Parting Words

I read a blog post today that really struck home, in both a good and bad way. A fellow Mom let off some steam about all the “rules” of parenting and how absolutely tiresome they are.  The rant got my attention because the title referenced slathering toxic cream (sunscreen) onto her children. I actually thought it was going to be a post about the dangers of the toxic creams and how regular joes can avoid them, which – as you know – I support. But she went in a completely different direction, humorously focusing instead on how following the do’s and don’ts often prevents us from living the very life we seek.

She’s right. I mean, she’s dead-on, nail-on-the-head, face-palm right.

Why did this resonate with me so? I’m glad you asked.  If you’ve read my blog before, you might have noticed that I only posted twice in 2015. There are two reasons for this: 1) I was actually busier living life than writing about it and 2) I found that the thoughts I was trying to formulate into an educational blog post were often this-is-how-you-should-do-it thoughts which would serve to benefit no one other than me. I don’t EVER want someone to read my blog or anything I’ve written and feel like they are being judged or criticized for the choices they have made. Remember that saying our mothers taught us, “If you can’t say anything nice…”? I’m proud to say that I actually listened. When I read what Sarah wrote in her post, it reinforced my belief that no one should feel like the job they are doing as a parent is not good enough. Ever. And I thought, Amen, sister! To hell with the parenthood rules.

I admit that when this blog started I found a ton of mommy-bloggers who seemed to have their lives tidy and packaged and wrapped in a shiny bow. I had already stepped quite a way outside of my comfort zone to share with the web my successes and my failures at a year of changes toward natural living.  I used the blog as my scrapbook, and then I found the entire mommy-blogging community. I thought they were geniuses, and I envied the amount of readers they had. I bought a domain and linked it to all the stellar blogs I followed. I signed up for Twitter.  I created a Facebook page and invited friends to like it.

To date, my FB page is a dead horse and if I may be honest here, I hate Twitter.  Hate it.

The effort of keeping up with all the e-social requirements was exhausting. I mean, really. How in the hell are we supposed to experience life if we’re sitting in front of a screen watching stats and comments all day long? Seriously? If I do that, then eventually I’m not going to know the kids I’m writing about.

It took me about a year to realize I had better things to do with my life. I ditched my efforts at gaining followers and my readership remained in the single digits.  I could live with that.

So basically, I have two reasons for writing today.  First, I’m thinking that I will not renew this domain when it expires.  I will move all the posts over to my primary blog, www.DomAndLori.net, just to keep my ADHD and parenting advice available – you know, on the off chance that a reader needs my words to tell him or her that it’s okay to call the shots. (As if.) Essentially, I believe the shelf-life of The Purpose Driven Mom is nearing its end.  It’s cool.  Because honestly, every time Facebook tells me someone looked at my page, I feel this overwhelming responsibility to go write a new post or update the site. But at the same time, I’m not feeling the “purpose,” so the responsibility is mildly aggravating at best. Besides, notifications from all these damn apps are on my last nerve. Example: Pinterest tells me today that I have 25 pins waiting for me.  Um, no, I don’t.  My friends saved 25 pins and Pinterest thinks I care.  Kiss off, already, Pinterest. It’s not like I’m going to suddenly want a knitting pattern and forget you exist.  Give me some dang breathing room. (And yes, for all you techies with the knowledge knots, I have already turned off the notifications.  And I’m still getting them. Figure that one.)

Second, I have some parting words for anyone who reads this post, whether you’re here because you followed the mission from the beginning or because you just stumbled upon the page and felt like spending some time with me. (Thank you for that, by the way.)  I have spent a full six years changing my lifestyle, helping friends with food advice and recipes, and attempting to make my corner of the world a little more natural, if not altogether better. Sometimes I have succeeded and other times I have fallen flat on my face.  But I have learned in these six years that the journey is entirely mine and that my mission includes not judging people who do not walk the same path.  To that end, I feel I have achieved my mission.  But I want you all to know a few things before I bid you adieu, some things I hope will help you on your own journey:

