sits in a quiet brick building at 107 W. South Main Street.  There are bells on the brilliant green doors that jingle as you pass into the store.  The music is loud, but inviting.  They played a particularly cool bluegrass cover of the Pixies “Where is my Mind?” (if the owner, Tyler, reads this, please let me know who it was by!).  The shop was busy, but not crowded.  The lunch crew was bustling about, taking orders.  

My son bolted for the games set up on the tables in front of the windows.  I hesitated for a moment, then decided it was better to leave him occupied then drag him around the store.  A few minutes later I heard a crash and ran back up front, dreading the scene.  But Tyler (the owner), sat down with my son and assured me there was no problem.  It was just the Connect Four game, he’d let the pieces crash onto the table.

I was starving, so I ordered a cup of tomato soup and the cheeseburger pizza to go.  I then grabbed my pound of ground beef and looked for some raw sugar, but there was none on the shelf.  I went up to pay, forgetting my milk.  The cashier, Hannah, was so friendly!  We got to talking and I remembered the milk.  Then, upon mentioning the sugar, the staff and Tyler went out of their way to go and package some up for me out back.  While I was waiting I saw that they had the dark cocoa dusted almonds that I love, and being in such a good mood from the music and the friendly staff, I added a super big M&M cookie from See Jane Bake to my order (for the kids, really…).

While waiting for the sugar, I got to have a nice conversation with Hannah, who, it turns out, spent a few years living in Massachusetts, which is where I’m originally from.  We spoke about how much we enjoy life in Waxhaw, the people and the sense of community, and how we both try to support local businesses and local farms whenever we can.  I love seeing pictures of the chickens that lay my eggs on Facebook.  They’re running around, truly cage free, in the grass and sunshine.  They look happy.  

My toddler started fussing (he was overdue for a nap).  One of the other staff asked if he could have a lollipop, which cheered him up immediately.  She gave a pop to both of my kids and they stayed quiet (and happy) for the rest of the time I was there.

Provisions also has a loyalty card.  Each time you shop and spend at least $20 on their products, you get a percentage off of your total order (5, 10, 15, and 20 percent).  I’ve already gone through one card, and when it gets to that 20 percent, you see a significant difference.  All without clipping coupons.  All while supporting your neighbors.

I had a choice today.  To support big business or shop local.  Now, did I spend more money than if I had shopped at the grocery store?  Maybe.  Did I make some impulse purchases?  Absolutely.  But my purchases are making a difference.  They are supporting my neighbors, my community, the place I call home.  I love Waxhaw just the way it is.  If we don’t support these local businesses, the Wal-marts and Targets of the world are going to swoop in and take over.  Main street won’t be main street anymore.  Too me, that’s a cost I’m not willing to pay.

https://www.facebook.com/provisions

https://www.facebook.com/See-Jane-Bake

How do YOU do it?

Who would think that striking balance in your life could be such an elusive goal?  I was speaking with a friend a few weeks ago, about the “used-to’s”.  You know, the conversations we have as Stay-At-Home-Moms about the things we “used to” do.  Juggling a job along with a husband, and children. Writing reports while making dinner.  Managing other adults instead of teams of toddlers. But it’s not reminiscing in that “God, I wish I were doing that instead of this” way, but more of a “What the hell happened---where did those skills go?” kind of way.  

I am always striving to be present, but have so many places to be present in.  My life as a mother.  My life as a wife.  My place as a writer and creative being.  Sometimes I get so depressed, looking at my dog-eared notebook of ideas and story-starters (the dog ears are for the “really good” ideas that I’m really going to do...someday).  Most days I’m so utterly exhausted, I don’t think I can read another story, build another train track, wipe another tear away.  

I guess, what I’m saying is: How do YOU all do it?  You Mama-bloggers and musicians and artists?  I feel like it’s something I want to recapture, that part of myself, but I’m at a loss as to how.  I thought starting this blog would motivate me (it hasn’t).   Every time I sit down to write or paint or play music, I feel this instant guilt.  Almost as if my body is crying out for an interruption, my hearing becomes canine-esque in it’s ability to zone in on the slightest unhappiness beckoning for my attention.  Is it really as simple as setting aside five minutes a day?  Do you hire sitters?  Do you involve your children? What do you do when your family constantly interrupts you?  Will I ever really find the time to finish all of those half-finished projects in my desk and scattered about my garage?  

