Tag Archives: children

Triple Threat

Posted in 2012 by

There are three sure-fire ways to get my attention.

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1.  Offer me something nice.
~ A sincere compliment, quality time together, a token of affection.
2.  Alert me to impending danger.
~ Natural disaster, salmonella outbreak, gunfire.
3.  Direct negative energy/attention at my children.   [No subtext needed.]

You might think #2 would create the biggest stir, but you would be wrong.  Nothing makes my adrenaline surge faster or my claws extend further than #3.  Combine 2&3 and we’re talking the big bang of responses.

Most parents I know would gladly take the brunt of their offspring’s fear, doubt, and pain.  If only we could protect them from the outside forces that wear away at their spirit and hamper their joy.  If only there could be a moratorium on the weapons of judgment and criticism.  It’s bad enough dealing with the cracks in your own armor.  Not being able to shield your own children is exponentially more difficult.

Welcome to The Greatest Show on Earth!  Ringling Brothers has nothing on raising a family, though a circus is a good analogy to parenting.  You are alternately trainer, performer, and janitor.  There is constant preparation and numerous blunders, often under a tight schedule.  You will be stunned silent in appreciative amazement.  You will throw your hands up in disbelief.  You will experience jaw-dropping, hair-raising panic.  There are narrow escapes, aerial acrobatics,  juggling acts, clowning around, and colossal messes.  Add the animals (your pets), and you’ve got the full Bigtop.  All that work, and often just for peanuts.

Why does anyone do it??  Simple.  There is nothing as gratifying as seeing your child smile, or watching their wide-eyed wonder as they take in the amazing newness of their expanding world.  No sound sweeter than the joyous lilt of their laughter, or their innocent coos of affection.  No feeling better than the gentle squeeze of their tiny bearcub hug, or the velvety softness of their little hand tucked inside yours.  No emotions greater than parental pride and fear.  Your heart will swell and your eyes will tear — when they soar, and when they fall.

When asked as a youngster what I wanted to be when I grew up, my given answer changed many times.  But the primary role I envisioned and relished internally — becoming a mother —  never did.  It was an overwhelming, unwavering desire for me.  I’d like to think there are many components that inspire and fulfill me, but I believe maternalism is what truly defines me.  [Note: In no way am I indicating that every woman needs a child to be complete, only stating that’s how I’m hard-wired.]  Lots of teenage girls try-on marriage by scribbling Mrs “” — insert Hollywood hotties like “Reynolds” (Burt, back in my day; Ryan, presently), or “Stamos” (the one and only John; he’s multi-generational), or the local high school hunk.  I’m not sure how many write out lists of baby names, as I did.  And Mom, that oddly-shaped towel you occasionally found under the bed?  Uh, that was my baby bump.  Kinda embarrassing, but sometimes I liked to pretend I had a bun in the oven (when in the privacy of my own room, of course).  That should illustrate just how popular motherhood was with me.  Oh, and probably why I wasn’t more popular.  Haha, JK.  🙂

You would think someone who breathed all-things-baby would have volumes of SuperMom highlight reels.  Oddly enough, alot of my clearest, isolated memories are the smallest percentage of parenting moments — the difficulties and disappointments (in myself, not my children).  I know without a doubt nurturing my babies was exceedingly pleasurable to me.  All of the combined, overall memories are nothing but warm fuzzies.  Yet it’s the minuscule moments where I gave myself low marks on the parenting scale that grace the covers of my mental photo albums.  The logic of this alludes me.  If 95% of the time I felt comfortable and confident in my maternal abilities, why isn’t it those happy, heady moments that remain in full clarity?  Maybe because struggles are more powerful than standards.  Or maybe because the burden of self-proclaimed failures wore so heavily on my heart.  I literally loved my kids more than I loved myself (still do; always will).  During a turbulent marriage, they were the hope on my horizon, my paradise present, the light & warmth on my dark side of the moon.

