My GOD What is That Thing?

This is from a guest post on my friend Kelly's page...please support her because she rocks.  http://debiehive.blogspot.com/

I am not sure how long I have known Kelly, the Queen, Debie.  We went to the same middle and high school. We hung out in some of the same circles, yet never quite with each other.  Our school and community was small enough that usually when you mention a name of someone who graduated the same year as you, you know of them.  Thanks to the Internets, Kelly and I discovered that even though we both moved 1800 miles away from our home town, we were only 30 miles from each other.   I started writing an occasional blog post on my own blog because of Kelly.  Kelly asked me to discuss what it was like to raise bi-racial children.  I am white, grew up in a very white town, and married my high school sweetheart, a full blooded Korean American.   Here is my story about raising two Korean/Anglo American Children in a mid-sized college town that is predominately white. 

As any first time mom, I would proudly jaunt around town with my adorable baby girl, trolling for compliments.   I'd contemplate outfits to dress her in while nursing at 2:00 a.m.  The outfits that would best compliment Cookie's dark copper complexion.  Lavenders and purples mostly.  I couldn't wait to brag discuss her birth story.  Yes, I was the first person in the world to give birth drug free!

First time parents, well those that are honest, will tell you, the first year is the hardest.  With your first child, the first few months are wrought with nervous fear that you are doing it all wrong.  You are literally fumbling around in the dark trying not to feel like you are fucking it and your child up.  Not to mention the hormones.  For me, I was in a horrible haze of postpartum that I didn't realize I was in...until..well I was no longer in it.  So, when stranger after stranger approaches you to gush over your sweet baby, you lap it up. However, for me, the comments towards my child were more like a double edged sword. 

Cookie at 100 days. See those dimples!

Cookie was born with the darkest of brown hair, almost black.  And she had a lot of it.  She came out and the nurses just about swooned over her double dimpled chubby cheeks.  I was very excited over the dimples, I had always wanted them for myself.  Her skin was a beautiful copper color.  She was like a Korean version of me.  Her eyes were almond shaped but had the "double eyelid" that is so important to have in the Korean culture.  In Korea, women march in droves to get plastic surgery for double eyelids.  For those that don't know, It means, having the extra fold that white people have.  

The first indication that my interaction with strangers with my child would be different was the constant stroking.  A stranger would come up to me, and begin stroking my daughter's arm.  "What beautiful skin color she has. You are so fair..." They would leave the last word hanging, like I needed to fill in a blank that was missing.  When pregnant, I kinda got creeped out at stranger's wanting to touch me. This was my child, creepy went to a whole new level.  It is one thing to want to grab a baby's hand and have those little fingers wrap around yours, or touch the sweet toes.  Who can resist baby toes?  But the stroking was weird.  In all my life I've never been compelled to stroke a strange child. Okay, maybe squeeze some baby thigh.  But continually stroke a baby's arm...weird.

Besides the stroking, there were the rude comments and questions.   I am not exaggerating them, I am not making this up.  The following were actual things said to me, on almost a daily basis, by more than one person.

- Is she yours?
- Where'd you get her?
-My cousin(brother, sister...extended family member or friend) adopted from China.
-What is she?
-Is she American?
-She looks.......not all white?
-She looks kinda like my friend's kids who are adopted.
- My (insert relationship here) is married to an (insert any ethnicity).
- Are you the nanny? 
- Your baby is so exotic looking.
- What's her nationality?

Apparently my copper skinned, almond shaped eyed, dark haired baby looked nothing like me.  Here I carried her for 9 months, gave birth (drug free...at the time this was important), was nursing her exclusively (she refused a bottle of even pumped milk), and she doesn't look like my child!  I was indignant.  I was angry, and did I mention a little post pardem and depressed.  The only joy I was getting was showing off my child and these people were taking it away!  I had an identity crisis for her.  I started dying my hair dark dark brown, almost black in order to look more like her.  I began wearing make-up, lining my eyes to look more Asian.  I wanted my baby to never have to question who she was or where she belonged.   Hubby just shrugged and said, "yea, that's what it is like to be not white. Get used to it."

I began to get pissy.  Mostly because I wanted people to recognize that I was her mother.   Depending on how people asked, I began to answer in all kinds of equally rude ways. 

-Is she yours?  "I hope so, I'm taking her home with me."
-Where'd you get her? "My vagina, you do know how babies are born right?"
-My ____ adopted from China.  "I hope that goes well for them"
-What is she? " Human, what are you?"
-Is she American? "Yes, OMG ARE YOU????"
-She looks.....not all white. "I know, she tans just going to the mailbox."
-She looks kinda like my friend's kids who are adopted. "Well I can assure you, they aren't mine, I haven't given birth to any more children."
-My ____ is married to an ____. "Fantastic???"
-Are you the Nanny. "Nope she came from my Vagina"
-Your baby is so exotic looking.  "UMMMM....Thank You????"
- What's her Nationality? "American"


By the time Jelly came around two years later, I learned to grow thicker skin.  I also learned that no matter what, people would be interested, that people are rude and feel their curiosity should be answered.  More importantly people didn't know the difference between race, ethnicity, and nationality.  My job, as my children's mother, is to give them a foundation in their family histories.  To teach them Korean, to discuss why their Harmonee and Harabogee look different and speak different than Nana and Papa.  Most importantly, my job is to give them pride and love of themselves not based on race or their ethnicity, but on their actions. 
  
The hardest part of raising a bi-racial child, as a white parent, is confronting racism for the first time.  Real racism.  The kind where old white people look at you and your child like you have leprocy. The kind where skin heads glare at you in a menacing way.  To come to terms with one's own white privilege. ( A great 'guide' to read is this http://thoughtcatalog.com/2013/a-definitive-guide-to-white-privilege/) To finally know that you don't know racism.   It is one thing to experience prejudice and racism against oneself, it is another to experience it for your child.  To have caused them harm from just being.  To realize that no matter what, someone may call your child ugly or worthless because of their ethnicity or the way they look. My job is to teach my children tools on how to deal with that racism.  At first, in my rage,  I decided that I would not sit back and take people's ignorance, I would shove it in their face.  Make them see how they were insensitive or just plain ignorant.  Today, I like to sit back and wait for someone to stumble through asking me.  How I perceive that person, what kind of human being they are is from that interaction.  I try and take the high road.  Sometimes I just give them the answer they are seeking.  Sometimes I make them work for it.  Mostly I try to be a
positive role model for my children.  Do not let what others say define you.

But times they are a changing.  When I had Jelly, in 2009, I did not get quite so many of the rude questions I received in 2007 with Cookie.  I am not sure if people stopped asking because 1. Jelly was fairer skinned, with light brown whispy hair. 2. They would see me with two children that looked alike, but different in coloring, so they assumed they were both of my loins. 3. Cookie started to look more like me as she got bigger.  4. Our community has changed.  Since the time we moved here, you could go months without seeing someone of color.  Where if we came across another Asian, hubby and other Asian would give each other a nod. Or if it was a young adult or teenager, they'd get super excited and say, "I"M KOREAN TOO!" Once at a restaurant, a young college student's friends pointed to Hubby and said to their Asian friend, "Look there is another Asian in town!"

My babies together. Cookie at 2 1/2, Jelly at about 3 months.

Now we see so many mixed couples, mixed children, that I think people are just more accepting.  It is the norm.  The bi-racial child is no longer a circus attraction.  This means that I can take my children to the park on the day the families who did adopt from China have a support group meet-up and not be asked to join them.  (true story this happened) Does this mean the road for my children will be easy?  I am sure they will experience all kinds of ignorant, mean, cruel, asinine behavior from children to grown adults.  My job is to help arm them in the best way possible.  To be kind, to be intelligent, and to be world savvy. 

Me and the girls..not that you can see Jelly

 

Mother's Day, Yeah that Happened!

Since there was like dozens of Mother's Day posts by other bloggers out there, I thought I'd share my little story.