I’m blessed to have so many inspirational women in my life...so I’m asking you all, how do you do it?

The Shame of Mommy Shame

It's been so long since I bared my soul on here.  I think about this blog a lot, and how I neglect it, like I feel that I neglect each of my 5 kids.  Which is also a contradiction, because I live for my children.  Their needs always come first.  I can't tell you how many times I've heard the advice 'take care of yourself first, then taking care of your family will be easier and more fulfilling".   But how the fuck do you do it?  Anytime I take a minute to myself, whether to use the bathroom or jot down an idea in my notebook, I'm instantly bombarded by thousands of tiny voices telling me "you should be nurturing his preschool mind, you should be singing to the baby, you should be having a heart to heart with your preteen".  I feel like I am in a constant rush against time, that if I don't suck the childhood marrow out of every moment, if I don't make the perfect Mommy decisions, my kids will suffer the consequences. 
Being a bipolar parent sucks.  I knew it was going to be hard, but not this hard.  I've worked extremely hard to ensure that my kids have a much better family life than I had growing up.  They've never felt pain, they're rarely denied their whims and wishes, they've never been dealt anything but love.  But I fear I have gone too far.  I never thought of it as "spoiling" my children, we don't "over indulge", but I never saw the problem of letting them pick out snacks at the grocery store, or have a cell phone (it is the digital age), or play sports or buy name brand clothes.  They're generally good kids.  They get good grades and they are respectful of (other) adults.  But, I have NO time to myself.  My needs are never met.  They just walk all over me.  And I let them.
The creativity that accompanies bipolar is probably the worst aspect that interferes with my parenting.  I have this constant flow of ideas that bombard my brain day in and day out.  I want to embrace them, be the most fun Mommy out there, but I never have the time.  I Pinterest.  I follow Facebook and Instagram.  Then I isolate myself and stay away from all social media.  Sometimes it depresses me;  I see all of those happy Mommies doing hands on projects and teaching art and math and science while they cook dinner.  And I think "Fuck, I could be doing that.  I should be doing that".  And I feel that Mommy Shame.  And I cry.   And  I lash out.  Because I should be better.
That's the irony in all of this.  The yelling and the depression and the episodes of instability are all related to wanting to be the best Mom I can be.  I spend the majority of my therapy sessions discussing parenting strategies INSTEAD of what's been wrong with me.  It's like this (forgive the pun) crazy defense mechanism.  I can't delve in to the problems I'm having because they just aren't that important.  But the problem is, they are. 
I read an article tonight on Scary Mommy called "Hitting the Breaking Point" by Toni Hammer.  It was one of those instances when the author IS you.  There's no getting around it.  And I cried, because I have the same options she does.  I just don't know how to take them.

If You Want My Vote

An Open Letter to the Presidential Candidates

Dear Presidential Candidates,

I am the middle class.  I am the backbone of this country, the first to work in the morning and the last to leave at night.  I struggle and I fail and I succeed all for my family and friends.  I believe in my community and I believe in making the world a better place for my children.  I vote, I am active in my community and with my local charities.  I pay taxes. I support my children's schools and believe in the power of education.  I am an educated individual and am still paying off those student loans that got me here.

If you want my vote, don't make me promises.  Campaign promises are empty vessels.  Don't tell me everything that the other candidates have ever done wrong in their lives, in order to make your life look better.   We've all made mistakes.  I'm not free to cast the first stone, I'm sure you're not either.  Don't invest millions in television commercials, I'll just change the channel.  If you want my vote, leave your handlers behind and DO.  Don't tell me that you will change America; show me.  And without fanfare, without The Press.  The way that the rest of us do it.  Quietly.  If you are out there, practicing what you preach, The Press will find you.  If you are feeding the Homeless, if you are helping the Veterans, People will notice.  If you are getting your hands dirty instead of lining your pockets, People will notice.  If you want your words to matter, your actions must follow.  Anyone can preach, anyone can read a teleprompter and make empty promises.  Be real.  Break the mold.  Step out of the factory line of paid-for politicians and get back to the basics.  Our forefathers were not politicians.  They were farmers.  They were local businessmen.  They were Veterans.  They were not becoming public servants to make millions, they were doing it to help their neighbors.  To stand up for those of us that don't have a voice.  If you want my vote, make a change.  A significant change.  There is enough time, before November, for you to accomplish something magnificent.  Show me that you mean what you say when you say what you mean.  Do Good.  Like the rest of us.