• Please, for the love of everything holy, don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you are less of a person or less of a parent because of your choices. If you love your children and let them know it, then you are a good parent in my book. When you read an internet post or email that says you HAVE to do this or do that, unless it seems like something you have the desire, the time and the energy to try, IGNORE it. If you wanna give it a shake, do so. But if you try it and find that it doesn’t make your life better, then allow yourself to Let. It. Go.  And show the haters your middle finger.
• There is a ton of electronic information on recipes, tips and tricks to make natural living easy. Spoiler alert: 99% of them do not work for the long haul. Trust me.  I have made every recipe for natural cleaner on the internet. I have tried many of the home remedies suggested by mostly-trustworthy writers, and I have found very few things that actually live up to their claims. (Six years, people.  Six long years.) I have found many things that I have no desire to even try. I love coffee, but putting butter in it, despite the claims, does not make it or me bulletproof. And the idea of a coffee enema is a straight-up Hell No.  After six years of research, of all the “natural” cures on the internet I can vouch for three.  Get that? Three. They are:
  • Lavender essential oil works for minor burns. It immediately takes the pain out of burns from bacon grease splatters, and it even worked when I hit my knuckle on the oven element last week.  I will always have a bottle in the kitchen cabinet.  Take that for what it’s worth.
  • Heartburn cure: 1 Tablespoon Apple Cider Vinegar and 1 teaspoon honey diluted with about half a cup of water. Chug it, shoot it, whatever you wanna call getting it down the guzzler. It is the only thing that has ever worked on me, and it cures in less than ten minutes.  Granted, I’ve only had heartburn four times in my life, but OHMYGOSH I would cut out my esophagus to alleviate that pain!  This worked every time, and it will forever be my remedy.
  • Allergy cure: take the heartburn remedy and add ¼ teaspoon cinnamon and 1/8 teaspoon turmeric. I usually hit this three times a day when I’m sniffling. This works on me, my husband and my son when the seasonal pollen count threatens to take us down.  My daughter won’t go near it, so we may never know if it works on her.  She’s good with a box of Kleenex, so we shrug and move on.
  • BONUS cure: I don’t think this one is on the internet, maybe it is…I’ve never looked. My grandmother taught us this treatment for ant bites.  If you get attacked by ants, immediately grab handfuls of leaves from two totally different plants or trees (soft leaves work best) and pulverize them together in your hands. Rub – no, smear – them all over the ant bites until your skin is green from the chlorophyll.  This seems to take the sting out right away and keeps the pustules from forming. I’ve used this remedy for years.

So there they are, folks – the four natural, everyday remedies I am willing to vouch for after six years of research and practice. As far as food goes, I will always endorse clean eating as a means of staying well and being good to your body. You want to use whatever diet/method/lifestyle supports your best health, no matter what anyone else thinks of it. If there is anything I have learned in these six years, it is that change is hard, and each person has to decide for himself or herself how much change is worth it. My personal food choices are wildly unpopular, but they work for me and I feel good physically when I stick to those choices.

CONFESSIONS:

• While my best health is promoted by a grain-free lifestyle, my home is not grain-free. It’s not even totally organic.  My dogs eat grain-free.  My kids do not.
• My kids eat Reese’s Puffs. Yes, you read that right. I actually put in my grocery cart multiple boxes of full-on General Mills, GMO, gag-me-with-a-cereal-spoon Reese’s Freakin’ Puffs. Why? Because it makes them happy. They know my opinions and ideals, and they share some but not all of them.  Once they became teenagers, I felt like they had the right to make that choice. So if they want canned ravioli or Pizza Rolls or Kraft Mac & Cheese, by George, they’re gonna have it.  I pick my battles.
• I love to be in the sun, but I don’t use sunscreen unless I’m swimming. Judge away, just don’t tell me about it. I have my reasons for not listening.
• I have loved my readers’ comments, especially when they tell me that I helped them consider a new view or that they found parental support on my blog. I felt like my presence here was helping someone, and that made me feel good. I owe gratitude to everyone who ever bothered to read my words and write me back.
• I have considered ditching my Facebook account altogether because my newsfeed is full of aggravating articles from activist organizations that I once “liked.” I need to take my own advice and just flip those organizations the bird, but even that task seems like an energy drain.
• I texted my husband yesterday before I left work and told him that I wanted chocolate and wine. Like, for dinner. I was serious.  And I got them.

It’s been a pleasure to share this journey with you, my friends, but it’s time to close this chapter of my internet life.  I wish you health and peace, always.

Love, Lori

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The Minimum

While driving to work a while ago I noticed a new billboard.  It has a smiling man on it with five simple words: “Do the minimum.  (I do.)”  Way to instill confidence, SafeAuto.  I can see how “good neighbors” and “good hands” would be a turn-off.  Your marketing reps must be proud.

Despite that this ad was for auto insurance and had the polar opposite of its intended effect on me, it made me think about all that we do and wonder why we would ever want to promote doing the minimum.  Isn’t that kind of what’s wrong with us?  Everybody wants to get more and give less?  Avoid all the cost and still benefit with all the gain?  Don’t we already spend too much energy trying to claim more while actually doing less?