Once Upon a Time there was this boy and girl.  They liked each other and dated.  And dated, and dated, and dated, then moved in together for another 5 years...then after 11 years together they got married.  There was a lot of love, much understanding, and an agreement that gifts were usually full of disappointment, so rarely gifts to each other for birthdays or Christmases were given.  After all that time together and 7 years of marriage, you would think that they would understand each other.  You would think that this girl would realize that even though boy does not always buy gifts or flowers for the girl, he loves her, yet, he also has trouble planning anything romantic or celebratory.  After 18 years with the boy, now Man, this girl, now Woman, should have not expected anything.  She should not be sorely disappointed, but she was.  After two children and ups and downs, this women should not have wished for anything.  This woman should not have hoped for breakfast in bed, or even breakfast made.  This women should not have expected the man to prepare or offer to make dinner.  Yes, the man tried to help give youngest a bath that resulted in a tantrum and calling for Mommy.  But when the man turned to the woman on Mother's Day and asked "Did you plan something for dinner?"  The Woman is allowed to loose her marbles.  The woman is allowed to be angry.  Not because she did not receive gifts or cards or flowers from the Man, those are ridiculous and meaningless, but because, the Man did not consider her for one moment.  He did not think beyond himself as to how he could do ONE thing for the women.  He did not think to maybe rephrase said question into, "Is there something in the freezer I can make for dinner?"  "What would you like me to make for dinner?"  "Can I pick/order something up for dinner?" And yes, after 18 years the woman will let the man know he FUCKED UP.  And the man will know he fucked up.  But the man, should not be allowed to wallow in his own self loathing and self pity making the woman feel she needs to validate his feelings instead of her own.  The man will remember, and he will learn NOT to fuck it up again.  Because like the time he forgot the woman's birthday, like literally forgot even though it happens only 9 days after his own, the woman will never let him forget he forgot and FUCKED it up. 

The END

Cookies anyone?

I am the, by default,  Cookie Chair for my daughter's Girl Scout Daisy troop.  I am also a co-leader.  Not one single parent was willing to take on the Cookie challenge.  They are all smarter than I took them for.  The job is a whole lot of juggling, people trapsing through your house non-stop almost every day for about a month.  And because I'm in the state of Colorado, in their infinite wisdom, there are no pre-orders.  Just leave it up to the troops to guess at how many boxes they think they can sell and then door to door with the product.  While this moves a whole bunch more cookies, it sucks logistically.  We have 3 weeks left of cookie sales and Wednesday is the last day we can return any factory sealed cases.  Anything open you are stuck with.  But this really isn't about that craziness. It is about what has transpired whenever it has come to me picking up more cookies from the "Cookie Cupboard."

After our original order, I have had to make the 20 minute drive to the next town over for more cookies four times.  That is four times in two weeks!  Each and every single time has been an utter disaster.  Or at least it ends up making me look like a complete and utter disaster as a Mom and person.  On our first trip, both kids are antsy, they touch EVERYTHING.  Not that there is much to touch, just a folding table with pamphlets and cookie materials.  Jelly slams hand in front door, Cookie, knocks all the stuff off the table. Both almost get run over, cause near cookie collision with the dolly moving cookies out the door to waiting cars. And just as they are ready to load the goods, Cookie announces she has to pee.  Like "I NEED TO GO NOW!!!"  The workers are awesome, allow us to use their restroom.  I have to send her in alone, as I have the car being loaded with cookies, and Jelly is strapped in.  She swears she washed and flushed.  I'm not sold.

Second trip to Cupboard.  My password will not work.  Line out the door.  Other Cookie Moms shifting on their feet, sighing, my kids running around screaming at each other. "She POKED ME." Scream, scream, cry.  Me, desperately trying to get password to work.  No dice, system has locked me out.  Finally, guy feels bad, knows me from the last trip, just gives me the cookies and sends me on my way.  I think the other parents cheered when I left.  Or at least in their head they did.  I know I needed a drink.

Third trip.  This time I am not letting these kids in the store.  I make them use the restroom before leaving the house.  I inform them that they can play in the car while I get the cookie order.  The mini-van is parked right outside.  Another long wait for cookies.  Kids start laying on the car horn.  Like a constant, "Honk, Honk, Honk, HOOOOONK, Honk."  I wave from the door.  Cookie waves back.  I assume they are just being a pain because it is taking so long.  Finally, order is complete, workers officially hate me.  Cookies are loaded, phew we are out of there.  I get home, I am unloading the 25 cases of cookies when I notice, our port-a-potty is missing it's baggie.  And there is the baggie next to it, tied up.  I think, "NOOO, NOOOO, NOOO, NOOOOO!"  Yell inside to the kids, "did someone use the potty in the car?"  Cookie responds, "Oh that was me, I had to poopy."  In my head I am now screaming, "YOU CAN NOT FUCKING BE KIDDING ME!!!!AGAIN!!! WTF IS WRONG WITH THIS KID?"  But, then I am proud that Cookie came up with a solution to her umm dilemma.  She used the port-a-potty and cleaned herself and it up nicely.  I just wish she would have told me about it.  I mean I could have had a poop bag in the back of the car forever!  Thank God the cookies were no where near it.  She kept the bag neatly tucked into the corner, and blocked it with buckets.  This kid is pretty smart sometimes. 

Fourth trip.  I now have to bring kids in thanks to last trip.  I allow them to each bring one toy.  Instead, they end up practicing Jui-jit-su on the floor and pretending that their stuffed animals have to pee.  There is the sound of, "sshhhssshhhhshhh" as they pretend their animals are peeing and peeing and peeing.  Thank God my password works. The other parents are really nice about it this time.  Staff still hates me.

I have one more trip for one more booth sale. I need to stock up on wine.

Six is the New Five

I have been obsessing since October in regards to Jelly and preschool.  She is an August birthday, which means she just turned three when she started preschool.  Having sent Cookie to the same preschool, I have a pretty good idea in regards to the teacher and her feelings.  Therefore, it should not have surprised me going into October conferences that she would recommend we wait until Jelly is six to send her to Kindergarten.  The teacher has a philosophy that all summer birthday kids should wait a year.  That being the "youngest" in the class is a detriment.  That giving your child one more year to grow emotionally is going to give them an advantage.  The BEST advantage.

Because I was a classroom teacher, I will readily agree that a child who is not emotionally ready for the challenges of the social aspects of school, will struggle.  They will struggle to get through the day, worried about confrontations, worried about other kids, and well, just worried.  Too worried and emotional to open themselves up to learning all that other stuff like arithmetic, reading, and writing.  I have recommended to friends that being the oldest is just fine, that it wouldn't hurt.  I told a friend that repeating Kinder is not so bad.

So why am I so conflicted?  Shouldn't we just wait a year?  Are we going to damage Jelly if we send her to Kindergarten at five?  If summer birthdays are so bad then why don't they change the birth dates in school to June 1st? I believe that each kid and their needs are different.  I like to say that my girls are like Chocolate and Vanilla.  I remember sitting in Cookie's preschool classes and saying to myself, "Thank God she doesn't do that!"  And now Jelly is the kid that is DOING THAT!  She throws tantrums..we skipped terrible twos and went right to Terrifying Threes.  Cookie started terrible twos at 18 months and we just continues to be 6 months ahead when it came to horrible age behavior.

Jelly is right on in development.  She is 100% Three!  She dawdles like nobody can.  She is terrible at transitions and needs warnings that change is a coming.  She is stubborn and will not compromise.  She will only play horses, that is all.  When offered a chance to play with other kids, she will, but only if they agree to play what she wants.  She is a leftie...what the heck do I do with a leftie?  She questions authority.  And I mean real full on not the simple "but why Mommy."  It will be the, "that's silly, that makes no sense" kind of questioning, therefore she is not going to do it.  She will simply not do what you want her to if your request seems "poo poo."  I could ask Cookie, "How was your day today?" And she would spend the next two hours non-stop giving me a minute by minute play of her day at school.  Jelly gives the dreaded, "fine." It is like pulling teeth to get her to tell me anything, I don't think any amount of time with change that.

Despite all of her less than admirable qualities she has some great strengths.  She is funny.  Like comedic funny.  Her timing is impeccable.  She can say and deliver a knock knock joke that Cookie struggles with (poor Cookie has her Mommy's sense of timing).  She is smart.  Not knock your socks off braniac smart, but I think she will be street smart.  She can read people.  She has her preschool teach pegged.  After her first day in summer fun classes, I asked her if she like her teacher and she said, "No, she tells me what to do."  I witnessed her wait her teacher out to answer a question.  Not because she didn't know the answer, not because she was shy or unsure, but because it annoyed the shit out of her teacher.  She is the kid that when the teacher asks a question, she will refuse to answer it because she knows the answer, she knows the teacher knows the answer, and she knows the teacher knows she knows so why bother.  She knows what she likes and doesn't like and will not be moved.  You can not convince her to play cars, she does not like it.