#ifyouwantmyvote #electionyear #president #dogood #politics #realchange

Sunday Morning

It's been a rough week.  School vacation.  Rainy days.  Tween attitudes.  My toddler broke his collarbone after 10 minutes at a playground it took 20 minutes for us to WALK to (he was super brave though, and is healing nicely).

The kids have been on a permanent sugar-high since Easter.  I wake up morings to my older #blessings happily munching on candies that they share (now they share???!!!) with their younger siblings.  This morning my 14 month old started tantruming as he watched his sister eat a cupcake for breakfast.  That did it.  I have no idea how so much sugar has gotten in to our routine, or how and when I lost control, but things had to change.  Now.

I know my 14 month old.  A lovely banana or some hot cereal weren't going to fly since he saw the cupcake.  Alright, let's whip up some muffins.  Some fricken healthy ones.

Now, before I hear about the plethera of sugar substitutes out there that are NOT in my muffins (I was not going to run to the store), I also want to say that the cold-turkey plan for quitting sugar does not work in our familly.  I've tried it.  It's more of a headache than it's worth to me.  So, as of today, we will be gradually decreasing the sugar.  The more gradual and easy the transition, the more likely that they will HAPPILY welcome the new, healthier foods without protest.  You are more than welcome to disregard the sugar/sweetening suggestions in the recipe below and use your own.

Here's what I came up with this morning with what was available in the kitchen:

Toddlers-Can't-Tell Gluten-Free Veggie Muffins

1 3/4 C premixed Gluten Free Flour (I used Pillsbury brand)

1/4 C brown sugar 

2 TBSP raw honey

2 Tsp cinnamon

2 Tsp pumpkin pie spice (or allspice)

2 Tsp baking powder

1 tsp baking soda

pinch of salt

1 banana

2 C shredded baby carrots 

3/4 C cinnamon applesauce

1/2 C to 3/4 C vanilla or plain greek yogurt

4 Tbsp melted butter

1 Lg egg

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Combine all dry ingredients in a large bowl.  Set aside.  In a food processor (or I used my Ninja Blender), shred 2 cups of baby carrots.  Or you can use a hand shredder.  I didn't have time.  Reserve one cup of the "shredded" carrots.  With the other cup of shredded carrots, put back in the food processor (or Ninja) and add 1 banana and 3/4 cup of applesauce.  Puree until smooth. ****Disclaimer below******

Add egg, yogurt, honey, carrot/banana/apple puree and shredded carrots to dry mix.  Mix until blended, but do not over mix.  I used a spoon, not an electric mixer.  Mix should kind of be fluffy.

Spoon into paper baking cups in muffin tin.  Bake for 15 minutes, adding 3-5 minutes at a time, until toothpick inserted comes out clean.  Mine turned out perfectly at 15 minutes.

*****The title of this recipe, "Toddlers-Can't-Tell Gluten Free Veggie Muffins" CAN BE MISLEADING.  My 14 month old ate them gleefully.  My soon to be threenager ate happily for a few bites UNTIL HE BIT A SHRED OF CARROT, at which point dramatic gagging, tantruming, and an Apocolypse ensued.  Thus, the recipe was reworked to PUREE ALL VEGETABLES as to not leave ANY TRACE, after which, said toddler was a happy camper.

Live, Learn, Parent

I've seen first hand the destructive power of over-parenting, of micro-managing.  I've worked with people who can't function without somebody constantly rewarding and celebrating their EVERY move.  I've gone to school with people who couldn't choose a meal plan, let a lone a major, or a friend, without first checking in with Mommy or Daddy.   I have had friends who have been reduced to infants in early adulthood because their parents simply COULDN'T LET THEM MAKE A MISTAKE.  That used to be the exception, now it seems to be the rule.

Life is hard.  A friend recently said it best:

"Dealing with douchebags means you just gotta smile and be diplomatic...be the bigger person.  It's tough sometimes."