It reminds me of a former co-worker.  I was new on the job, fresh out of college and eager to learn.  I’ve always been motivated at work – in a behind-the-scenes kind of way.  A wallflower in public, I’m not too big on taking in all the attention, even for a job well done.  But I truly believe any job I do has my name on it and my reputation behind it.  So that makes it worth giving my all.    Anyway, about a month or so into the job a problem arose and I volunteered a solution.  No one really understood how to implement the solution even though it sounded good to them, so I also volunteered my own energy to make it happen.  I viewed it as a chance to sink my teeth into something creative, and they viewed it as an opportunity for an issue to be corrected without taking their time from other duties.  Everyone walked away happy.  Win-Win.

As soon as the directors were out of earshot, my co-worker tsk–tsk-ed me, warning, “You’d better be careful.  Don’t let them know what all you can do, because then they will expect you to do it.  It’s best to keep quiet and let them do the work.  You’ll see.”

I was dumbfounded, completely blown away that someone with that attitude could actually draw a paycheck.  While I picked my jaw up off the ground, she rolled her eyes and turned back toward her computer, leaving a lasting impression on me.

I suppose that was a lesson that naïve little Lori needed to learn.  No matter how I expect people to behave, many of them will only ever do the minimum.  Some of them will expect me to follow suit.

I won’t.

Not in life. Not in relationships.  Not in my work.

And for the record, I won’t change my expectations of other people, either.  And I fully intend to teach my children the value of exceeding the minimum.  Take THAT, smiling billboard man.

You’re Killin’ Me, Smalls!!

Tags

earrings, last minute, metals, scheduling, slumber party

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.  No one knows this better than the mother of a teenager, and no one anticipates the learning curve ahead like the mother of a ‘tween.

Heaven help me.

Five months and two short weeks ago my daughter got her ears pierced.  The golden rule of newly pierced ears, according to the all-knowing lady with the piercing gun, is that you do not go without sterling, stainless or gold post earrings for at least six months.  Personally, I am and always have been a hard and fast rule follower. Yet somehow, I failed to share that gene with my daughter.

By the way, dear readers, do you know how long six months is to an almost-eleven-year-old?  For-EV-er.

In the past four weeks Vic has wrangled, bargained and begged to dip into forbidden fruit early.  To wear hook earrings for just a few hours at a time.  To don costume jewelry full of God-knows-what nasty pseudo-metals.  And today, she asked to go to school without earrings.  I just about lost it.  “You begged to get your ears pierced, couldn’t wait to wear earrings, and now you want to ditch them before the initiation period is over?!!  Wear the dang earrings!!”

And then I hear the sage advice of other mothers: pick your battles.

We had already battled earlier this weekend when she sprung not one but TWO events on me.  One was a slumber party that was scheduled to start two-and-a-half hours from the moment I learned about it.  (That’s a Hell No, in case you were wondering.)  And just when I thought I had gotten through, that she understood without exception that I don’t do last minute, she came at me the next night with a school dance that was to start within four hours.  I grabbed a book and headed out to the patio chair to keep from going into an all-out rage, leaving Dom to explain to her what she should have learned from the slumber party invitation fiasco the night before.

When I fail to handle situations properly, Dom is always there to take the reins.  I am so grateful for that.  Because if he hadn’t been there to casually step in and offer his thoughts on the matter (and back me up, I might add), she would have followed me out onto the patio to plead her case, and I would have morphed into The Hulk.

Spontaneous Mom Hulk.  That’s what I’ve become, folks.

Now, put your earrings back in before I rupture a vein, please.

Of Choice and Drama

I wouldn’t go back to my pre-teen years if you paid me!! Vic is struggling with some typical issues surrounding girls, backstabbing and (gulp!) boyfriends. I was agreeing with Aaron recently as he observed that she is TOO YOUNG to be dealing with such matters, when I remembered my first boyfriend. Michael in fourth grade.

Michael first wrote me an anonymous love note. Days later, a second note asked if I wanted to “go with him.” Sure thing, dude.

Over the next ten days I think we said “Hi” about eight times. That was the gist of our whirlwind romance. A third note asked if I wanted to break up. It seems another fourth grade girl had caught his attention.

C’est la vie.

To be fair, Vic’s current girl-crisis has nothing to do with any boyfriend of her own, who for the moment seems to be nonexistent (thank you, GOD!!). But the drama of the females is enough to make any mother pull her hair out. At first it seemed that a boy was at the center of the drama, but essentially, the heart of the matter is choice. The choice to devote attention to one person and not the other. The choice to be mad about not being the chosen devotee. The choice to tell your friends that they are hurting each other. The choice to perpetuate negative energy. The choice to walk away from it all until everybody else catches a freaking clue.