I was a pleaser, so the idea that she is so defiant, so stubborn, just baffles me.  I am at a loss.    Jelly is sometimes an enigma to me, but then so was Cookie.  There were times I just didn't get her, that Cookie confused me.  I try and allow them to lead me.  I try to let my children teach me what they need.  But in this I truly conflicted.  When Jelly started preschool I was a little worried.  I started looking at the birthdays of the other kids and they were all significantly older than her.  One was a full year older than her...the closest in age to her is a full 4 months older.  So in her small little class of 11, she is the youngest, by on average 6 months.  Six months is HUGE!  In class she seems so little.  She is a little behind some of the kids, but then they are 4.  She is not making the connections with the other kids.  She is aloof with the teacher and the other kids.  However, she is aloof with almost everybody, even my Mother and her Daddy. Her teacher keeps making remarks like, "Oh it's because she's so young."  I heard this phrase repeatedly when Cookie went there to refer to a little boy in Cookie's class.  He was an August birthday, too.  But he was violent, and mean, and did seem lost and confused.  However, I didn't see him being "lost" as being young....I seriously think he had a learning disability, that and something was very very wrong at his home. 

I am left wondering, am I THAT PARENT?  Am I being closed off to what her teacher is saying?  Am I making the right decision?  Then I keep thinking....'she is only 3!  I am not ready to make this decision until next year. A lot can happen in a year.'  Do I change schools?  Will the move be even more detrimental to Jelly than moving her along if she is not ready?  Why am I so obsessed with this.  My poor friends, my mother, my husband, and even strangers have had to hear me adnausium on this subject.  I have spent countless hours and sleepless nights worried about it. 

I do not know what to do.  If I was religious, at least I'd have the comfort of praying for an answer.  I sometimes wonder how that goes.  But I am not religious, I am a Mother, who wants the best for my child. Is six the new five?  We know two families whose little boys are the same age as Jelly...their birthdays are a few weeks after hers and both parents are holding their kids back.  Although both admitted that they made that decision when the kids were born.  So then I think WTF is wrong with me?  I never even considered it!  And round and round I go. 

World's Worst Moms and the Great Banana

    I will admit that this morning because of my cranky attitude I hold the torch for World's Worst Mom...In fact I hold that trophy quite often...  In fact, I have a good blogger friend who created   http://worldsworstmoms.com/, chronicling some of our worst moments as mothers.  I have submitted quite a few of my worst moments to her site.  Okay, sometimes I write a blog entry just for her.

     The best thing about World's Worst Moms is that it is all in good fun.  Lately my posts have been about my trials and tribulations with the puppy.  I knew what I was getting into when I allowed hubby to talk me into getting Woodrow.  I knew that I would be the one walking him, making sure he was fed, buying his treats and food, picking up his shit (all of it and all kinds).  This does not stop me from bitching about what an Asshole this dog is.  Seriously, today for example shithead got a walk to the school, then he ran around the dog park, then he got a bath (which he loves btw).  And while I am in the shower, jerkface comes in, knocks over the empty humidifier canister (on purpose), steals a part off of it and runs around in front of the shower door, daring me to come and try to take it from him.  He knows I am otherwise occupied in the shower, yet poopy breath starts to mouth said object and throws it on the floor, grabbing it in his mouth, running up to the door and chomping down on it loudly.  I can not emphasize enough what a jerk he is.  Anyway, this week while hubby is out of town, I have taken up the vocabulary of a high schooler.  Once I had kids I learned to curb my potty mouth.  This week phrases such as, "You MOTHERFUCKER" and "Son of a Bitch." have been released....in front of the kids.  "Asshole" is my nickname for him...I am sure it is okay if my 3 year old and 5 year old start using that word right?  I have spent the better part of a week wrestling the bastard for objects he has stolen.  Yelling each and every time..."YOU MOTHERFUCKING ASSHOLE OF A DOG I HATE YOU." Yep stellar parenting over here.

Anyway, my good friend over at World's Worst Moms is having a give away, because she is awesome.  And she got a puppy about the same time we got Woodrow.  I  think Tammy as a kindred spirit.  She's witty, she's real, and like me, has a lot of qualms about religion.  Anyway, she is giving away a Banana Hammock to one lucky...um brave sole.  So go and check her out and try and wrestle that awkward piece away from me.  http://worldsworstmoms.com/the-great-banana-hammock-er-bunker-giveaway/.  Oh and while your at it, go like her blog and her Facebook Page cause Tammy is awesome.

Our Village

This time of year people seem to be scouring for ways to give.  Thanksgiving, Christmas and the New Year's seems to make all of us introspective and suddenly caring about others.  "Up All Night" created this gem:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eoTSDCAHqaU

Last month I spent a few hours composing a blog entry to only have the wonders of my computer and the Internets make it disappear and I didn't have the energy to re-write it at the time.  So I am going to try again, because I feel I need to.  When everyday the little things we do may just be touching people in huge and significant ways we just don't know about.

We have these two neighbor boys who sometimes come by with their puppy dog for a play date with Woodrow.  We never know when they will show up, but sometimes around 5:30 there is a knock at the door and we end up with two very happy puppies.  These boys, from what I can gather are raising themselves.  The oldest is about 15 or 16, he is in High School and has the responsibility of caring for his younger brother who is 10 and in 5th grade.  I only get snippets from the older boy about their lives but from what I can gather, there is no male figure.  The mom works a lot in order to provide for them.  These boys pull at my heartstrings.  They remind me in so many ways of so many of my old students whose parents were struggling.  They are the example of the working poor.  They represent the loneliness and hardships of some childhoods.  One day while the boys were hanging in the backyard watching the dogs play, the older one asks me parenting advice.  "Since your a Mom, can you tell me why after holidays some kids get all crazy.  Cause Billy (not his real name) won't listen to me and is crazy since Halloween. How can I get him to listen?"  This young boy who should be playing and enjoying his childhood by playing too many computer games is asking about parenting his younger brother. In some way I hope that our home if only for the hour the boys come over and hang out in the backyard is a safe haven for them.

Today I walked Cookie to school.  It is a cold and wintry day...It was in the high teens and we had all bundled up against the cold.  We were fortunate to be on the receiving end of winter jackets from two friends last year.  Therefore we have a couple extra.  I noticed a little girl at Cookie's school was wearing just a hoodie for warmth...It is in the teens people!  No gloves no winter jacket.  I had brought Jelly with us in the Chariot, and happened to have a spare pair of mittens for Jelly in it.  I gave them to the little girl, and even though they were too small, even though she seemed a little embarrassed she wore them any way.  I ran home, dropped Rebecca off with her Daddy and drove back to the school with one of those extra jackets in tow and a pair of mittens.  I informed the teachers that she did not have a winter coat or gloves and that I was leaving the jacket and gloves for her to use for the day...if she didn't have any at home, she was welcome to keep them.

This little girl is sweet and kinda shy.  Last month she was in my daughter's half-day Kinder class.  One day she was moved to full day Kinder.  Her mother, left the family, or at least this is the scuttlebutt I heard.  The mother left the father alone to raise three young children....she just left, checked out, gone.  Not even in the "I'm divorcing you" but in the divorcing the whole family left. As much as I may complain about my sweet little ones, I could never ever leave them.  As much as I envision myself running away screaming in my pajamas pulling at my hair some mornings, I could never leave these beautiful wonderful girls.  

My village may be small here in Colorado.  My village may sometimes only consist of us and our closest neighbors, but sometimes a kind thought or word, a thoughtful gesture means more than serving Turkey to homeless on Thanksgiving.  Maybe today, maybe every day I interact positively with those boys will make the drudgery that is their lives better.  I learned that in teaching, one word kind or cruel can touch a child in ways we could never imagine...those words will stay with them forever.  Today I choose to be kind.

Women's Lib

If someone was to tell me 15 years ago that I would have to fight for the rights my grandmother and mother fought for and won for me in the 60s and 70s, I would have thought them crazy.  Rights I have enjoyed and taken for granted.  Never have I thought I couldn't get a job because I was a woman, I have never had to bat an eye in regards to decisions regarding my own reproduction and body.  All of those choices were mine and mine alone.  I have never had to fear telling a doctor I wanted to be on or off the pill.  I have never had to rationalize or convince my pharmacist that the medication I was taking was for my own health that my doctor and I felt best for me. 

When 18, on the pill (of which never missing a day), and facing a positive pee test,(it was....get this, a false positive) never in my wildest dreams did I think that I would have had to consult with anyone other than my partner and my doctor.  Never was there a question that if I was pregnant the decision of what to do would be for anyone other than me. 

My daughters are facing a world that is trying to legislate religious doctrine.  A country where a portion of the population thinks it is okay to legislate their bodies.  A group of people who think that it is okay to accept brutal attacks on a woman's body and continue to place the blame on her.  A group of people who think it is okay to call women sluts and whores because they, for whatever reason, have taken responsibility for their own bodies by being on birth control.  