I think we have forgotten how to deal with being a society of diverse individuals and we are seriously impairing our children from having the ability to socialize and moderate their own emotions at all.  I am not a perfect parent, I don't strive to be.  It's the mistakes and how you handle them that shape who you are.  This is not meant to be a post on "How to Parent", merely an observation that I feel is long overdue.  First, let me throw this out there so that there is no question that I understand the struggles of being "different":  I suffer from mental illness.  A major one.  I've known dark places, and I've almost drowned in them.  I know the intimacies and realities of suicide.  I know how deeply words can hurt.  Part of my illness is extreme social anxiety.  As a child, it was debilitating.  But, just like everyone else, I had to learn how to make friends.  Just like everyone else, I had to deal with bullying, with difficult teachers, with making bad decisions like not doing my homework and skipping class.  But that was the point.  I had to deal with the consequences.  I had to interact with other human beings.  I had to learn to take shit and give shit when shit was necessary.  Dealing with things or people that are unpleasant sucks.  NOBODY enjoys it.  But that is the stuff that makes you stronger.

Technology is great.  It has helped our society in a lot of ways.  But in a lot of ways, it's hurting us.  Social media is replacing our need to connect with individuals on a human level.  To see the pain behind someone's eyes when they are telling you their feelings.  To watch their body language.  To take in someone's feelings and words and have them effect you in a wave of blinding emotion.  To know what to do with your eyes, your body, your words when someone in front of you is celebrating or suffering.  And the policing of social media is even worse.  I understand that bullyling is a problem.  IT ALWAYS HAS BEEN.  But having parents and schools press charges against children who are MAKING MISTAKES isn't going to solve anything.  Having an arrest record for the rest of your life because of a tweet you sent in middle school seems ridiculous to me.  We all make mistakes.  We are missing out on opportunities to have conversations, to teach coping skills, to model empathy, to teach our children to embrace their individuality and celebrate their diversity.  All of these adults swooping in and "saving" these kids that are being targeted from having to resolve issues with bullies is stunting them emotionally and giving all of the power to the bullies.  I have had a child who has experienced bullying.  I know the pain of watching your child hurt.  I did contact the school and keep records of the incidents, especially when it got physical.  But what I did more was TALK TO MY CHILD.  We discussed ways that they could deal with the bullying.  Things they could say.  Things that they could do.  We even had FUN coming up with come-backs and counter-insults.  The school's initial reaction was to "protect" my child by removing them from the situation entirely, yet leave the bullly in place to continue on.  That was unacceptable.  I empowered my child instead.  I helped my child learn to stand up for themself.  Dealing with that bullying was hard, it tore my heart out and pushed my limits as a Mom to not go out and turn "Mama Bear" on everyone involved.  It was hard.  Life is hard.  You have to go through the darkness to see the light.

We have to start letting our kids make mistakes.  My previous post about managing my children's social media lives is a perfect example.  I hate that I have to do it, but given all of the cyberbullying policies and arrests being made I felt that it was my only choice.  Still is.  And my kids are GOOD KIDS.  But, social media is permanent.  The things you post won't ever go away.  "Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me" isn't the rule anymore.  Words can hurt.  Pictures can hurt.  Permanently.  Given that, I will continue to police what my children post, only to ensure that their future lives and chances (college, job), arent' ruined by something essentially childish and stupid.  What has come out of that is not resentment, but CONVERSATION.  Recently one of my kids was in a group chat where one "friend" was bullying a true friend.  My child came to me to ask about what they were planning to post BEFORE they posted it.  That brought us to a conversation about the topic of the bullying, about sticking up for your friends, about how to deal with a  bully (in this day and age), without condeming yourself on social media. 

I encourage my children to talk with their friends.  To be present with them.  To have actual conversations and not just tweet or chat or video chat on their phones.  Friendship is supposed to be the battleground for growing up.  Your friends are supposed to be able to tell you that an outfit is too revealing without it becoming "slut shaming".  Your friends are supposed to be the people that you tell secrets to, bounce ideas off of, cut loose with.  You're supposed to learn how to disagree with your friends.  How to handle conflict. It's all part of becoming who you are, of developing your personality, of creating your individuality.  If we as parents (and especially as schools) are going to over-parent these kids, what are we going to create?  For a preview, just look at what is going on in society around us.  It will get worse.  Unfortunately, we already have a generation out there that cannot even get their period without posting it on the internet for everyone to admire and tell them how incredibly talented and important they are.  Your validation needs to come from within.  Wanting to get good grades, make good decisions, be a good fricken person, that all comes from within.  Some people are going to like you.  Some people will not.  Life is knowing how to deal with both outcomes.