If you have raised children (your own or someone else’s), you’ve stood on the precipice of  blissful insanity.  It’s ushered in with nine months of nausea, swollen limbs, and stretch marks.  Relief comes in the form of a marathon session of stabbing pain, whilst shitting a watermelon.  This culminates in years of sleep deprivation, and non-stop nursing & maid services.  And that’s the easy part.  Watching them suffer life’s injustices, holding them close and then letting them go… that’s hard.  Having them become independent, contributing members of society is a normal and desired outcome.  It’s still tough to watch, knowing how cruel and unforgiving the world can be.  Even if you’ve prepared them well, you know there are things beyond your control and outside their comfort level.

This has been a struggle for me, learning to let go.  But as I’ve touched on before, change is inevitable; no amount of strength or struggling will stop it.  So I’m learning to parent differently.  I’m on the sidelines now, instead of center field, ready to intercede should there be an injury or stoppage of play.  It’s my job to patch them up and send them back into the huddle; pat them reassuringly on the back with a ‘go get em, tiger’.  The truth is, they wouldn’t have team spirit or a fondness for the game if I hadn’t instilled it in them.  I really don’t want them secluded out of bounds with me, missing the action.  I don’t want to be a no-show because I’m unwilling to take a secondary role.  I want to support them.  I want them to have a winning attitude, not a perfect record.  No matter what, I’ll still be their biggest fan and cheerleader.  And advocate.  Hecklers, be warned…  you mess with Mama Hen, you WILL get the beak!!

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Children are living legacies.  Walking, talking evidence of the goodness you worked to instill in them, as well as the pitfalls you attempted to steer them around.  I’ve made alot of mistakes in my life, but I’ve also done a fair amount right.  I have not one, not two, but three amazing progeny with enviable qualities and oodles of potential.  They are loved, supported, and appreciated, for who they are, and for who they’ve made me.

It’s common to crave fewer responsibilities and a respite from the day-to-day craziness of parenting while you’re in the thick of it.  It can get bumpy and it does get loud.  Make some ‘me time’, whenever you can.  And remind yourself:  If you think the noise your children make now is difficult to bear, consider the deafening silence after they go.  Peace isn’t quiet and calm.  It is being surrounded by guppies & puppies, toddlers & teens, laundry & lunchboxes, and flourishing in the chaos.

Pinkitude:  (The selection was too rich to choose just one)

“When you have brought up kids, there are memories you store directly in your tear ducts.” ~ Robert Brault

“There are two lasting bequests we can give our children.  One is roots.  The other is wings.”  ~ Hodding Carter, Jr.

“Parents are not interested in justice; they are interested in quiet.”  ~ Bill Cosby

‘Pen’sively Yours,  PP

Christmas Rap

Posted in The Saga Continues by

It all starts with Black Friday.

Holiday soldiers hit the trenches and practice their Black Op skills.   The mad rush for presents and parking spaces is on.  There are countless trips to the food store, oven-side vigils, caroling and decorating, backaches and blisters. Tempers rise while temperatures fall.  Tis the season for tithing and skyping and credit card swiping.

2010 december calendar girl (smaller)

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The mall decorations have been out since October, but I’m not fully festivous until I deck my own halls, which is usually the weekend after T-giving.  I love all holidays, as evidenced by a mental scrapbook overflowing with joyous occasions surrounded by family, friends, and more food than you can shake a stick at.

Sidebar:  I’d just like to say, that’s a weird expression.  When I’m too much of anything, the last thing I’d want to do is shake, whether it be the pepper mill (too much food), the aspirin bottle (too much booze), or the alarm clock (too tired).   Here’s another weird one:  “That a boy”/”That a girl”.  Typically offered as praise for an accomplishment, it rings pretty hollow.  Think about it:  you’ve just done something amazing, and you’re credited for your gender being what it is?
“Ooh, great job!  Might I just say you’re still a male (or female)” …
“Stop, you’re making me blush.”  Lame.

