I Got the Look

An Early Version of The Look

No, I'm not quoting Sheena Easton. And for those of you that are too young to remember Sheena, shame on you. OK, now did I remember that song correctly? Shame on me. "You've got the look. somethin something somethin my book..."

I'm getting old.

The look I'm talking about is the one I've been waiting a long time to receive. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later. When it did, it shook me to the core. I wasn't prepared.

You know what it's like to be the bad guy all the time? I mean, the bad mom. The one who makes sure the vitamins are taken, vegetables eaten, doctor appointments kept, right clothes are worn, and teeth are brushed. Sometimes I find myself biting my tongue and thinking, "pick your battles." This wasn't one of those times, though.

I had to step in. You see, we got our first few flakes of snow today. It didn't stick around for long once it hit the ground, but this morning's trek to the bus stop was wet and slushy. Time to put the Crocs, with their strategically placed holes just perfect for soaking toes, away. Young One wanted no part of this, so he glared at me, defiantly put on his hiking shoes and headed out the door. And right before he left, without saying a word and definitely not speaking to me (something that has never happened before either!), he shot me The Look.

You know The Look. It's in caps for a reason. It's The Look that we gave our parents when we started exercising that age old quest for independence. The Look that says, you're so mean and I don't care, but I'm going to shoot you this Look so that you hurt to the core because I'll do what you say, but I'm not going to like it. I think it's basically the double evil eye, but honed to perfection by several hundred years of genetic mutations.

The Look, coupled with the silent treatment hit me so hard, I started to cry. I wasn't quite ready for it and before I could put on my Mom Mask of Steel, I lost it.

Through my tears, I said goodbye and that you shouldn't leave anyone in anger--that's a hard and fast rule in our home. But, he was strong. He held forth and strutted to the bus stop where he ignored the neighbors and stared up at the snowflakes coming down.

I watched out the living room window (from a safe distance from the windows--I didn't want him to see me!!), trying to come to terms with the fact that he just might leave without fixing things.

And then he ran home, gave me a huge hug, and said, "I'm sorry Mommy." I forgave him and he got back to the stop just in time to hop on the bus. (And yes, he still calls me Mommy. I'm waiting for the day when some cruel kid makes fun of him for this, but oh well. I think in public I may be Mom, but at home I get the extra m and the finishing y.)

Maybe I am doing something right.

This growing older business is difficult on us moms. The problems get so much bigger and there are more emotions involved. I'm not looking forward to the emotional stuff that goes along with being a pre-teen and eventually, a full blown raging bag of hormones.

Young One has never given us a bit of trouble. If anything, he goes beyond overboard when it comes to rules and has a hard time prying the stick out of his heiney to have a good time. He's the kid that will button his polo shirt up to the top for school pictures and dreamed of being on the school patrol early in his elementary school career. Now that he is one, Bus Cop is the formal title, the power and authority can go to his head! He likes clear expectations, clear rules. Thank goodness for his tender heart and his sense of humor!

Maybe he'll rebel. He'll become a Republican (sorry my Red friends, but I just had to get that in!) He won't recycle. He'll refuse to eat his carrots. He'll (gasp) stand up on the bus while the vehicle is in motion (Section 4, Article 2a of the Bus Cop Code).

The Look, though, it scared me. I think I'm going to have to start taking some lessons or rely on my mom friends who've survived these trying years. If this is just the beginning, I'm in trouble.

Mom, Lighten Up and Enjoy Halloween!

I love this blog. The Educated Plate. She's so informative about nutrition and what I like most of all, she advocates balance. Love it! I've shamelessly borrowed the title from her post, linked in below.

If you're thinking about giving your kids homemade fruit leather, high fiber granola, or a hunk of sweetened tofu and calling it a celebration, then click here. I can't say it any better than she did.

This intervention is for your own good. Lighten up and enjoy the holiday. Joy is so limited these days. Our country is so sad. Celebrate. It'll do ya good--and a little high fructose corn syrup won't hurt you. In fact, it might just sweeten you up.

Happy Halloween!

(And if it absolutely kills you to go out trick or treating with your kids, then hand out campaign materials--or stuff a Tootsie Pop in your mouth and shut it. I dare you not to smile when you see your kids scampering around spreading joy. And when they get home, I dare you not to dig through their stash to find your favorite!)

I've been voyaging on to other blogs and I've seen so many moms going overboard and being hypervigilent about this holiday. I truly believe that if you deprive, as The Educated Plate says, it will "lead to greater temptation and desire down the road". That is so true.