Phone Manners

Ok, so maybe the following is "a little much". It's certainly by far the most militant act I have taken thus far as a parent. My parenting style tends to float between my children living in a dream world democracy and a full blown dictatorship, depending on my mood swings. Not the best thing to admit, but I'm not a perfect parent. 

That brings me to the following. All 3 of our oldest children have iPhones (I know, bring on the drama😒).  For the most part, they are responsible. With 5 kids and the older ones going to practices, arranging rides, etc., having the phones got to be kind of a necessity.  Plus, we are in the techno age. They gotta learn sometime. Lately, however, there have been many more incidences of the children not answering when we call, missing our texts, things like that. They don't ever miss a call from a friend though. Hmmm...

We had rules for the phones originally. Spoken rules though, an "I'm going to take your word for it" approach.  I think we are ready for a contract now. Here's the rough draft:

So, kid, you want a cell phone?

1.  This phone is NOT to enable or further enhance your social media standing.  It is for us, as parents, to be able to get in touch with you AT ALL TIMES. 

2.  The only status updates, texts, or emails that should have TOP priority should be those from myself, your father, your teachers, and your coach.

3.  Do not under any circumstances ignore a text or call from me or your father. Ever. 

4.  If you are stranded in a ditch without phone service or the use of your hands (the only reason you should by ACCIDENT miss a communication from your parents), you will, in a timely manner (we are talking minutes...seconds even, not hours) return the text or call with adequate explanation as soon as possible. 

5.  You will not, under any circumstances, use this device to publicly humiliate, shame, or bully another individual whether you know them or not. 

6.  You will be smart and considerate when posting ANYTHING. 

7. Your father and I will be full (non-blocked) members of any sites you are on. 

8. Your father and I will know all of your passwords and screen names. 

9. We reserve the right to look through your phone AT ANY TIME FOR ANY REASON. Your phone is NOT A DIARY, everything you post is public. If you want a diary, I will get you a paper journal and a pen. 

10.  These rules will remain in effect until such time as you are able to take over the financial responsibility of your phone bill. Until that time, it is my job to guide you into becoming a socially responsible adult. 

"With great power, comes great responsibility"

-Voltaire 

Thoughts?

 

Wrestling My Muse: The Beauty in Procrastination

Wrestling My Muse: The Beauty in Procrastination: At this point, I have several things of importance hanging over my head.  I have a list of 20 or so churches that I am supposed to deliver f...

The Beauty in Procrastination

At this point, I have several things of importance hanging over my head.  I have a list of 20 or so churches that I am supposed to deliver flyers to.  I have my website to design and launch, the paperwork to incorporate my business needs to be filled out and filed, and a social media campaign to launch.  I have a half-dozen entries to finish for various writing and art competitions.  There's also the book(s) that are waiting patiently for publication, and I have to outline what I will be teaching in class next week.

Today, I thought that making up-cycled activity boards for my toddler and 1 year old far out weighed "that lot" by comparison.  The idea popped in my head from constantly looking (or trying not to look) at the disconfigured cardboard box in the corner of our livingroom that had, until last night, held every piece of mail that we had accumulated in the past year.  Hubby and I had had a mad, panic-driven dumpster dive of an evening trying to find the baby's social security card in order to file our taxes (I was SO SURE that I had filed it away).   Nope. It was in the box.

At any rate, there were two perfectly usable sides to that cardboard box that were serendipitously in the shape of tri-fold presentation boards.  Then I spied some colored popsicle sticks on the counter from a craft project last week.  And some feathers.  And aluminum foil...stickers...felt...and my trusty glue gun.  

For about 30 minutes, my toddler and I were a whirlwind of sticker backings and ribbon strips, feathers, foil, and string.  I dabbed glue here and there, smoothed out the foil, added a few spongy letters and numbers, and--Viola!--a learning and activity board for $0.

