I had a lengthy chat with my mom today. She's at summer camp right now. Okay, well she's a counselor at an archaeological dig/camp thingie in the 4 Corners region of Colorado. She does it every year. So, with the time difference, while her kids are in "class" we chat about the world and such.
Today we got on the subject of kids these days. You know "kids these days." Sadly, so many of them are what society years back referred to as "assholes."
Yep, I said it. I called your kid an asshole. Unless you're kid's not an asshole, in which case you're sitting there shaking your head in agreement.
Here's what I remember from my childhood:
When at someone's house, you do not ask for a drink, snack, etc, you wait until such things are offered. If they are not offered, you get a swig of water out of the sink in the bathroom and wait until you leave to eat something. (This rule applies to parents in that you do not take your children somewhere during mealtime and expect someone else to feed your kid.)
When you get in trouble at school, you do not blame it on the teacher or anyone else. You listen to your teacher and parents and learn from your mistake. Even if that mistake was just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. This is a life lesson and may keep you out of jail when you get older and chargeable. You don't argue. When did kids decide it was okay to argue with their parents? (This rule applies to parents in that if your child gets in trouble at school, you don't immediately question the teacher's authority. Remember back when people respected teachers? Let's go back to that. Also, think of teachers like this: would you operate on your self if you needed surgery? No, you'd call a professional. Would you represent yourself if you were charged with murder, No, you'd call a professional. Teachers are professionals, too. Let them do their job.)
The world does not revolve around you. Sure you're special and all, but that doesn't mean special privileges. You are one part of a larger family. You are one student in a class of 27. You have a role to play but you don't get to run the show. When you decide that you "deserve" something, you stop actually working for it and start expecting it. Don't do that. You don't deserve anything. When you work hard, you will see an appropriate return for your effort. The world will not be presented to you on a silver platter.
Sometimes you're going to do something bad. You're going to hit someone, you're going to push someone, you're going to act out. You're a kid. It happens. You will not be coddled. You will get into trouble. No one will ask how you felt at the moment of the incident. No one cares if you were tired, or hangry(hungry-angry), etc. You will accept your punishment and learn from your mistake. Excuses will not be made. Mistakes are meant to be learned from, but if actions are constantly dismissed or justified, you can't learn. Kids see the world in black and white. Giving them gray areas just confuses them. So, pushing is always wrong even if you're tired. Kicking is always wrong even if you need a snack. Etc. (I am actively working on this one with Claire. It's so easy to say, well, she's really tired/hungry, whatever. That doesn't make it okay. It also means that I need to be a good enough parent to realize my child needs to go home and take a nap or go to bed.)
So, based on all of these things I remember from my childhood I'm trying to raise my girls to have a moral compass. One that doesn't include caveats or exceptions. We will teach them to love everyone, not just some people who look like us or love like us. We will teach them that success is only achieved through hard work. We will teach them that being polite is incredibly important to becoming a productive member of society. We will also teach them to stand up for what the believe in, even if they are standing alone. That one's pretty tough when popularity is so important. So, we will teach them to value themselves in ways that are not measured by one's popularity.
I look back at the 1950s and think, yeah, I think I'd go back there if my kids could grow up like my parents did. I'd even take the corsetted undergarments that women burned in 1965, just to buy a pair of Spanx in 2012.
They were simpler times. I like simple. I like the idea of families spending evenings on the porch, not in front of the TV. I like the idea that if someone wanted to get in touch with you they could send a letter or phone you or (shock) go to your house and speak to you in person (weird, I know). Patience was a virtue and a necessity. Foods were still made with real ingredients and families enjoyed them together. Sure, I may have a very rose-colored-glasses view of the era, but I don't know what's worse: today's false gender and racial equality or 1950's very honest struggles with both. I wasn't there. All I know is that what I see now is unacceptable.
It has become apparent in my house where the root of the TV problem is stemming at this point. His name is Daddy and he is obsessed with all things sports. I'm contemplating an intervention. Wish me luck.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Friday, June 15, 2012
Between a Rock and Job Place
So, I went for a job interview this week. It was a great position and I hope I get it but it brought up a whole pile of things that I will now share with you...as my virtual family/strangers/stalkers.