My son is eleven. He has a few friends that come from households that limit. They limit computer time, video games, monitor the books their kids choose and read. There are weird dietary specifications and rules about what they can and can't eat. Do they follow these limits at my house? Not really. I'm not going to be policing other people's children at my house. Don't get me wrong, I do believe in everything in moderation and I'll try to make sure the kids are doing what they should be. But, these kids that have so much micromanaging of their time and diet and reading by their parents CANNOT control themselves when they're on their own. They don't have the tools to do so because someone else has always guided them. And when they're away from their parents, they go nuts.

How do I approach this? Well, my job as a mom has been to prepare my son for life away from me. What good would it do for me to micromanage him? He certainly wouldn't be able to survive away from home if he couldn't learn self limitation, right? So, we've taught him how to make good decisions, using his own mind and abilities. If it's a nice day outside (we live in MInnesota, the weather rules our lives!), why would you stay inside and play video games? If you're getting frustrated by a game, if it's making your heart race and your face flush, take a break as this isn't good for your body in the longterm. If a book seems too scary or upsetting or seems against your values, then quit reading it.

If we moms are there for every little decision, how will they learn? What about life experience? We all remember a stomach ache from too much candy. What valuable lesson did you learn from that? Perhaps that's where moderation in all things starts revealing itself to us human beings as such a valuable life lesson. So, hey, couldn't Halloween be a vehicle for this very valuable life lesson?

I think you make a great mistake if you voyage forward from the infancy and toddler stages of parenting, where their every need is met by you, and still try to orchestrate their every move as they grow older. Once they've reached this independent stage, you've got to let go and let them live a little. As well, you can't let every day, every minute feel like a crucial, critical decision that might very well jeopardize your child's well being.

In other words, lighten up.

You'll be a better mother, a better parent, if you look at the big picture. The big picture, as in, a day of candy never hurt anyone. In fact, for many of us, Halloween stands out with very vivid and happy memories of our childhood. I wouldn't want to deny my son that joy.

We've seen a trend in the past few years. Schools no longer celebrating Halloween, but having a HARVEST festival. Churches preaching against the evils of trick or treating and the holiday in general. Health nuts preaching against the dangers of high fructose corn syrup.

Come on people. Let's just settle down and enjoy the season, set aside some of this policing of our kids, and just let them have fun. That, outweighs any negative effects of the experience.

(Oh and please don't comment about Young One having weapons in the above picture. Once again, I'm going to give you a big eye roll and a "lighten up." He was New Goblin last year from Spiderman. The sword and knife were all part of the costume. We're a peaceful family, but hey, you've got to have a big sword to be New Goblin. It's required. Boys will make guns out of their fingers and swords out of sticks if they have nothing else!)

Letting Go

I should be turning cartwheels and happily enjoying my first moments of a four day weekend alone. (I promise, I will do that soon.) I'm just having a bit of sadness here.

Young One's school owns an environmental learning center about 4 hours North of our house. It's just one more reason that we love our district. Every year, the fifth graders of his school get to spend a four day weekend there. It's a tradition at his school. And every parent I've talked to whose child has participated has had a blast. It's a jam packed weekend of bog stomping, wall climbing, archery, environmental studies, and just hanging out in the woods with your classmates. It's sort of a right of passage. It's the time when their class begins to bond as a class.

Young One has been very nervous about going and, I think, Hubby was too. He's chaperoning. I don't envy him, but I am so thankful that he's going. It's good to get to know other parents and the kids better. Having a boy, though, it wasn't an option for me to go. Secretly, all of us wives have been chatting. The dads were all pretty reluctant to go. Hey, I've done my time volunteering, this will make up for it.

There were lots of anxious parents and kids there this morning. For many kids, this was the first time away from home for more than just a night. We arrived bright and early. Young One's biggest fear? That he and his best friend would not be on the same bus. They assign buses and yes, his fear came true. While they're assigned to the same cabin, they weren't on the same bus. And this just broke his heart. And then, horror of horrors, he started to cry in front of his classmates. Well, for about 2 minutes, anyway. Enough to make me feel horrible.

As I looked around, it appeared that the members of the planning committee's kids all seemed to be on the same buses with their best friends, but I may have been seeing through the eyes of the MAD MOM. You know, mother bear, mother cougar starting to growl and grumble, looking for a chance to pounce. That mom. The one we all have lurking underneath our smiles. Don't hurt my kid. Such a strong instinct to protect, to fix, to make it all better.