The only choice Vic doesn’t have is that of exercising my years of experience in dealing with drama. I wish like everything that I could just transfer directly into her what tiny bit of wisdom I have for the situation. But, like the rest of us, she has to gain the wisdom from her own experience. I’m just the voice in the background, and the shoulder to cry on when she gets home.

Dots

Some lessons stick with you.  Every once in a great while, a person will offer a single nugget of advice to you that is pure gold, and you hold onto it forever.  I have just such a lesson, and it bears sharing.

I joke that I grew up at an animal hospital.  My mom was the clinic receptionist for thirty years, at first working “school hours” so she could be home with me in the afternoons.  In the summers and during holidays I went to work with her.  I would perch myself in the window above the filing cabinets and watch all the people and animals parade in and out.  I would watch my mother answer phones, laugh with clients and coo over puppies.  I became such a fixture at the hospital during the summers that I often got to shadow the doctors and staff while they worked.

I loved that animal hospital.  I loved the cubby hole with the avocado green laminate in which my mom spent her days.  I loved the staff who let me play in the supplies, and the doctors who let me watch procedures.  I loved the coke machine that held real bottles, and the copy machine with its thermal paper.  I loved the intercom system, which I would play with during the lunch hour.  I loved the medicine closet with its louvered doors, where I could hide if an angry animal came in.

I didn’t love the ferret who bit my thumb and made me get a tetanus shot, but that’s another story.

As I grew up and the process of maturing became more complicated, what with boys and band and the occasional girl fight, my mom’s co-workers would listen to my problems and offer advice.  One particular day when I was struggling with I-don’t-even-remember-what-but-it-had-me-at-the-point-of-tears, mom’s boss, Dr. Willis, sat me down in his office and cleared a space on his always-cluttered desk.  He retrieved a single paper towel (this was before the days of select-a-size, so it was a perfect 11-inch square) and laid it on his desk.  He said to me, “I’m going to show you how important this matter is right now.  It’s got you pretty upset, but just look…this paper towel is your whole life…”

He took a ballpoint pen and somewhere off-center on the paper towel he drew a single, tiny speck of a mark.  It barely showed in the pattern of the paper towel.

“This dot I just drew…that’s what you’re going through right now.  When you look at your whole life, this moment, this junk that you have to deal with as a teenager, it’s pretty insignificant, isn’t it?”

I had to agree that it certainly looked insignificant on the paper towel, but it felt like it would crush me before the day was over.

“Yes, it feels like it’s pretty bad now while you’re in the middle of it, but once you move away from the dot and into the rest of your life, it won’t matter anymore.  So it’s best if you start moving away from it now.”  He pointed to the paper towel.  “See?  You’ve got a lot of living to do! Don’t let that one dot get in your way.”

Beware the Bullies

I’m a reasonable individual, I think.  I have some very sure-footed people in my life, and they keep me grounded.  I make every effort to be honest with myself.  I am acutely aware of when I am deceiving myself.  I know when I have spoken out of turn.  I know instantly when I have hurt someone.  I try to be better than I am. It is a never-ending effort, an unreachable goal for which I continue to strive.  I work hard to be the exact same person in private that I am in public, save the fact that most people who know me have never seen me REALLY pissed off. I’m not saying I never morph into the demon bride, just that I am totally aware of when I am doing so.  And I do exert some measure of energy to control it.

I believe this is what it means to be an adult.  I assume that all other adults understand this and live it themselves.

I am wrong.

My son is 11.  6^th Grade, first year of middle school.  A difficult year for most preteens.  They have enough crap to deal with.  Schedule changes, tardy bells, lockers, gruff gym coaches.  Oh, and let’s not forget the emotional side of middle school – too young to be left on your own, too old to be babied.  It’s a tough spot to be in.  It’s hard enough to watch.

Aaron is intelligent, quiet, and shy.  He is too much like me in that he will not stand up for himself or speak his mind.  My husband and I worried most about the potential for him to be bullied in middle school.  Aaron dealt with mini-bullies in elementary school.  Kids who, for the most part, just didn’t know how to be friends with a quiet dude.  Aaron took it all in stride.  I communicated regularly with his teachers and the counselor so that we could avoid any emotional damage from these more aggressive children.   As Aaron went to 6^th Grade, Dom and I talked with him a lot about bullies and the need to come to us if ever another student made him feel threatened.  We ask constantly about his relationships with his peers.  We monitor and we decipher and we talk.