Many times when facing a ballot myself I have felt it was choosing the lesser of two evils. I have voted Republican I have voted Democrat, I have voted Green party, and Independent.  Ask yourself this question, who in the grand scheme of things is the lesser of two evils?  Who is trying to reduce and keep others from enjoying the rights guaranteed by our constitution?  Take away Democrat verses Republican and view this political race in regards to who is looking out for basic human rights. Who is guaranteeing separation of church and state?  Who is allowing people of all races, color, gender, and sexual orientation to pursue their rights of life, liberty, and happiness?   As mothers fight for the rights of your children.  As mothers, think of the world you want your children to be a part of.  As a woman fight for your own rights to make decisions regarding your own body and healthcare.  As a woman fight for you daughters, your granddaughters, and yourself.

Memories of Griffin

Eight years ago I was looking forward to my 28th birthday, long term boyfriend (now hubby) and I were planning a trip to Hawaii (where I incorrectly thought he'd pop the question), I was just finishing up a paid internship at the famed Dreamworks (yes it was awesome), and I was expecting to become an Aunt for the first time. Things were great.

Just one week prior to August 21, 2004 I threw my sister a baby shower for the little bundle cooking in her tummy they had named Griffin Patrick.  She had been on bed rest since 20 weeks and at 34 weeks along, she was anxious and a little stir crazy.  Things had not gone according to plans.  The pregnancy was fraught with problems from the get go.  While organizing things for her party that had to be thrown at her home due to the "bed rest" dilemma, I drove out to her home a day before the party, to clean, decorate, and get a sneak peak at the little man in utero.

Looking back there are many things I regret that week.  The first being, allowing my sister to go shopping with me, even if we did things slowly. Sometimes, emotionally, I can't help but think that shopping trip to Michaels contributed to her myriad of problems.  But I know that it really didn't matter, and holding onto the memory of us shopping together is what I want to choose as the overwhelming memory. The second, not getting to see Griffin in an ultrasound.

After our shopping excursion, Sissy had an appointment for an ultrasound and NST. (fetal monitoring, which she was having weekly).  She was looking forward to seeing Griffin, making sure he was okay, and me getting to see him with her.  I was told to wait in the hallway while they set things up and took Griffin's heartbeat.  Sissy came out pretty soon after they took her back looking very upset.  They had to take her into a different room and do an extended fetal monitoring test for at least an hour.  There would be no ultrasound.

This did not make much sense to me, not knowing anything about anything about bearing babies, as couldn't they see and know things better by looking at an ultrasound?  Instead of seeing a fuzzy picture of little hands wave at us, we sat in a tiny cold room.  Sissy on a bed, hooked up to a fetal heart monitor on her belly, and her crying. Crying in my arms, saying that she would not be going home with Griffin.  That they needed to take him out NOW, that she didn't think she could stand it if she had to walk out of there without a baby. Years later one thing stands out in my mind is the fact that she had a premonition, she knew and there was nothing she could do about it.  Or nothing anyone at the hospital would do about it.  Years later, as a mother, as a woman, I vowed to learn from that moment.  Learn that ultimately I knew my body best, knew my children best, that I would know what was best and not to listen to the doctors, or anyone else, but listen to my instinct. 

Why do I write about this now?  Eight years have passed and I am not sure why this year has been almost as hard as the first.  Almost as hard as receiving the phone call from my bereaved sister so early on the morning of August 19th.  "Ginger we lost Griffin".  The numbness of knowing that I was going to have to face my sister in her most vulnerable state.  I would have to see the grief etched in her face and her very being.  That as a family, we would have to bear a nightmare no one wants to ever endure.

It was to be my last day at Dreamworks. I remember driving to Dreamworks that morning after getting the news in order to basically throw them my key card and parking pass...telling my friend and boss that I could not stay for any exit interview, that I could not go over what was left or what I did, that I was needed elsewhere.  I didn't want to have to go back there, to the place where I talked incessantly about the shower I was throwing, about the nephew I was now never going to have.  Knowing that if that thought pained me, I imagined my sister having to go back to work as a teacher and explain to all her students that there was no baby.

Images still in my mind like it was that day.  Arriving at the hospital to watch my sister in agony.  Inducement, drugs to basically keep her incoherent.  And the quiet murmuring of the nurses.  And my sister apologizing to me.  Telling me how sorry she was that it would ruin my vacation, that my birthday would be ruined.  Her begging the nurse and doctors to make sure she had the baby before the 21st. The first time in my life I think my sister ever thought of me first, or so outwardly.

I remember the anger.  Anger at the doctors for not listening to her and letting her have the baby earlier like she asked.  Anger that the night doctor was not changing her from pitocin to some other drug in order to speed up the delivery, because we knew he did not want to be the one to deliver a dead baby.  It was taking sooooo damn long for her to progress. Which made no sense since she had been contracting since 12 weeks.

  My best friend dropping everything to be there for my family.  For having the forethought to get a food tray, to make sure we were nourished.  For being able to hold herself together.  There is another friend, Kelly, who once asked why she was the one who had to be the experienced one when it came to things like tragedy.  I don't have the answer, but my best friend was our rock, and she was able to do that because she had been one to experience the loss of her own son.  I thank her today for understanding my need to call her and for forgiving me if I failed to even see how that phone call might have hurt her in so many ways. For telling me to grab my camera to document and take pictures of Griffin. Thank you Jen.

Most glaringly in my memory is the family holding their breath in the waiting room while Amy completed the task of delivering her dead son.  How my Brother in Law's family and mine came together to feel like a whole family.  How in tragedy and sadness we held hands and even I, the atheist,  prayed with my sister's Mother in Law, because her faith was important to her.  How after receiving the text from my brother in law that Griffin had been delivered, there was a large 'whooshing' sound, as a cohesive whole, we all let out the breaths we had been holding.  We were able to weep at last.  To go outside and let out huge sobs of grief.

To go and hold our lost family member was surreal.  To see such perfection without a spark of life, to witness my brother in law tenderly handing Griffin over to my mother, his mother, to me and back into his cradle was heart wrenching.  But worst of all was to watch my sister curled up in the fetal position, mourning the son she never got to see alive.  To wanting to rage at the nurses for stupidly putting a latex catheter in my sister, when she had huge signs on her door that said, "LATEX sensitivity".  To my friend Jen, who again, went to the nurses and told them to fix it so Sissy didn't feel any pain.

Watching my father and brother paint a happy baby's room stark white with tears running down their faces.  Boxing up baby gear and carefully labeling each box.  Not knowing what she'd want to keep later on.

For my parents who tried to make my birthday a happy one despite the fact that we were all numb and in mourning.  For my hubby who didn't know what the heck to do but stay out of the way, to hold me as I cried myself to sleep, for later apologizing for not coming with me.

This year my Brother In Law sent out a beautiful message on Facebook in Griffin's memory.  And in it he said he didn't know why this year was so hard.  Much harder than the last couple.  I am not sure either, but maybe it's because our girls are starting Kindergarten.  Five is such a beautiful age of hope and innocence and new beginnings.  Things that you imagine when you have a baby growing in your belly, things that were lost to Griffin.  When a mother loses her child, she not only loses their presence but the what would have beens.  Before that child is even born, she imagines the future.  She imagines them holding her hand in their fat little fist, them saying "Mommy", going to kindergarten, their first curse word, getting married.  From the moment you find out you are going to be a parent, the fear sits on your chest, making you breathless at times. The fear of losing.

So today, on my 36th birthday, I dropped my five year old off at Kindergarten, managed not to cry, and felt nothing but the loss of Griffin and that hope and that future that never was.  I admire my sister and brother in law for their strength to endure and do it again twice more.  For finding joy where there was sorrow.  For honoring Griffin's memory so beautifully, while finding joy in the day of my own birth.  We weep for the loss of Griffin on the 20th of August.  And what I regret most is that I jokingly always said, that Griffin would be born on my birthday since we knew he'd be early.  For that I am terribly terribly sorry that it never came to pass.  I would have loved to share my birthday with Griffin. 

Won't you be my Neighbor...part II

I am a lucky woman.  Very little in my life causes me much stress.  Not the all out crazy stress that working with people and students did.  But here are some recent things that keep me up at night.

1. sprinkler spouting like a fountain in the middle of the night and me worrying that it will not shut off and flood.

2.Forgetting to take the trash out so therefor at 1 a.m. I am outside dragging the container to the curb, despite the fact that we get up at 6 almost every single morning.  But it could be that one day my kid sleeps in until 7. 