The Momma Lion in me asked if we could do some switching, but I was met with the unrelenting stare of the PTA president. Now, I'm a little embarrassed for saying anything because he did find another good friend to sit with and when last I saw him, he was sitting as far away from his dad on the bus as he could get. Or, at least, that's what it appeared to be. Perhaps I was waving at some other kid. The smokey glass of the bus made it difficult to discern if there even were children on the bus!

These little steps of breaking away are hard. I wish What to Expect When You're Expecting would release a how-to book for preteens. You know, sort of a manual for how to hold yourself back when life throws your kid a curve ball, that in the end will just teach him to be a more adaptable person. There could be chapters about how to give them roots and wings. There could be chapters about how not to embarrass them. There could be a whole chapter about how to develop a secret code that would stand in place of a hug in public. ("Don't touch me in front of my friends," he has said, repeatedly.)

I do know that my kid is an intense person. He's a worrier. He needs a lot of predictability, which is hard because I'm a spontaneous person. He likes to know what to expect and he expected four hours with his best bud on the bus and this didn't happen. Will he survive? Certainly. Could we have pushed a bit more than we did? Maybe, but then I would have been THAT Mom. You know, the one that micromanages her kid's life and makes an ass of herself. I wasn't willing to go that far.

He'll have a good weekend. More than learning about the environment, he'll learn about being relatively on his own (despite dad being there--he won't be with dear old dad that much). He'll get closer to a lot of classmates. He'll find out that he can survive away from his best friend and that he can actually thrive without him.

Teachers and other parents have all told me that he is very well liked at school. A mom just told me this morning that he has so many friends and is so kind to everyone. I'm proud that he's in the top of his class, but I'm even prouder of the fact that last year he was voted unanimously as the kid that everyone in his class would like to be friends with. That means so much more to me than good grades.

I'll worry this weekend. I'll think about him. I've calmed down from the stress of the morning and I'm ready to move forward with some really great personal time for me. I miss those days when it was easier. When they're small, they're problems are smaller. Don't hit. Use your inside voice. Eat your vegetables. When they get older, the issues become bigger and it's not as easy to deal with as a mom.

And we haven't even started with girls yet. Sigh.

I had about 2 tears when I got home. No big, ugly, sobbing cry. After all, his dad is with him and now that I've written about it and talked to a friend, I feel much better. I decided I'd better not dwell on being lonesome and start enjoying MY time. As a mom, we get so little of this, I'm gonna savor it.

Bad Mom, Oh the Guilt

Today is field trip day to a local nature center for Young One. It's on, rain or shine, the permission slip said. And it's pouring. And, what do we find out this morning? His, what I thought was a rain jacket, is not really a rain jacket. It's a wind breaker.

I just got off the phone with a friend of mine who is chaperoning the field trip. She said, isn't it great that we'll find out that their rain gear works before the four day fifth grade trip this weekend? I told her our situation and the hope that they wouldn't be outside all day. She was silent. I asked her to give him a garbage bag if it gets bad. She laughed.

The guilt. I feel so bad.

This is supposed to be my job and I royally screwed up today. I hate this feeling.

I am the Toilet Paper Fairy

I am the CEO of our Home. The Queen of the Clean Latrine. Domestic Goddess is an understatement. I am a stay at home mom. Oh, I've been a working mom too, don't jump on me. Neither is harder than the other, but I will find that my current job comes with much less guilt than the other.

Watching Oprah yesterday, she featured "The Country's Most Hated Mom". You remember the story of the mom who was a vice principal (I think) of an elementary school. On a busy day, with her young child sleeping in the back of her car, she bypassed the daycare drop off and headed straight to work. Eight hours later, her daughter was discovered, dead of heat stroke, in the back of the car. A horrific story. A horrible accident. No one was to blame.

I'm not going to talk about the craziness of mom's lives and the busy schedules that we lead, whether working or "not" (which are you kidding me? I work all day at home!). I'm not going to go into our first thought at this story: how could you forget your child? She didn't forget her child, she was just juggling and rushing and racing and their schedule had changed (dad usually dropped off the wee ones) and a horrible, horrible thing happened. I forgive her. She will never forgive herself, so adding to that is really a waste of our time.

So, why am I writing this? Well, it's because there are so many things that we moms juggle on a daily basis. Terrible accidents like this are rare, but what happened after she told her story was so interesting. Oprah had opened an anonymous phone line to let mothers call in their stories of being overwhelmed. She shared other stories of braver women who faced the camera and talked about their insane schedules and their thinly stretched selves. They all cried out for understanding, help, sympathy, and for a chance to just vent.