The kids explored them hapily, River pointing out to Torrin that there was an "O" in the name "Torrin" and that the Elmo stickers on Torrin's board were, in fact, River's.  All in all, I gained a happy 10 minutes of total free time upon completion of the boards, another 15 of partial free time (stating "take turns" to the boys with their boards), and then the shit hit the fan and I had to referee an all-out war over the scratch-board use on the baby's board. 

It was fun while it lasted.

Peace,

Sarah

Parenting, Real World Style

Welcome to "Real World Charlotte, NC"

This is the true story... of seven family members... picked to live in a house...work together and have their lives blogged... to find out what happens... when parents stop being pushovers... and start getting real...The Real World.

The above is (basically) the tag line from the original Real World. The one with Eric and Julie and the no-frills jobs and apartment, where the focus was on learning to live, not "how many people can fuck in the hot tub at one time while doing Jell-O shots". 

That said, Hubby and I were reminiscing about our childhoods, the good old 90s, and how we have such awesome work ethic compared to those kids of ours who "have it so easy" ( insert "I walked uphill in the snow both ways to school" joke here). 

After one particularly vicious eye-rolling and curse muttering show down over chores and responsibilities with our brood, we decided that, in our family of 5 kids (two of whom will be entering teenager hood shortly), things needed to change.  So, here goes:

First episode:  Chores No More

I am done with paying my kids for every chore they do around the house. I am also done with sticker charts, reward incentives, and bending over backwards to ensure that their fragile little egos are bubble wrapped in positivity no matter what the cost. I am done reading and re-reading parenting books and blogs and twitter feeds just so I can figure out why my moody 9 year old is upset that I wouldn't drive her to the mall and how I am failing to see the repucussions of denying her need to express herself via my credit card. I'm done listening to my boys complain every time I ask them to take out the trash, even though that has been their assigned and PAID chore every week for a year. I'm not even 40 and I'm burnt out on this parenting gig. I am a trained behaviorist, and it pains me to say this, but I think that by over analyzing and over compensating for every possible outcome in my kids' behavioral repertoire, I am ruining their chances of surviving in the real world. What I have learned, is that kids are HUMAN and all humans react differently, even to the same stimuli. That's why, you can have 2 kids with strict parents and one turns out to be a successful community minded citizen, and the other a crime statistic. Same thing can be said of parents that don't give their kids any boundaries. One kid will turn out fine, while the other remains in "arrested development". 

My kids ARE good kids and I am proud of them.  They get good grades, they are (mostly) respectful and age-appropriately responsible. And my husband and I are good parents. We try to set boundaries and stick by them. Sometimes we let the kids have too much freedom, but we are always trying to steer them towards being good citizens. The problem?  Between the over use of behavior incentive programs at school and sticker charts and reward systems at home, they are losing the ability to do things simply because they should, or they have to, or because it FEELS GOOD to do well. I'm finding that there is an expectation attatched to every action, a mind set of "Ok, I did that...now what did I earn."   I was finding that my "suggestions" (go read a book, watch your brother, clean your room) were being met with " how much will you pay me" and "what will I get if I do that". Not that I don't want to encourage a little good old fashioned entrepreneurship, but enough is enough. 

So, hubby and I decided we were going to kick it old school.  Chores will be done because they have to be done. Because we pay your bills, because we are a family, because people do things to help eachother in civilized society. Grades will be achieved because it FEELS GOOD to do well, not because you get $5 for each "A".  You will perform a technology-free activity because it's fun. 

Now, breaking the behavior-incentive mindset isn't going to be easy. My kids have been goal-oriented their whole lives. Go potty, you get a sticker (goal attained). Get straight on honor roll, you get cash (goal attained). And goals aren't bad, not at all. I just want to bring back the INTRINSIC need to do well. I really feel that that is a major problem right now in society. Too many are "in it to win it"-- if they aren't getting a prize, it's not worth their time. Where does that leave us?  How then do we fill the needs for volunteers, for helping the less fortunate, for chipping in when times are tough?  How do we create communities if we are all looking out for ourselves as individuals?  I'm not saying conformity, I'm saying community. I think it's time we move to the community mind set. 

Welcome to ours.