My holidays now are much different than when I was growing up, as is the case for most people.  I for one have not gone quietly into that good night.  I try clinging to routine like a child to it’s beloved blankie.  It may have outlived its’ usefulness and there are probably newer ones more appealing and practical, but it’s mine… and I still want it!! (“We’ve been though alot together, haven’t we silky?”)

My wise mother once told me, “The only constant in life is change itself”.  A constant pain in my ass, is what it is.  Change is difficult.  It’s really hard to leave the familiar behind, and forge into a brave new world.  Tradition only becomes so after several cycles.  Much like a favorite pair of jeans require repeated wearings to get that well-worn glove-like fit, tea needs to steep to become rich and full-bodied, and wine must age to reach it’s peak flavor.  Humans are creatures of habit, and habit has to be formed over time.  It’s not instant.

Technology has spoiled us with abbreviated wait times, on everything from getting a letter to cooking a meal.  Have you ever clicked the ‘send & receive’ button in your email several times because you know you’ve got something coming but it hasn’t hit your inbox yet?  Do you pace in front of the microwave while you wait for your instant oatmeal to cook?  We’re talking seconds people… still, feels like an eternity when you’re in anticipation mode.

Sidebar 2:  I seriously could not live without the nuker.  Best.  Invention.  Ever.  In fact, here’s my xmas present to ole Mikey, in poetic form.  (I thought about socks, but I know from experience he doesn’t do well with them.  Just ask my kids.) 

I thank thee, for all the cooking thy’ve done
in daylight or moonlight, you always run
though  you might burn popcorn or soggy a bun
In my eyes you’ll always be second-to-none.

I hope you don’t think I’m getting too deep
but your speedy efficiency has made people weep
they say good food doesn’t come cheap
but we always get psyched when you 3… 2… 1… *beep*!

Waiting to find comfort in something is work, and who wants more work during the holidays?  I’ll just take my eggnog and sit in the corner, dreaming of bygone Christmas mornings and New Year’s eves.  Until I’m interrupted with a
“Mom, can you ______?” Life gives me a swift kick in the pants, and — aside from the spilled eggnog — I am filled with appreciation and understanding.

If things never changed, I would never have had children.  I would never have known the unparalleled pleasure of experiencing the holidays through their eyes.  Seeing my Easter bunnies juggle colorful baskets of eggs while their eager little legs tripped over each other.  Watching three little blurs race around the tree, charged with excitement as they spied which packages had their name.  Noting precious faces light up as they stepped into costume and truly ‘became‘ a Power Ranger or a Disney princess or a superhero.  Going bleary-eyed from putting names and Hershey’s kisses on dozens of flimsy paper valentines.  Staying up half the night to make a classroom-full of cupcakes because my little forget-me-tot didn’t convey they were needed until 10 pm the night before.  These things changed me in the most profound and lasting ways.

In fact, for every joyous, special memory I have from my childhood, I can think of at least two that trumped it during motherhood.  Even the trying, frustrating moments come rushing back, ready to unwrap like the beautiful gifts they are.  Fights over who got the best candy, or who got to choose the nightly movie, or who got to sit up front with me in the car — all become treasures of immeasurable worth.  The realization that my parents went through the same thing comforts and excites me, knowing I’ll get to experience a whole new level of euphoria as a grandmother.

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Honor tradition and welcome change.  The people and places and routines might shift, but the memories and associated joy forever remain.  Change affords you a past, a present, and a future; form, with shadow and light.  It’s the composition that gives your life richness and depth and perspective.  A work of art that is not yet finished, yet somehow complete.

Merry Christmas ~ Happy Hanukkah ~
Happy Kwanzaa!

May peace, joy, goodness, and love
fill your hearts and homes.

Pinkitude:
“Traditions are the guideposts driven deep in our subconscious minds.  The most powerful ones are those we can’t even describe and aren’t even aware of.” ~ Ellen Goodman

Impassioned by the pen,
Platinum Pink