When the lady called me to schedule the interview Claire decided at that moment to have a graham cracker-related meltdown of epic proportions. It was amazing even by Claire standards.
See, I wasn't expecting a phone call for an interview because I had submitted my resume only minutes earlier and frankly, people usually aren't this interested in me. So when I saw "unknown" show up on my phone I wondered what bill I'd neglected to pay or why DirecTV keeps bugging me to come back to them.
So as Claire screamed in the background, the lady tried to tell me from where she was calling and the nature of her call. When she offered the interview I had to ask if I could call her back after securing childcare for Zora. Luckily, my husband is a super star and can't wait for me to get back to work and out of pjs, so he urged me to go to the interview saying he'd be in charge of the girls.
Here's where it gets sticky: I felt super self-conscious about telling this woman that I had to make sure I had a sitter. First, it's not necessarily anyone's business. Second, I'm applying for a job, that may or may not mean that I don't currently have one. So yes, I might be staying at home with kids, dogs, Facebook, whatever. I felt like it made me look bad in some way, even irresponsible, which is ridiculous.
When I got to the interview I chatted with the woman who had set up the interview. She was the assistant to the gentleman who later interviewed me. We made small talk and of course, Claire and Zora found their way into the conversation. Then I felt self-conscious again. What is going on here? I love talking about my children. I wanted to swallow the words back down my throat.
Finally, I got to sit down with the interviewer and I saw written on the top of my resume "call back, child care." What does that mean? Why is it note-worthy? Or it is just a mental note that got written down? Why am I worrying about this?
All of the sudden I didn't feel the swell of pride I usually do when I talk about my family. I felt like it was something that I wanted to hide. I didn't want to be Jesse Hayes, mom of two of the best kids on the planet and wife to one pretty kick-ass husband. I wanted to be Jessemine Dobson-Hayes, attorney, professor, job-seeker(hopefully job-getter). But the two weren't interchangeable. It was a very bizarre feeling.
As the dust has settled around this interview I have gone between desperately wanting this job because it's amazing and not wanting to leave my babies. Luckily, it's not been offered to me yet, so I haven't had to decide.
I say luckily because part of me feels like I'm doing something wrong going back to work. Which is odd because I have many, many friends who work and have kids and I don't think they're doing anything wrong, odd, or otherwise. And luckily, because if it isn't offered to me then I don't have to decide. It's so much easier to be acted upon than to act, yourself.
Honestly, I think it's all because I'll miss them. I'll miss my crazy, hilarious, little lovies. My brain translates that into some sort of guilt.
So there you have it blog world. Stuck between a rock and a hard place...if a hard place is a job that I haven't actually been offered.
When the lady called me to schedule the interview Claire decided at that moment to have a graham cracker-related meltdown of epic proportions. It was amazing even by Claire standards.
See, I wasn't expecting a phone call for an interview because I had submitted my resume only minutes earlier and frankly, people usually aren't this interested in me. So when I saw "unknown" show up on my phone I wondered what bill I'd neglected to pay or why DirecTV keeps bugging me to come back to them.
So as Claire screamed in the background, the lady tried to tell me from where she was calling and the nature of her call. When she offered the interview I had to ask if I could call her back after securing childcare for Zora. Luckily, my husband is a super star and can't wait for me to get back to work and out of pjs, so he urged me to go to the interview saying he'd be in charge of the girls.
Here's where it gets sticky: I felt super self-conscious about telling this woman that I had to make sure I had a sitter. First, it's not necessarily anyone's business. Second, I'm applying for a job, that may or may not mean that I don't currently have one. So yes, I might be staying at home with kids, dogs, Facebook, whatever. I felt like it made me look bad in some way, even irresponsible, which is ridiculous.
When I got to the interview I chatted with the woman who had set up the interview. She was the assistant to the gentleman who later interviewed me. We made small talk and of course, Claire and Zora found their way into the conversation. Then I felt self-conscious again. What is going on here? I love talking about my children. I wanted to swallow the words back down my throat.