So when Aaron started having trouble sleeping right as Christmas break was ending, I couldn’t help but think he was anxious about returning to school.  He assured me that wasn’t it.  But then, he would end up in my bed within ten minutes of tucking him into his own, claiming that he couldn’t sleep, that he was “nervous” or “had butterflies.”  What in the world was there to be nervous about?  We talked about how the other students treat him – ad nauseum – and he assured us that all his student relationships were fine.  Maybe he was just nervous about his assignments, he offered.

Last night I had just closed my eyes when Victoria came into my room to inform me that Aaron couldn’t sleep and was upset.  Again. “Send him in,” I said.  When he curled up beside me I looked at him in the darkness and said, “Dude, you’ve GOT to come clean with what’s bothering you.  It will never go away if you keep it all inside.  I love you, and I will protect you until the day I die, but I have to know what we’re up against.  Spill it, and don’t leave out ANYTHING.”

It’s the grades.  True, they reflect that he has not put his best effort into his studies, but we also know that he has blown off more than a few homework assignments.  Poor grades are a consequence for not doing the work, and we don’t sugar-coat that fact.  To ease his mind about “failing” anything, I grabbed the iPad and we logged into the parent portal on our school system’s website to review his current grades, which are likely to be the final grades for the quarter that ends in three days.  His worst are high C’s, the “proof in the pudding” of not exerting the effort he is capable of giving.

It struck me as odd that he was most concerned over a class in which he has a high B.  “What if I fail the project that’s due Wednesday?”

“It’s a slideshow project.  You love putting slideshows together.  How can you fail?”

“I don’t know…just…what if I do?”

“Why are you worried about failing something you haven’t turned in yet?  The power to succeed still rests with you.  If you need to change something, you can.  Just, you know, change it before Wednesday.”  I offered to look at the assignment and his progress tonight and offer constructive comments.  He looked relieved.

Our talk lasted probably thirty minutes, laying there in the dark while Victoria examined the website and chimed in about her own grades as the faint glow of the screen illuminated her sweet face.  As we talked, he shared the comments of one of his teachers – one that I am less than impressed with – and I began to see that we are dealing with a bully after all…

An adult bully.  Chastising the class for their performance, telling them that they “are not going to make it” if they have a C in her class, doing her best to shame them into performing at her standard. That approach infuriates me.  Especially since this is coming from the woman who assured us parents at Back-To-School Night that her classroom would be “an oasis and an escape” from the cruel world of middle school.  Sounds more like a two-hour torture chamber now.  If her goal is simply to leave her mark on the students, she is succeeding.  If her goal is to actually help them grow and improve, then I believe she is way off base.

So I did what any half-rational, fully-aggravated mom would do:  I told my son in no uncertain terms to not pay any attention to the crap she says.

Yes, I used those exact words.  I gave him my express permission to ignore his teacher’s criticism.  “You have to do the work she assigns, but you do not have to believe anything she says about your ability to succeed.  Children should be challenged at school, encouraged to perform, and held accountable.  They should NEVER be scared at school.  You should NEVER feel SHAMED into doing a good job.  You are dealing with an adult bully.  You cannot escape her this year, but you CAN dismiss her comments and choose NOT to believe her when she says you will fail. And you can prove her WRONG!!”   I also informed him that two, four, ten years from now, no one is going to give a rat’s half-apple what his 6^th-year-2^nd-quarter grades were.  So there.

But I am reminded how awesome is the power that a teacher holds.  Even more so than a peer.  This is someone who is inherently supposed to be a support for the student.  Not a crutch, but a genuine mentor.  Everyone has his or her own style.  I’m willing to bet that sarcasm and chastisement don’t affect positive outcomes as often as she might believe.  And I get genuinely peeved at having to undo mental damage caused by teachers. Fortunately, Aaron is mature enough to distinguish personality differences, so he understands when I explain that this teacher’s personality certainly doesn’t have to affect his own.  I just happen to know from personal experience…that’s a whole lot easier to say than to put into practice.

When Dom came to bed he and Aaron talked about the grades and Dom offered reassurance.  Then Dom tucked Aaron into his own bed.  And there, with Mason at his side for extra security, my ‘tween slept like a baby.

Hey, It’s Okay…

In a bout of ragged wits-endedness, I flopped down with my Google Reader to try to catch up on everyone I have missed for the past, oh-I-don’t-know, five weeks?  (Who’s counting?)  I didn’t realize how absolutely defeated I felt until I pulled myself away from dishes and laundry and cheer-challenged family members and sank into my iPad for the first time in Way Too Long.