I think what people don't realize is that there's only so much that our brains can handle at once, but yet, we try to cram in even more. We live in a fast-paced world and I don't think we're any better for it. Information comes at us at lightening speed, people work harder and longer than any time in the past, and crazy schedules are the norm. I'm lucky, in some respects, that I only have one child. After having five miscarriages and being denied adoption due to a medical condition, I never thought I would say that. (I guess I'm finally in the acceptance stage--yeah!) Last night, while helping with homework, I was also: cleaning the kitchen, refilling a prescription, filling out a permission slip, writing a check, writing a list, crossing off on the list, feeding the fish and the dogs, having a conversation with D about our kitchen floor, answering an email, and looking for some cough drops while trying to figure out just what a factor is so I don't look stupid when Young One asks another question and thinking that I should just sneak over to my laptop and Google "factor", but then can I really be that old that I can't remember what it is and then it comes back to me and...

Deep Breath.

Sometimes I think if you could look inside the mind of a mom you would see a whole circus spinning around with jugglers, clowns, gymnasts, daredevils, and that obligatory little girl over in the corner crying into her cotton candy because she's afraid of the clowns. The lion tamer is cracking the whip and somewhere in there is a Ringmaster who's so freaking tired of managing the whole thing that she's ready just to drop. (But, she looks good in her black pants and snappy red blazer!)

Now, back to the title. Just where did I come up with that anyway? Well, you see, it comes from just one of the many invisible jobs that I do around the house to keep it running smoothly. Oddly enough, in a house with three bathrooms, one that I rarely use, it seems that I am the only one that can change the toilet paper. Sometimes, there will be two squares on the roll, but no one has changed it (Am I alone here?). I've threatened, cajoled, nagged, but to no avail. My question of, "Could you use two squares to do the job?" has gone unanswered. Some day. SOME DAY. I am going to hide all those full rolls that are always available under the cabinet, leave the two squares on the holder and make sure not another paper product is in sight, and wait for my trap to spring. I'll be nowhere near the bathroom, but within earshot, and laugh gleefully when I hear the, "Hey, where's the toilet paper?!!"

I'm rambling again, aren't I?

I do a lot of invisible jobs. Toilet paper fairy is just one of them. Here are some more:

• Warm Feet Fiend (Bathroom Rug Cleaner) Young One thought I just "bought new or somethin' "



• Flame Thrower. (Oven cleaner) Yes, we do have an automatic one, but someone has got to wipe it out.



• Refrigerator Deep Sea Diver and Brave Explorer. I do delve into the nether regions and open containers that only a mom could look into and survive the smell. I also have been known to fight toxic spills to the death.



• Milk Maid. No matter how fast you drink it or how slow it goes, we will never go without. Your cereal is safe.



• Junk Mail Banisher. There will be no recyclable junk mail that doesn't meet my wrath.



• Dr. PooLittle. OK, I stole this from a dog poop clean up service, but it's way to cute. Yes, I do the doo, occasionally.



• Juliet the French Maid. No, not what you think, that would be too obvious. But, I do clean and make beds every day.

I'm running out of time, so I can't write more. But, I think you understand what I'm getting at. We moms juggle. When you work outside the home, you juggle even more. Sometimes it goes unnoticed all that we do and that can be extremely frustrating, but I think dads do the same. When was the last time you thanked your spouse or partner for a little thing? Maybe if we start doing that, our little things will get noticed too!

On a side note, I've tried to offer up prayers for this poor woman who lost her daughter. I get a little dumbstruck, though. I can't find the words. So, I'm just sending up some positive prayers for some healing and for some peace. Anything else, would be impossible. She was very brave to tell her story and perhaps, she can find some solace that because of her, many others will not make the same mistake.

Cry Baby

Sometimes I hate kids. I mean, you've got to love their honesty and cuteness and all that, but sometimes, I just don't like them. Well, not the collective them. It's actually just one that I don't like. One that just gets my hackles up, whatever hackles are. When a kid does something that gets my fierce mother lioness side all hot and bothered. If you're a mom, you know what I mean. I don't think dads come programmed with this. Thankfully, they come with the "let's build something or blow something up" gene that is somewhat useful at times. But, I digress.

The incidents I'm thinking of didn't happen recently, but are forever burned in my mind and last night I saw the kid responsible for them. Oooh, kid, I still don't like you.