Finally, I got to sit down with the interviewer and I saw written on the top of my resume "call back, child care." What does that mean? Why is it note-worthy? Or it is just a mental note that got written down? Why am I worrying about this?
All of the sudden I didn't feel the swell of pride I usually do when I talk about my family. I felt like it was something that I wanted to hide. I didn't want to be Jesse Hayes, mom of two of the best kids on the planet and wife to one pretty kick-ass husband. I wanted to be Jessemine Dobson-Hayes, attorney, professor, job-seeker(hopefully job-getter). But the two weren't interchangeable. It was a very bizarre feeling.
As the dust has settled around this interview I have gone between desperately wanting this job because it's amazing and not wanting to leave my babies. Luckily, it's not been offered to me yet, so I haven't had to decide.
I say luckily because part of me feels like I'm doing something wrong going back to work. Which is odd because I have many, many friends who work and have kids and I don't think they're doing anything wrong, odd, or otherwise. And luckily, because if it isn't offered to me then I don't have to decide. It's so much easier to be acted upon than to act, yourself.
Honestly, I think it's all because I'll miss them. I'll miss my crazy, hilarious, little lovies. My brain translates that into some sort of guilt.
So there you have it blog world. Stuck between a rock and a hard place...if a hard place is a job that I haven't actually been offered.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
These Lizards are Assholes and Other Random Thoughts
Okay, so a few weeks ago I was on the phone with a girlfriend explaining how my garage door kept opening itself after I had closed it. I assumed, erroneously, that it was a lizard or something triggering the sensor. There are crazy huge lizards all over this place (Texas) so I said to her, "these lizards are assholes." Because clearly if they're opening my garage, they want my belongings stolen by neighborhood teens. That's an asshole move if I've ever seen one. She told me to make it the title of my next post. Well, Michelle, here you go.
Here are a few random/ranty thoughts I've had lately that I wanted to share.
1. The ability to deposit waste into a toilet of any size is not a mark of intelligence or lack thereof.
I don't know how many times I've heard parents brag on how early their kid was potty trained. Just shut up. They weren't trained, you were. Plus, let me just share a bit of wisdom with you: every asshole I know is toilet trained. Seriously, every single one. All the jerks that I went to school with, the pretentious waiter at the too expensive restaurant, nearly every politician, and every braggy mom...all use the potty and probably without a sticker chart. So stop. Please.
2. Bow size is apparently now a mark of wealth?
Please tell me this isn't actually true. I've started making a few bows for Claire because I refuse to pay $10 for something I can make for $3 in about two minutes. That being said, I understand how they end up so big. They get out of hand really quickly. I've had to reign myself in a few times. I don't understand parents who post pictures of their children's bow collections with a caption that says something about their kid being spoiled, etc. Unless the kid purchased them on their own, you, parent, are to blame for their spoiledness. My only assumption is that what you really mean is, "look how much money I've spent on this kid. It's impressive, right? There's more where that came from. Just click around in my albums, I'm sure I've posted pictures of my house and cars, too."
3. Are you planning to have kids is the most inappropriate, prying question in the world.
I'm guilty, I have asked this question at least twice in the last two weeks. Here's what you're really asking, "hey, so are you planning to stop taking your birth control any time soon? Because it's my business. I mean are you taking birth control now? How often do you have sex with your husband? When? Because I'd like to know if you're ovulating." Michelle and I discussed this recently, too. There are a series of questions that people seem to ask when you hit certain stages in life. First, it's the when are you getting married? Then it's when are you having kids? Then it's when are you having more kids? I'm guessing it all ends with when are planning on dying? How awkward are we as a society that we discuss these things with strangers in grocery stores, etc? But, sadly, I can't help it. I want to know the answers...
4. When did everyone start running marathons?
I feel like this is a recent trend. I, myself, have started running. Which is crazy because there was a point when I would've only run if chased and even then I might have tried fighting back before fleeing. I'm not built for speed, people. Almost every person I know is training for some 5K. It makes me want to run, too. But sadly, I hate running. So, my other option is Zumba which is equally popular. It may have something to do with the age of my friends and the fact that most are experiencing that post-30 metabolic slowdown.