3.A person I know finds peace and the help they need to be healthy.

4. My daughter starts Kindergarten and is in the same class as my neighbor's kid.  This is the same neighbor whom I tried to befriend and for whatever reason, she does not like me, my kid, or us.  Never did find out what the problem is.  We are cordial to each other.  Will engage in conversation occasionally while getting the mail, wave as we drive by, but in general ignore each other.  Yesterday was the official "find out who your teacher is" posting at school.  We walked on over to see Cookie's name in black in white, verify that she was on the right list for half day, and look at the names of her classmates, of whom we only know our neighbor.  Cookie was ecstatic to verify that neighbor's kid whom I will call "Sweetie" was in her class.  We like Sweetie, she is polite, plays well, and is a lot of fun, as she does have an older brother to learn from and copy cool things from.  Sweetie and family was also at the school to take a look.  Sweetie and Cookie run off on the playground together and play like old friends.  I play with Jelly and help her navigate some play equipment.  I say hi to the neighbor Mom, I'll just call her "Neighbor," to be respectful.   She is cordial, and when I say that I use the word exactly how it sounds.  She says 'Hi" back but there is no warmth in it.  Thus begins the Mommy Freeze Out.  Have you heard of this?  Well neighbor's oldest of course is going into 2nd grade.  She has made all the Mommy friends and connections at the school.  I am new.  As she was standing with another Mom, I went up to let her know that me and another Mom were starting a Daisy troop and Sweetie was more than welcome to join if they wanted.  Her and the other Mom were cordial..."We'll keep that in mind, but we already have a full plate."  Words were nice, body language was not.  I was not born yesterday, I know how to play the political game.  Did so for years successfully while teaching.  I do not want to have to do it, I want to enjoy my child's elementary school years.  I don't want to be too involved, but I don't want to be uninvolved.

So I am worried.  Worried that because neighbor obviously dislikes me, which normally would not bother me too much, that Cookie will negatively be affected.  Hubby does not get it.  He asked, "why does it bother you so much?  Fuck Her."  Here's the thing, women are evil, women can be cruel, women can and will freeze out my child, refuse to allow their children to invite her to parties or play because of me or I should say because of neighbor  Am I over reacting?  Maybe....but I have been around the block, I know and see what is happening.  I am hoping this woman is not too petty.  That whatever slight I made wasn't so bad that she would deny me and my child the ability to form our own life at the school in a positive way.  That I am seeing things that aren't there...

Walk the Dog

Week 18 in puppyville and I still not sure I like this guy.  He still chews, he attacks the kids, he won't let me pee in private, and now "my time" after I put the kids to bed is taken up with playing with him or deterring Woodrow from humping my leg.  I alternate from really liking him to thinking he is a giant Asshole.

Hubby is out of town and normally I will admit that I kinda enjoy it.  I usually get housework done.  I do floors, I clean rooms, I clean out cabinets.  But with Woodrow now a part of the family I am just overwhelmed with frustration.  I yell at the dog, I yell at the kids, I yell at myself for yelling at the kids and the dog.  Basically it has been three days of me screaming and kids crying, dog humping.  And it's been hot.  Really hot, like Southern California hot, only they have cooler temps right now.  So puppy being the difficult son of a bitch that he is, doesn't want to go for walks or runs.  He just wants to sit on the air conditioner vent in between terrorizing me and Cookie. 

Anyway, this evening, sensing the need to try and get rid of some of that puppy energy, I convince the kids to put on their shoes and go with me to the neighborhood shared green space (just a giant grassy area sandwiched in between about 8 houses).  Here we can hopefully run Woodrow and tire him out a little.  All is going well, we remembered to bring the Frisbee and poopy bags!  He chases the Frisbee, he chases and tackles the kids, kids and me get bit up by mosquitoes that have finally decided to show up after being basically non-existent all spring and summer.  All good.  Cookie decides that she wants to try and walk the dog.  Sensing he's kinda tired, I allow her to take the lead. To the corner.  I take over all is going well.  We get in front of our house and I allow her to hold the lead while I throw away poop.  Neighbor decided this is a good time to walk by, Chocolate lab sees people goes nutty, drags Cookie across the lawn...literally.  Woodrow proceeds to scare the crap out of neighbor's 6 year old son.  I manage to tackle the dog and hold him down so neighbor can proceed home with now quaking child.  (yeah, I'm a horribly irresponsible dog owner and parent). 

I now, notice the piles of poop in front yard that Cookie narrowly missed being dragged through.  I put dog and kids in gated backyard so I can pick up piles of steaming smelling feces.  As I am scraping poop into poop bucket from scooper I spy from the corner of my eye Cookie in the front yard with the dog back on the lead!  Now my child is smart...but this was anything but a smart decision. Bill Cosby would say in his stand-up, "Kids are Brain Dead."  Ain't that the truth, cause what in the world would possess this child who had just been dragged 40 feet by the dog to try it again? 

Now here's where things get dicey.  Me, exhausted after a long day of referring between dog and kids, swimming, and park in 96 degree heat at 5,000 ft, starts in on the screaming.  And my neighbor, whom I love dearly is in her backyard with her entire family celebrating her 70th birthday gets to hear the whole embarrassing exchange.  Cookie says to me later, "Mommy my noggin was tired that's why I didn't make a good decision."  Insert guilt.

The puppy Cronicles

For those who don't follow me personally on Facebook, then you don't know we acquired a new member of the family last month.  An adorably cuddly Chocolate Lab, Woodrow. 

You see, I made the fatal mistake of making an arbitrary rule based on nothing other than I thought the conditions could never be met.  Or at least seemed so far away that it made sense, at the time.  When we had to get rid of our Shih Tzu, Pongy, when Cookie was 11 months old, I announced that we would not get another dog until she was at least 5.  I also had the forethought to include a clause about future children, should we have any more kids, all of them had to be potty trained.  I am not going into the details of Pongy, only to say that it was not an easy decision, but the best for everyone, including the dog.  So, one fateful day in April, Jelly filled up her potty chart and Cookie was soon to turn five.  Hubby was on the Internet the next day looking for a dog.  Eight week old Woodrow came home on May 9th. 

Hubby begged cajoled and made promises....."I will take care of it Ging.  I will take it for walks and get up with it."  I kept on telling him that puppies were a lot of work.  And they chew everything. I reminded him again and again about when my Mom's dog, Sage was like as a puppy.   Hubby insisting, "No I will watch him, and I will love him and hug him and train him."  Kids start chiming in, "we will feed him and walk him and play with him and love him forever."  Cookie, "Mommy I will be five and Sister filled up her potty chart.  You said when I turned five we could get a puppy.  And you said if Sissy went potty in the potty we could get a dog."  On and on it went and I caved.  I remembered Cookie's first word was "Dog Dog". I started coming round to the idea of having a dog again.  I grew up with dogs.  These last four years have been the only time in my life I have been dog less. 

We prepped the kids on how to train dogs.  I got a book, watched a DVD, cause frankly, I had never trained a dog.  My parents did that.  And as for Pongy, hubby trained the evil little dude.  He was a good dog in every way except the whole attack anything and anyone that moved any where near him and he was so angry all the time.  But he never chewed, he was housebroken, we could leave him all day and not get complaints from the neighbors that he was barking.  

So we are now on week four of having an adorable puppy who chews everything.  He will eat anything that crosses his path.  But his favorite thing to chew is Cookie.  He loves to attack her, nibble her, grab at her hands, hump her, in general dominate her as much as possible.  It is getting quite old.  We have spoken to the Vet, we have read the books, we have tried numerous techniques.  They tell us to make a yelping noise when he tries to bite her, yeah either Woodrow is too smart and figured that out in two seconds, or he finds joy in hurting the kids.  We tried vinegar water, but the kids found that wielding the squirt bottle fun and powerful and began just squirting him randomly for pure joy of torturing the poor puppy.  And Jelly lost the bottle somewhere....I can handle the chewing of objects including my couch, but I can not abide him teething on my babies.

After a particular rough day of the dog verses Cookie, I had had enough.  Jelly does not have the same issues Cookie does.  She seems to just be calmer and understand not to flail her arms in his face or squeal like a girl and well, be Jelly and not Cookie.  So to solve this problem I informed Cookie she could not interact with the dog unless the following conditions were met. 1. He was calm and laying down. 2. I or Daddy was with her.  She was only to pet him on his back with his fur and not squeal, giggle, or in any way be herself.  Yes, I told my child to be someone other than who she really was.