So, you know this kid. Everyone has one of these kids in their class. You know, the one who they now are labeling with "anger management issues". (Insert big eye roll here.) The one, who for reasons you don't know or reasons you really don't want to know, can't control himself. He's the one that has been raised wrong. He's broken and really, there is no hope for this kid. But, somehow he has more rights to an education than the rest of the rule-abiding children that surround him in class. But, once again, I digress. Back to the incidents.

In first grade, Young One was still very trusting. He was a cute kid who got on the bus with the big boy neighbors, wearing a backpack bigger than he was. Until the incident that became his first peek at how not nice human beings just can be to each other.

Anger Management Boy, who I believe at the time was maybe called Oppositional Defiance Disorder Boy or Hyperactive Attention Deficit Boy, just walked up to Young One and put him in a choke hold. It took several teachers to get him off my son. We were called. The Principal (insert Dun, Dun, Duhhhhhhh music here) was involved. A social worker chimed in. It was chaos.

Bottom line: my son had a red bruised neck for a week, his voice got raspy, and he was extremely traumatized (as was I) by the whole experience.

So, what's a mom to do? I called, trying to keep my mother lioness personality at bay the best that I could. I spoke with the teachers, the principal, and the social worker. I hear about Anger Management Boy's "issues", his "family environment". I hear about the "messy divorce." And what I discovered is that my child doesn't have the same right to an education (in a safe environment) that the child now known as Anger Management Boy does.

So, a couple of years go by, and for the most part, encounters with A.M. Boy are limited. I refuse to allow Young One to be in a class with him and so far, my requests have been honored. This year, however, A.M. Boy attacked Young One again. As the teacher put it, "It happened so fast, no one could react. We were all so shocked." Young One came off with a scratch and a swollen nose from a punch to the face. His glasses were bent and the lenses gouged. More traumatic to him was the trip to the Principal's office in which he was made to feel as if HE was also in trouble (not really by the school staff, just his own perception).

This time, I went to school, and took Young One home for a breather. He needed to recharge before going back to his class and Lord knows, his whole school didn't need to see him with a tear streaked face, red nose, and crooked glasses. A.M. Boy's parting words from the office to my son were, "Cry Baby." I've never spanked my child, but man, did I want to lay out this kid.

Once again, I call, I speak to anyone that will listen to me. And once again I ask, why does this child have more rights than mine? At what point, do we intervene and remove this child from the school? What does it take to actually get expelled these days? I'm told, again, that this is a child caught up in a very messy divorce ("The divorce is still taking place three years later?" I asked). He has "issues", he has a "personal behavior plan" in place. His blah blah blah blah blah, politically correct terms, blah blah blah blah, blathery blah blah. So, placate me and keep it quiet, and wait it out and pass this kid off to the middle school principal in a year. GRRRR.

So, Young One lays on my bed, we watch a few cartoons. I wait until some calmness comes over him and until his heart beat isn't thumping hard enough to flutter the front of his shirt. And I tell him that we're not going to let this boy keep him from his friends and HIS school. That we're going to get it together and go back. And that he should hold his head high, not let this boy defeat him. I explain to him as gently as I can that this boy is broken and most likely will never get better and that he needs to stay clear of him. I also told him that it is appropriate to protect himself in any way he needs to and to use his Tae Kwon Do moves if he needs to defend himself. (This was so hard for the pacifist in me, but Mother Lion had taken over somewhat here.)

Fast forward a few months and A.M. Boy is now stealing lunch money from kids on a field trip I was chaperoning. The money gets back to it's rightful owners, but really nothing but a wrist slap happens to him. He laughs on the bus ride back to school. "Next time, I won't get caught," I hear him brag. Oy.

So, last night is Young One's Summer Orchestra Concert and A.M. Boy is part of the orchestra (which is so surprising to me because as a general rule music kids are good to the core--it's probably part of his behavior management plan! HA!). I now just look at the kid and think, "What a little creep," and don't spend much more time thinking about him other than picturing his future in some Boot Camp for Bad Kids (I think this is a franchise!) or in jail.

The concert is lovely. What a great group of kids. With all of them playing, you don't hear the squeaks and ear bleed inducing squeals that can happen when you give a ten year old a string instrument and a bow. And they play a Jewish song that happens to be Young One's favorite song of the concert. And it reminds me of the last time he practiced that song for me. As he finished it, he got this funny look on his face and his eyes filled with tears. "It's just such a sad song, Mom. It just gets to me."

And I'm touched. And so proud of my Cry Baby. He may be the one that has tears again at school and just might hear that name calling again someday. But, he'll also be the one that will cry as he makes his wedding vows and when he sees his child for the first time.

Cry Baby.

That's okay with me.