Not too far into my Reader I saw Shell’s post titled Hey, It’s Okay, so I checked in on her world.  I like checking in with Shell.  She brings perspective to me far more than she knows.  And she offered Airing My Dirty Laundry’s linky-loo opportunity (I’m so bad with the internet terms!) to share my own “Hey, It’s Okay” post.

So I am.  Right now.   These are things that have turned me on my ear in the last seven days.  Things I’m dealing with.  It’s all good.  I am woman.  Hear me roar.

Hey, it’s okay…

To serve canned tomato soup and boxed mac-n-cheese for dinner.

To make your child do his science fair project on his own.  And it’s also okay if said project looks like he did it All. By. Himself.

To use your car’s seat heater in 60-degree weather.  Just because you CAN!!

To tell your son that you won’t tuck him in or kiss him goodnight until he clears his floor of all the Legos so that you don’t sprain an ankle tripping over a plastic Hogwarts.

It’s also okay if your son merely scoops all the Legos to one side of the room, clearing you a runway of sorts to his bed.

If you haven’t finished (or started) the book you want to write.

If your grandmother announces in shock when she sees you on Thanksgiving that “You’re a redhead!” even if you have had black hair all your life until your four-year romance with permanent hair dyes.  And it is also perfectly okay if you immediately return home to dye your hair black again, and wear solid black to work the next day in order to detract from the hair.  Your coworkers will keep mum because they know what is good for them.

To secretly long for payday so you can buy that holiday bottle of Bailey’s Irish Crème.  The same bottle you plan to drink without sharing.

If you make a muffaletta cheese ball that suffices by itself as two of your lunches.  Whatevs.

If you set out your Christmas tree and your Advent wreath on the same day.

If you check your daughter out at 1pm on a Monday because she’s “sick” even if you aren’t entirely convinced that she is, in fact, sick.  Sometimes we just need to be taken away from the stress.

If, after rolling your eyes, you realize that – holy crap! – your daughter might actually be sick, what with all that coughing she’s been doing since 1pm.

If you’ve committed yourself to saccharin-free, dye-free, preservative-free homeopathic medicines, only to go running to the pharmacy for Children’s Motrin and Delsym when fever and coughs put up a bigger fight than you expected.  Do what works and let it go.

If you buy everyone gift cards for Christmas.  Better yet, buy them all at Kroger when you run in for a pint of Ben & Jerry’s! (makin’ a list…checkin’ it twice…)

If you can’t hold out on seeing the new Twilight movie just because you haven’t been able to get the book from the library yet.

If you want to take two vacation days so you can have your own Twilight marathon for the sole purpose of comparing the significant differences between the books and the movies.  (Not sayin’ I’m gonna…just, you know…to each his own.)

If your now-public food-and-habit chemical-free lifestyle change that so rocked your world is considered by acquaintances as your “special diet” and they wonder ALOUD if you are “still on it.”

If you move bunny rabbits from the warmth of your only empty bedroom to the starkness of the garage.  They really don’t care.  You’ll actually be happier.  And your carpet will be cleaner.

If your vegetable garden looks like crap at the end of November but still manages to produce veggies.  We call that Lagniappe.

If iTunes is acting wonky.  Another update is just around the corner.

If you don’t take out ALL the Christmas decorations this year, knowing what a pain it is to repack everything in January. Set out only that which you truly enjoy.  It’s cool.

Hey, it really IS okay.  Thanks.  I feel better.  😉

Save Us, Uncle Cheese Balls!

While I was attempting to post a blog entry the other night, Victoria began wailing from the other room.  High pitched crying.  Girl style.  In between breaths, I could hear Aaron saying, “I didn’t MEAN to!!!” and then the wailing would commence again until her breath ran out…again.  With Dom out for the evening, and Mason and Mabel not much on child supervision, I decided it was in everyone’s best interest if I hoisted my butt up and investigated.

It was a cut and dried case of He Said, She Said.  I had everyone approach the bench for a sidebar in the middle of the kitchen.  Apparently, an earlier game of “Let Me See How Badly I Can Annoy You” had continued out of the blue after chores were done and baths had been taken.  Except that Vic was finished playing.  Aaron, as the story is told, did not know this.

And so, a blanket was thrown, and in the process of retrieving said blanket, hair was pulled.  The plaintiff claimed that hair was “deliberately yanked.”  Defendant wanted to pummel plaintiff in the middle of the courtroom for perjuring herself.

The judge explained to everybody that misunderstandings happen and feelings get hurt.  And if any physical action is involved, somebody always ends up crying in the judge’s chambers.

The judge is tired, y’all. Lady Justice is blind for a reason.  If she had a choice, she’d probably be deaf, too.