But me telling my lovely, outgoing, wonderful little girl to be something she is not, was not enough.  Oh no, it gets better.  We were all in the backyard enjoying the pool and summer weather.  Woodrow was lying in the grass chewing away on a stick, chalk, or something he probably shouldn't and I spy Cookie run up to him and wave her towel in his face.  Woody, being well, a puppy jumps up and decides it must be attack Cookie time, cause he started to jump and bite and try and play with her like she was another dog.  Cookie starts crying and screaming, flailing her hands in a jazz hands like fashion in his face....Woodrow reacts by trying to grab at her fingers and play tug with them.  And I sit there in the rocking chair, in the shading yelling, "I am not going to help you.  I saw you. You asked for it.  You bugged him.  I am done intervening between you and the dog.  If you don't want to listen to me, I am not going to help you."  Of course the dog is getting more excited as her cries and flailing proceeds to a fever pitch.  Finally, guilt and shame set in and I intercede.  Telling the dog to get "Off" and making him sit.  Hugging Cookie tsking over her new wounds, sending her in the house for more band-aides. 

And here I sit feeling guilty because Cookie is sad that the dog is not living up to what she envisioned.  Guilty that her hands are cut up. She can not figure out how to play with him in a way that does not equal sharp knife like puppy teeth embedded into her flesh.  I am left frustrated that I allowed myself to be in this position.  I really can't complain about a situation I knowingly created.  I knew what would happen.  I know my child, which is why I wanted to wait until she was five.  I thought she would be old enough to take direction and understand that dogs are not people.

But he is cute, so I guess we'll keep him.

Baskets Overflowith

I am not sure how anyone else feels, but I was raised that for Easter, you don't get a whole lot. Mom may have spent at most $10 on each of us kids. We got a toothbrush, one sees candy Bordeaux egg, a toy of some sort, and a book. Of course there was an egg hunt that was filled with candy and quarters, but really Easter wasn't about getting a lot of toys. When buying Easter baskets for my kids, I tried not to get something too big, cause if it was too big, one has to fill it right?

I am totally judging others, so WTF is with the gigantic Easter gifts? I mean, little Jimmy and sweet Tammy do not need $100 worth of gifts. Nothing you give should be too big to fit in their basket. I have seen pictures of little Jimmy in front of a bike. I've tried to stick to no more than $25 per kid. I've learned from Christmas that this year my girls needed exactly the same things. While color could be different, the items had to be the same. I have been pretty on top of gift giving for them lately, so when I saw certain things on sale, I bought them.

Each girl this year got the following: 1. favorite barbie size prince (bought on clearance at the Disney store. They were seriously only $5) 2. A my little pony ($5) 2. A book ($3) 3. Gardening gloves, a shovel, and a rake ($5) 4. Reese's chocolate bunny ($1) 4. Toothbrush ($2) 5. Skittles Egg ($1) 6.Egg Hunt filled with spare change and one bag of Hersey's Chocolate eggs ($2). Give or take a dollar and some change I did pretty good.

My kids are spoiled don't get me wrong. They have way too many toys, and my hubby will go out and buy more Christmas gifts if he things we don't have the "WOW" factor he is looking for. But in general, I try to instill a little bit of restraint. I can and do take my kids to Toys R Us and Target to "window shop" toys. We rarely buy anything, and my kids know better than to ask or beg. I made Cookie contribute the money my Brother In Law gave to her when we were in California to her upcoming birthday gift. Really, it wasn't mean of me, weeks before he had given both kids a wad of dough each! So I told her if she wanted that Disney magic princess castle, she'd have to contribute, cause it was way too expensive. And now just to be extra mean, I ordered it to make sure we could get it, in time for her birthday, plus it was on sale and I had a coupon. UPS delivered it to the door unwrapped with the picture of the castle bright as day on the box, so now she has to sit and look at it for a month before her birthday. I won't let her open it. Torture I know.

Anyway, no baskets are overflowing here.

Voyeur

I know it's been forever since I have even thought about posting. There was a few months of deciding that birth control might help control some hormonal imbalances and help me drop some weight, since nothing else was working real well.

Instead I became a basket case and had horrible visions of bashing my sweet Cookie's head against the wall. Thankfully we were in our extended time in California, I was close to Mom, and I could run home for help. Cause it all came to a head while Hubby was away at a conference. I needed serious help. Like, "Mom, you need to watch me and the kids because I think I am going to hurt one of them." For the first time in my life I really understood women whose post pardon was so bad they could seriously hurt their own child. I broke down. The last time I was in such a mess was the first time I tried birth control. Even after giving birth to Cookie, I was never that bad.

I dropped the pill and by day three off of it, I felt my head clear. I should have known better. It was the same feeling I had soon after I stopped nursing Cookie. Hormones are no joke and those idiots in Washington who want to tell women that birth control is wrong haven't a clue. Some women need it to balance their otherwise crazy hormones, I've learned to stay the hell away from it.

It is finally April, we are back in Colorado, my house is finally in order. Some big changes are coming, and NO I am not pregnant! Stop thinking that! We are going to get a puppy the beginning of May. A beautiful Chocolate Lab puppy. So in a sense, another baby....but one I can leave at home alone, one I can kennel, one who can't talk back. But still cries at night, pees on the floor, and tears my house apart.

When we bought our house 6 years ago, we looked at another one down the street. It was a ranch style, which in retrospect would have been nice, but I knew I wanted kids and the two bedrooms that would have been future children's were in the front of the house. The giant windows facing the street, where any boy or girl could crawl through or sneak out of or in. That so never happened in my front facing window as a teen. Nope never. One of the things I hated about our house was the layout of our Master Bedroom and bath. It has this huge open area to the bathroom from the bedroom. No door just a giant opening. The shower, is small, in a corner and is glass on three sides, basically you are exposed. It is also carpeted. I was not a huge fan and had visions of redoing the room. Well, I still do, but not because of the carpet or the huge opening. I actually now love how open the room is. I can actually take a shower every morning because I can see the kids. They can play in my room and I can see them. Unfortunately, they can see me. This morning while I showered Cookie decided that she was going to camp out right in front of the door, looking at me shower. She brought in a pillow and a blanket and creepily watched me wash. AWKWARD. She is almost five, and now asks questions like, "When am I going to have hair on my bottom? Why do you get hair on your bottom?" My Voyeuristic daughter continues to make me laugh, which is a good thing, cause a month ago I was so in a different place.

Look at Me Damn It!

I've always wondered how my friend with four kids manages to get at least one picture with all her kids more or less smiling, at the camera. I can't even get the two I have to smile, let alone look at me while taking pictures.

Today I hang my head in shame at the loss of complete control while trying to take the annual picture of the kids in front of the tree. The picture I want to put on our Holiday Cards. I even bought special outfits for the kids. I spent an extraordinary large amount on an elephant dress for Cookie, because I liked it, and I knew she would, too. I special ordered a red sparkly "horsie" shirt for Jelly, whom I am now calling Biscuit, since I heard another Mom refer to her child as that, and thought it would be cute to have a "Cookie" and a "Biscuit."



The girls were cute, Cookie all dolled up in her Angel halo and hair out of her face for once because she had a "dance" recital in a Christmas play...a whole other post on that later. But would these little demon children look at me? Would they stop playing for one minute with all the Christmas decorations that have been out for two weeks? Would they sit still? Will my camera please just take pictures and stop trying to recognize fricken faces? After about the 20th shot and not one good photo where both or either are even remotely looking towards me I loose it.
"STOP!SIT STILL. LOOK AT ME. DARN IT! SMILE.STOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPPPPP GETTING UP FOR PEET'S SAKE. STOOOOOOPPPPPPP."




I am now seething. Cookie says, "Mommy, can you stop yelling please." Me to self,"I am the worst Mommy ever." To Cookie, "Sorry sweetie, we're almost done...can you just please look at me instead of playing..."






And then of course when I tell Cookie to hug her sister....the result is a headlock. And then the tugging of the hair accessories and then they were done, and so was I.

Top 12 Crafty Things Every Mom Should Have

After my rant yesterday, I thought I should post the top twelve things every mom should have for her Crafting Crazy Child.