Well, I haven't talked about it in awhile, but it is in the title of the blog...TV. I can say now that we hardly watch TV. It's nice. I feel like my girls are just as happy though even if I switch on some MMC so I can cook dinner. The great thing is that Claire no longer brings me the remote like she did when we were in the Sprout stage.
Here are a few random/ranty thoughts I've had lately that I wanted to share.
1. The ability to deposit waste into a toilet of any size is not a mark of intelligence or lack thereof.
I don't know how many times I've heard parents brag on how early their kid was potty trained. Just shut up. They weren't trained, you were. Plus, let me just share a bit of wisdom with you: every asshole I know is toilet trained. Seriously, every single one. All the jerks that I went to school with, the pretentious waiter at the too expensive restaurant, nearly every politician, and every braggy mom...all use the potty and probably without a sticker chart. So stop. Please.
2. Bow size is apparently now a mark of wealth?
Please tell me this isn't actually true. I've started making a few bows for Claire because I refuse to pay $10 for something I can make for $3 in about two minutes. That being said, I understand how they end up so big. They get out of hand really quickly. I've had to reign myself in a few times. I don't understand parents who post pictures of their children's bow collections with a caption that says something about their kid being spoiled, etc. Unless the kid purchased them on their own, you, parent, are to blame for their spoiledness. My only assumption is that what you really mean is, "look how much money I've spent on this kid. It's impressive, right? There's more where that came from. Just click around in my albums, I'm sure I've posted pictures of my house and cars, too."
3. Are you planning to have kids is the most inappropriate, prying question in the world.
I'm guilty, I have asked this question at least twice in the last two weeks. Here's what you're really asking, "hey, so are you planning to stop taking your birth control any time soon? Because it's my business. I mean are you taking birth control now? How often do you have sex with your husband? When? Because I'd like to know if you're ovulating." Michelle and I discussed this recently, too. There are a series of questions that people seem to ask when you hit certain stages in life. First, it's the when are you getting married? Then it's when are you having kids? Then it's when are you having more kids? I'm guessing it all ends with when are planning on dying? How awkward are we as a society that we discuss these things with strangers in grocery stores, etc? But, sadly, I can't help it. I want to know the answers...
4. When did everyone start running marathons?
I feel like this is a recent trend. I, myself, have started running. Which is crazy because there was a point when I would've only run if chased and even then I might have tried fighting back before fleeing. I'm not built for speed, people. Almost every person I know is training for some 5K. It makes me want to run, too. But sadly, I hate running. So, my other option is Zumba which is equally popular. It may have something to do with the age of my friends and the fact that most are experiencing that post-30 metabolic slowdown.
Well, I haven't talked about it in awhile, but it is in the title of the blog...TV. I can say now that we hardly watch TV. It's nice. I feel like my girls are just as happy though even if I switch on some MMC so I can cook dinner. The great thing is that Claire no longer brings me the remote like she did when we were in the Sprout stage.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Discovering My Pride
I'm probably going to sound like a jerk for a minute, but bear with me and I'll stop sounding like a jerk by the end.
I was born and raised in a small town in southwest Missouri. I attended school in an even smaller town about 12 miles from my house.
Because we lived in one city but attended school in another I never really identified with either. Seneca, where I attended school, was a town of less than 2,000 people. It consisted of one main street with a flashing red light, two groceries stores that were inexplicably placed almost right next to each other, a beauty shop or two, a bank, and a few restaurants that came and went.
The people who live(d) in Seneca are/were close-knit and relatively simple. I'm pretty sure people didn't lock their doors or worry about anything more criminal than the occasional speeding ticket on the road to the baseball fields.
While my mom taught in the school district, I never really felt like we fit in there. We actually lived 5 miles outside of the sprawling metropolis of Joplin. Our address was Joplin and we did most of our shopping there. But, because we didn't attend the schools in Joplin, I didn't feel like I fit in there either.
For years this didn't matter. I thought to myself, who wants to be from Joplin, Missouri? It's nothing more than a dot on the map, a stop on the interstate, a blackhole that sucks in its residents tricking them into staying and never reaching their potential or pursuing their dreams. (see I told you I'd sound like a jerk, stick around)
When I was picking out colleges I wanted to get out of Joplin and never look back. In fact, my parents wouldn't even let me consider Missouri Southern State College, the Joplin school.