So I explained to both parties that my mother always allowed me a code phrase.  Once I invoked the phrase, everything stopped and I was allowed space to decompress without repercussion in an effort to prevent an all out mother-daughter war.  My code phrase was, “I’m having a nervous breakdown!”  After declaring my state of mind, Mom would cease thoughts of stringing me up to the light fixture by my toenails as punishment for my attitude, and I would resist the urge to smash my hairbrush into the wall. We would take time to chill privately, and then resume speaking to each other only when we could do so respectfully.  The code phrase saved us both a lot of pain.  My mom is pure genius.

I suggested to my own sprouts that perhaps they, too, need a code phrase.  Something that says in much fewer words, “Hey, I know we spent most of the day chasing and tickling each other until we couldn’t breathe, but for now, I’m done.  Paws off, ok?”  They both thought this idea might have some merit.  We tossed around some potential code phrases.  I offered “Time Out” and “Game Over.”  Vic offered “Uncle.”  Aaron, ever the comedian, offered “Cheese Balls.”

“Okay, guys, we need something we can all agree on,” I said, hoping to urge team cohesiveness.

“Cheese Balls!”

“Uncle!”

“Well, good grief, we might as well end up with a code phrase like “Uncle Cheese B…” I stopped myself short, realizing how vulgar what I was about to say sounded, while visions of South Park characters floated through my head.  My hand flew to my mouth as the kids mentally finished my sentence, then fell out in peals of laughter.

Nothing but nothing was ever going to top this according to the nominating committee. “Uncle Cheese Balls” won by a landslide.

Spreading the Word

Last Thursday night I had the privilege of sharing my story with ladies at my church, the St. Frances of Rome Circle.  I planned to talk for just ten minutes and prayed that no one would doze off in the interim.  My co-presenter, Kim (my partner-in-crime on Two Converts Blogging), first shared Pope Benedict XVI’s Ten Commandments for the Environment, which put everyone in the proper frame of mind with regard to stewardship of our natural resources and its effect on life around us.  As Kim pointed out, we believe that we were given dominion over the earth and with that gift comes a great responsibility to care for it.

Then Kim turned it over to me to offer a mom’s perspective, since I have devoted the past fifteen months to making serious changes in our home for the betterment of ourselves and (hopefully) our planet.  I shared my story pretty much as I have shared it here, talking about food ingredients and cosmetic safety, medications and meal plans.

Their interest astounded me.

They all listened intently as I hit the highlights, then they asked questions that brought the issues into clearer focus.  Their open-mindedness told me that 1) I’m not crazy, 2) people DO care about the same things I care about, and 3) I have to do A LOT more sharing!!  I answered questions for about 30 minutes.  Questions like, “Have you noticed a difference in your healthcare costs?” “What do your kids eat for lunch?” “Do your kids know how to read labels?” and the most important question, “Where do we start if we want to make changes?”

My head was spinning!  I truly expected to share my story and then have everyone smile politely with looks that betrays a single thought: This lady is off her rocker!  Of course, I should have known better.  These are energetic ladies who work hard at their jobs and then give even more of themselves to serve in various capacities in their church and community.  They are open, honest and genuine.  And if they really did think I was a fruit loop, it wouldn’t have only been evident in their eyes…they would have told me straight to my face!  😉

Since I know several of my circle sisters read this blog, I want to thank you each for your interest, your graciousness, and your questions.  You have given me much to think about with regard to more effectively spreading the word, and even more reason to love each of you.

One of the first things I am going to add to this site is a list of all the food and products that I have changed over the last almost-year-and-a-half as a resource for the things that I have researched and decided to purchase.  It will be its own page called “Product Changes” and will get frequent updates as I move toward healthier choices in my own home.  I hope that in the process it is helpful to you too.

So Close and Yet So Far

The transition to middle school has proven to be easy so far for Aaron.  My self-directing, shy, quiet son is jumping head-first into the experience, fearlessly facing the challenges of Sixth Grade.  Dom and I are amazed and proud.

Victoria is not handling it quite so well.  You see, she is “left behind” at the elementary school, facing her first school year without her older brother on campus.

I didn’t realize how much comfort his presence brought to her.  Nor how much pain his absence would render.

For three days Victoria convinced us that she was worried about new teachers, fellow students, math, and recess.  (Who worries about recess?!!????  I know, right?!!)  I chalked it all up to new school year jitters and did my best to reassure her that everything was going to go swimmingly this year.  “It’s all up to you, Baby Girl!  YOU CAN DO IT!!!!!”