1. Paint. preferably washable kid paint with brushes of different sizes, but really you can use sponges in a pinch. I love water colors, too.
2. Glue. Sticks that are the purple color that dry clear so they can see what they are gluing. Elmer's clear, and Tacky Glue. "Dot Dot not a lot".
3. Construction paper. Any size will do, but I like to have the large and small.
4. Tissue paper: All different colors. I cut some into squares and keep in plastic baggies. See the elephant we made with tissue paper, sticky sparkle foam and wax paper.
5. Paper plates: For holding paint and creating fun stuff.
6. Googly Eyes: Self Stick are best, but you can help your little one apply a dot of Tacky Glue to
the back of them.
7. Contact paper. In a crafting pinch, make place mats...we have a dozen self made ones. We print out coloring pages of the kids favorite thing, color and then glue to construction paper.
8. Cotton Balls: You can not imagine what you can do w/ those suckers. Cookie once surprised and made little men with cotton balls, Popsicle sticks and construction paper.
9. Popsicle Sticks and Pipe cleaners
10. Pasta different sizes and shapes: You can dye them any color you wish...just place pasta in a plastic baggie, add a tbsp of vinegar and add one drop of food coloring...set out to dry on a lined cookie sheet.
11. Crayons
12. Scissors both adult and kid kind.

May you be driven crazy and may you create adorable stuff to display and brag about to your friends.

Crafty Obsession

Besides math and science, my most dreaded subject in school was art. I have vivid memories of my 6th grade teacher making us create monthly calendars. Only the best were displayed on the wall each month. Out of a nine month school year, I got my calendar only displayed once, it was my Mother's day one. Every time my teacher would hand back our graded calendars mine would say, "Use a ruler." Letter grade, "C". Damn it I did use a ruler and the fucking lines never ever came out straight no matter how hard I tried! Of course, later in adult hood, I learned how to use a ruler properly. But seriously I hated art. Nothing ever came out as I envisioned, everything always looked horrible. My stick figures were even bad.

Later, as a teacher myself, I learned to embrace art. I became creative. I would make all kinds of wonderful wall displays...with the help of my super talented super artistic boyfriend (now hubby). One of the things that attracted me to Hubby was that he could draw, that he could create anything with his hands. In fact, inheriting his artistic talent was one of the things I hoped the kids would get the most. Embarrassingly using my artistic skills while teaching History to middle schoolers can be funny, when everything one draws looks like a penis. I even encouraged students to be creative, many times I would give them choices on how to show understanding, written or artistic. And I never graded on how well the art was done, but on comprehension.

Now, as a parent I am knee deep in crafting and I am slowly going mad. I hate art. I hate crafting, I hate everything about it, except the joy my kids get in creating it. Cookie asks to craft about 100 times a day. I have an entire cabinet devoted to crafting supplies, which she is bound and determined to go through in a month. I am constantly stepping on sticky crafting things. I have gems stuck to the bottom of my shoes, my feet, and on my couch, in our food. There have been tears over the fact that certain things are not going according to Cookie's vision. There are tears because I say no to crafting, there are tears when I tell her to clean up and stop. There are tears because we don't have any more purple sparkle paper.

I wince when Cookie asks to craft. There is much yelling over crafting...mostly by reluctant me. I want to pull my hair out every morning beginning at 6 a.m., when my little Cookie starts harping about crafting for the day. Here is how the most innocent conversation turns me into the World's Worst Mother.

Cookie: "Can we do crafting"
Me: "Not right now"
Cookie: "I want to do crafting"
Me: "Later, I am not ready to deal with the mess."
Cookie: "I want to do crafting."
Me: "I SAID NOOOOO"
Cookie, now in tears: " I just love it so much. Can't you do crafting with me? I want to do it now."
Me: "I HATE CRAFTING."

Yep, Every. Single. Day. And every single day, I dissolve into a screaming crazy mom because, frankly I suck at crafting, and we end up fighting. Cookie asks me to help her. I tell her what she wants to do is impossible, it just can not work out. That there is no way possible I can do what she wants me to do. She dissolves into tears and begs me. I end up screaming.

Crafting makes me dissolve into a tantrum throwing child. When I was about 11, my Mom, sister, neighbor, and I made Gingerbread houses. Well this uncrafty person ended up smashing her uncooperative house to bits in a fit of frustration with my frosting knife. Picture graham crackers, frosting, and candy flying everywhere with me yelling and screaming, huffing and puffing. We never made Gingerbread Houses again, and I think my Mom gave up trying to craft with me. Girl Scouts was pure torture for this untalented girl.

And to think I was actually happy that it seems my kids got the artist gene! Cause frankly, I am starting to resent my sweet little Cookie and even Jelly, who loves to sit and peel stickies off the backs of gems and stick them to construction paper. Both love to paint, and color and create, and I hate it all. And I am frustrated that Hubby does it so easily with them, when he finds the time. I hate those Moms who come up with cutesy crafting projects and like it. I hate Martha Stuart, too just for her..."let's see what we can make with these pine cones and ribbon." But, mostly I just hate crafting. And I hate that my dinning room table and floor are littered with glue, glitter, stickers, gems, sequins and bits and pieces of paper. As soon as I clean it, they want to start over again. Of course I buy it for them, I contribute to the madness, and I am ultimately the CRAZY ONE in this household.

Not so Mr. Roger's Neighborhood

I read an article the other day that discussed how more and more people's newspapers are being stolen for coupons. Just when I thought print was dead, it is revived by mega savers. Never in my wildest dreams would I think someone would stoop to stealing another person's $1.65 newspaper for coupons. That was until our paper started disappearing.

At first I thought it was because we had just reopened our account after our trip to California. I had completely canceled our delivery and told them we were moving, in fear that somehow, it would get out we were out of town for an extended amount of time. So soon after renewal our paper would be there one day, then absent the next, then there for two day, well you get the picture. I even had reported at first, what I thought, lousy delivery to the paper. Then it kept happening, so I started to suspect that someone was stealing our paper. And it looked to be just ours, because both my neighbor's were still there. Annoying to say the least.

By chance one morning, I happened to be rearranging the closet by the front door, when I glanced out the window. And I saw IT happen. A family, that I knew as THE family you shake your head at. THE Family, who leave dirty mattresses on their front lawn (okay front weeds). THE family whose kids have been known to ask neighbors for cigarettes or they were going to be in trouble by their Mom. THE family that you are sure social services has made at least one trip to. THE family where I actually was not sure how many kids they had, but was sure each one had a different father. THE family where you were sure the parents were on Meth or some kind of drug. Yeah, that promising to not judge went out the window with THAT family. You see THAT family was walking with their kids to school by my house when the male adult in the group pointed to my paper, said something, and then one of the children picked up my paper.

Needless to say, I went tearing out the front door, in my pajamas yelling at the top of my lungs "So your the ones stealing my paper!" The entire family stopped in their tracks. The little boy who was in possession of my paper dropped it quickly. The toothless mother responded, "It's the first time my son has ever taken it." This comment, got me even more angry. How dare this women blame her child! (Yes I was judging) I saw with my own eyes the "Father" figure tell the kid to pick up the paper. Her child looked stricken. The male adult continued to walk on. And in my not so great moment in front of these children, who obviously needed some good role models, in front of my children who stood at my door with my husband, (in shock and quite confused), I responded, "YOU ARE JUST TRASH! JUST TRASH" And then grabbed my paper, turned around and stormed back into my house.

Husband was left speechless and I must admit, a little proud of me. I was left sheepish, thinking how I could have handled the situation a little better. How I could have used it as a lesson in using one's words nicely to get what one wanted. How maybe it might come back to bite me in the ass in the form of T.P., eggs, or something worse. How maybe, that mother, according to those friends with a different perspective on Facebook, might have needed the coupons. How maybe my $1.65 a day paper was not worth it. How instead of judging, I should have helped. There's a reason my American Indian name, given to me by a friend in High School was, "Speaks With Foot in Mouth." It will one day be my downfall.

When a Good Cookie Goes Bad

Food allergies are annoying for those of us without them. But for those with severe ones, it is absolutely frightening. Because my Cookie is lactose intolerant and allergic to pumpkin, I have had to become "THAT" parent. You know, the one who insists that no one brings cheese or milk for snack at school. As any parent of a child with a food allergy knows, it gets harder as the kids get bigger. Having to order spaghetti at Chuck E. Cheese while everyone else enjoys pizza at a party, or forgoing the summer trips to the D.Q. are just small sacrifices. It is heart wrenching as a parent to witness your sweet child's eyes tear up when they can not be like their friends.

Yesterday I inadvertently poisoned my friend with nut tainted zucchini cookies. I am not a nut fan. I usually forgo putting them in any baked good, however, for some unknown reason, I put cashews in a batch of zucchini cookies.

These cookies are incredibly yummy. It's a recipe I stole from one of my favorite food mystery writers, Joanna Fluke. In fact, I lost the copy I had made, and had to go to the library, and borrow Apple Turnover Mystery for the recipe. I've made these cookies numerous times, and have never ever included the nuts it called for...but last minute decided to throw in some cashews. I have included the recipe below.

This delicious recipe is made for sharing, and it makes two dozen cookies. So, when my friend and neighbor invited us to the park yesterday morning, I brought some along to share. Forgetting she was allergic to nuts, she forgetting to ask about nuts, had one bite....then asked, "Oh my God, are there nuts in these?" Yes people, I poisoned my friend. We had to gather our children and rush over to my house just down the street. Within fifteen minutes, she was having trouble breathing. I drove her, bringing along Cookie and her little firecracker to the Urgent Care. An hour later, a shot of Adrenaline and pretnezone...my friend was done for the day. Unfortunately, her hubby was out of town...and she has a 4 year old. So of course, I stayed with her while she slept, and let the girls play. My hubby had to step up and take Jelly.

Thankfully, we caught it in time. Thankfully, she knew how bad she was. The worst part, other than I could have killed my friend, was that she was hesitant to get help. Hesitant because of course it was the weekend. Hesitant because that meant a possible trip to the E.R. And a trip to the E.R. would cost money...a lot of money, even though she has insurance. Glad I remembered the Urgent Care, which we have gone to for hubby for his broken collar bone and his anxiety attack. Glad that I could take her little one with us to the fair to give her more rest. Glad that she harbors no anger towards me. But in the future, no nuts....ever.

Almost to Die For Zucchini Cookies

preheat oven to 350 degrees
1 cup of White Sugar
1 cup of Brown Sugar (packed)
1 cup of Softened Butter (that's 2 whole sticks people)
1 1/2 cups of peeled, Shredded Zucchini (I use a cheese grater)
1 tsp of baking soda
2 large eggs beaten
1 1/2 tsp of Vanilla
1 cup of Chocolate chips
1 cup of chopped nuts (walnuts, pecans, cashews) optional
4 cups of all purpose flour

1. Combine White Sugar, Brown Sugar, and butter in a large bowl, beat until fluffy
2. Mix in baking soda. Add beaten eggs and vanilla extra mixing thoroughly
3. Add in the peeled shredded zucchini packing it down into the measuring cup. (I had to drain it first) and stir until incorporated.
4. Add nuts and chocolate chips, mix well.
5. Add the flour and mix in one cup at a time. Dough should be thick.
6. Drop by teaspoonfuls or tablespoons (depends on the size of cookie you want) onto a cookie sheet.(sprayed w/ non-stick spray or on parchment paper)
7. Cook 10-12 minutes, for smaller cookies, 20 minutes for bigger, at 350 degrees until lightly browned.

Amusement Park? I use the term Amusement loosely

If you have ever experienced the joy of taking your children to an amusement park, you will understand when I say, for parents, it can be anything but amusing. In February, we were blessed with the opportunity to stay in California for a total of just about 6 weeks. During the coldest part of winter in Colorado, California weather is a blessing. We even were fortunate enough to rent a house in a privately gated community on the beach just 15 miles from Anaheim, better known as Disneyland central.

We drove. Straight through, 18 hours. While the kids slept the majority of the drive and did relatively well.....hubby thought he was manly enough to do all the driving himself. Five bottles of energy drinks seemed to do the trick...however, he suffered once we got to my Mom's house. And by suffer, I mean five days stomach flu on top of basically diuretics in the form of those energy drinks...almost killed him. Jelly had the tummy flu right before we left, and I was praying to whatever deity might exist that no one puked in the car. At least, we were fortunate enough that hubby avoided the death plague until we got to California. Cookie came down with it the day we moved to our beach house, puking all over a local restaurant before we even got our food....we ran out, hubby throwing two twenties on the table and we never went back. "oops, sorry about the puke, gotta go".

So, after dealing with a sick Jelly, 18 hour car drive, sick hubby, sick Cookie....I was left to just suffer a yucky tummy, but darn it if I was going to puke and not take my kids to Disneyland. So, while hubby was stuck working during the day, I spent six weeks taking the kids to the Long Beach Aquarium, the beach, and Disneyland all alone. If you want to learn your tolerance level for your children and fellow man/woman, take your kids solo to an amusement park.

February in California can be warm, cause, well, it's California. My first solo mission to Disneyland scared me. But, I was going to do it. We bought season passes, and I was going to get my money's worth darn it. While the day started off okay, it soon became apparent that I was not really in the mood to deal with the public. Let's just say, waiting in line for 3 hours to see princesses with and impatient almost 4 year old and active 18 month old is not for the faint of heart. It was close to 80 degrees, I was in a pair of yoga pants (no pockets...what was I thinking) and I was sweating carrying my 20 pd baby, a backpack full of kid crap, and wrangling a hot and cranky 3 1/2 year old. And of course the "Mommy I have to potty" just as you are getting to the front might make you want to strangle your lovely child. Or the claim that they are absolutely not hungry, even though you know they are, and the tantrum they are throwing makes you want to shake them and force the fried food you just bought at inflated prices down their throat to prove how wrong they are and to shut their lovely mouths is just a small part of the amusement park experience. Every. Single. Time.

However, none of those moments compare to what went down in the bathroom at Disneyland. After my very long morning and afternoon at "The Happiest place on Earth," I realized I had yet to change Jelly's diaper all morning. I dislike the changing stations at Disneyland. First, they are sized for infants, not any child over the age of one. Second, they dwell in a spot that receives very little light. And finally, Disney, for our convenience, provide toilet paper at the stations on dispenser rolls right at a child's hand or foot level. Having wrestled with Jelly on a previous day at the changing station, I really really did not want to use them.

As we are leaving the park, I inform Cookie that we will be making one last trip to the restroom to go pee and change Jelly's diaper. Cookie, being the stubborn mule that she is, exclaims, "I don't have to go" and begins balking at the entrance. Me, "the rule is you try. I have to go, so we are all going." Cookie, "I don't want to." Me, "I don't care." Jelly, in stroller, "Out Out, " as she strains against the straps and starts pulling out her arms. I am now dragging screaming Cookie, pushing stroller with screaming toddler, avoiding running into other people and notice that the handicapped bathroom is taken, the changing station is being used, so I go to a stall at the very back. Because, I have two children, one in a stroller, and not all three of us, let alone two of us will fit in a regular stall, I am going to have to go w/ the door open. And then discover, I have started my period. Fanfrickentastic!

Toddler is making a break for it, bad mouthed 3 1/2 year old I have decided is so not making it to her next birthday, and I am bleeding. I struggle for my backpack, which I am praying holds my Diva Cup ( I love my Feminine Cup...). Child, whom may or may not make it to four, is now very interested in what I am doing. "Mommy, what are you putting in your bottom?" I so don't want to have to explain this now. Me, "Nothing Cookie." Yep, I had promised myself that I would always try and be honest with the girls about that stuff, and here I was, pretending it didn't exist. But, really, I was in a Disneyland bathroom, with the door open, and I was tired. I then tried distraction, "Can you check and see if sissy is still strapped in?" It worked! Discussion about being a woman and periods and sex and bleeding avoided...this month.

I finished my business, gathered my stuff, my children and headed to the changing table..when another mom swooped in and took it! I was done. Put a fork in me done. I sighed and in my oh so passive aggressive way, say to Cookie, "We'll just Change Sissy at the car, I hate the changing tables in here, they are too small." And then it happened. The other Mom who must have been just as tired, just as done as me, turns to me and yells as I am leaving, "Aren't you a Bitch having a bad day. It's not too small. Get over yourself." Me, in complete shock, "my child dislikes them." and I continue out the door but not before another woman, I can only assume her friend, chimes in "Fuck You". I grew up in S. California. I taught in the Los Angeles Unified School District. I have had gang members in my classroom. I have been threatened. I have had students with guns and knives. I am not easily intimidated. And if I did not have my children, if I was not so shocked that another woman could say such things in front of her children I might have responded, instead I took my darling daughter by the hand and we left Disneyland. Of course she did ask, "Why was she so mad Mommy?" I responded, "because we all have bad days sweetie."

And yet, here we are, back in California for two weeks, and I am back at Disneyland...where this World's Worst Mom, dragged her hungry child out of Disneyland kicking and screaming from all the way from the middle of the park, on the bus, and to the car. "I want it and I want it now" demands just do not fly with this Mom. "Amusement" far from it. But it is all worth it when your princess meets here favorite princess for the first time. Or your baby points to Dumbo and yells "Dumbo". Oh I hate you Disney...you are a marketing genius.