When yesterday passed without a phone call, Dom and I both breathed a sigh of relief that yes, she was indeed having a good time with her classmates and had forgotten all about her nervousness.  Last night held few surprises, save that she was still nervous about potential seating charts in two other classes.  Today would confirm the seating arrangements, and she wasn’t looking forward to it at all.  No biggie.  For over an hour last night we talked, we snuggled, she felt safe and loved.  She told me over and over again that I am “a good mama.”  I responded each time by telling her that she is a wonderful daughter.

This morning the drive to school was a bit melancholy.  Dom and I switched up in order to  share the experiences of each carpool line, so he drove Aaron today and I drove Victoria.  (I took Aaron yesterday to his first day of middle school…see here for the tear-stained details.)  I watched Vic in the backseat as I drove, her sad little face looking like she’d just lost her best friend.  She complained a few times that her tummy hurt, and she felt nauseous.  I told her it was just nerves and that once she got immersed in her school day, all that ickiness would go away.  As we pulled onto the school’s street, she told me she doesn’t want to be dropped off at the front any more (where she and Aaron used to leave the car together to walk up a long sidewalk to the front door).  I replied that I would be happy to pull through the side carpool line for her from now on.  She still looked ultra-pathetic.  Before exiting the car, she asked if she could call me if she started feeling worse.  Confident that things would start looking up in a matter of mere minutes for her, I said, “Oh, but of course you can!”

At 9:08 this morning, the school’s main number flashed across my ringing cell phone.  I had three people in my office at the time, and I think my exact words were, “Oh, s**t.”  I noticed my office cleared out rather quickly.  It was Vic on the other end of the line, saying she still felt sick, and would I please come get her.  Twenty seconds later, I was walking out the door.

I could tell by looking at her she wasn’t sick.  She was sad and pitiful, but seriously working all her angles to leave school.  I talked with her teacher, who was in full agreement with me that we had a simple case of nervous drama going on.  I took Vic to the car to chat with her in private, and after five minutes of sweet talking her and reassuring her, I nearly lost it.  “I have to go back to work, sweetie.  You are not sick enough to stay checked out of school.  Come clean with the story, or I’m shipping you back in there to cry into your teacher’s Kleenexes!!”

She threw her head back and sobbed, “All right!!! I’ll tell you the truth!!  I’m not worried about teachers or classmates.  I don’t care who I sit by.  My whole problem is I miss Aaron!!  I’ve never been at school without him, and now he’s gone to another school and I’m left here all alone, AND I MISS HIM SO-HO-HO MUH-HUH-HUHCCCHHH!!!!”

For a brief instant, she reminded me of Ed in Raising Arizona when she holds Nathan Jr. for the first time.  I tried really hard to focus on the present.

For the next hour, Vic explained how awful this was that Aaron wasn’t with her anymore, and how much she missed him and relied on him and now he was gone…(I had to remind her that he JUST went to middle school, not the Great Classroom in the Sky.)

“I don’t know how to be at school without him!!!!  He left me and I can’t do this alone.”

Long story short (too late!) I did my best to reassure her with little success.  So I took her back to school, crumpled Kleenexes and all, and the principal and I talked with her for just a few more minutes before they walked me to the door and walked each other on to Vic’s next class.

She will get through this adjustment in a week or so and be just fine, I’m sure.  (I hope…) As an only child myself, I have no frame of reference for this phenomenon.  But then again, maybe this is just another way for Vic to fulfill her purpose in my life…by giving me a different perspective.

At one point in our conversation she said, “I know everyone thinks I’m so strong, but I’m NOT!”  But I know differently.  She may feel weak right now, but she is incredibly strong.  I can still see her standing on that playground between Aaron and two strange boys who seemed to be picking on him.  She had her curly hair in a messy ponytail and her little three-year-old fists perched on her hips.  “LEAVE MY BROTHER ALONE!!!” was all she had to say.  Those 6-year-olds knew she meant business.  They may have thought they could intimidate Aaron, but they knew differently about her.  And so they left.  Maybe that’s the difference – they were supposed to leave at her command.  Aaron was supposed to stay?

And so I’m left wondering how in the world I’m going to deal with her emotions on top of my own when Aaron goes to high school, drives off on his first date, goes to college, leaves home…  Dom should start to brace himself now.  She and I will be absolute train wrecks.

Is this the down-side to having my children so close in age?  People often mistake them for twins.  At 19-months apart, they are mirror images and polar opposites.  They are best friends and prickliest thorns to each other.  They are night and day, but one seems to be made more complete by the other.    For years Victoria has light-sabered, legoed, and nerf-darted her way into Aaron’s play-time routines just for the sake of his company.  Maybe she figures her reward should be his undying promise to never be more than two rooms away.