I scoffed at all things Joplin as being uncultured, quaint, and too boring for my tastes. So I headed off to Springfield, met great people, got a degree, headed off to Columbia, got a doctorate, and settled down to start my family.
Over the decade that all of this took place I visited Joplin frequently and even Seneca from time to time. I kept in touch with many friends and eventually reconnected with others. All the while, when people would ask where I was from I would reluctantly offer up Joplin with the explanation that my school years were spent in Seneca.
May 22, 2011, I was enjoying a quiet evening with my husband and daughter. We had dinner, washed the kid and put her to bed around 6 something. As I always do, I grabbed my phone to check out Facebook after Claire was in bed. I started reading these posts from friends talking about some tornado that had hit Joplin. I immediately turned on the Weather Channel and called my parents to make sure they were safe.
My dad answered, yes he knew there was a tornado, no they weren't hurt. My mom was actually napping through all of it. Relieved that my family was safe I turned my attention to the broadcast.
The next few hours were like a movie. It couldn't be real life. The reporter was standing in the parking lot of the pharmacy I worked at during high school. Except there was no pharmacy. There wasn't anything, anywhere. My mind couldn't wrap itself around what I was see. It was so incredibly disturbing. The destruction was incomprehensible.
I wanted to do something, anything to help. I wanted to drive down and start dragging debris around. I was 7 months pregnant, so it wasn't really an option. So I sat, feeling helpless and so very sad for my hometown. That's right, my hometown. In an instant I felt protective of all things Joplin; the people, the places, the culture.
In the days that followed the people of Joplin showed the world, and this former resident, what they were made of. They showed what real human compassion looks like and they did it with such grace. They didn't let the storm victimize them. They stood facing down the challenge of rebuilding a city and said, when can we start?
In the times that I have traveled back to Joplin to visit my parents and friends I have many times driven down Main Street and been shocked by what I see. Before 5/22, between 26th and 20th streets you couldn't see very far to your east and west because of the buildings and beautiful mature trees. If you traveled to your east you would find neighborhoods made up of lovely ranch style-houses. If you traveled to your west you would find older homes that might resemble more of a Cape Cod style. Those are all gone now.
In their place new homes are springing up as fast as builders can build them. Families are once again celebrating milestones like graduations and birthdays.
If Joplin was a chalkboard, it was wiped clean when the tornado came through. But it couldn't erase the spirit of the people in its path.
I am proud to say I am from Joplin, Missouri. Not because I want you to ask me about the tornado, but because I want to tell you about the amazing community that I was lucky enough to be a part of for my first 18 years. The place that my family has called home for generations.
I think the tornado restored a sense of community that may have been waning in this world of email and social networking where you never actually have to talk to another live person.
Joplin is more than a dot on a map. Its residents are more than a number on a population sign. They are strong, resilient, beautiful people.
I would also like to say that out of the tornado several of my classmates have shown like the stars that they are. The Rhatigan Brothers wrote an amazing song and you can listen to it here. Erica Tremblay has made an amazing documentary and you can view the trailer here. Danny Craven and his Joplin High School students made this video. These people make me proud to say that I grew up in a little town in southwest Missouri. When I listen and watch these things, I can't help but cry. I am ashamed that it took such loss and suffering for me to feel pride in where I came from. I am proud, though.
I was born and raised in a small town in southwest Missouri. I attended school in an even smaller town about 12 miles from my house.
Because we lived in one city but attended school in another I never really identified with either. Seneca, where I attended school, was a town of less than 2,000 people. It consisted of one main street with a flashing red light, two groceries stores that were inexplicably placed almost right next to each other, a beauty shop or two, a bank, and a few restaurants that came and went.
The people who live(d) in Seneca are/were close-knit and relatively simple. I'm pretty sure people didn't lock their doors or worry about anything more criminal than the occasional speeding ticket on the road to the baseball fields.
While my mom taught in the school district, I never really felt like we fit in there. We actually lived 5 miles outside of the sprawling metropolis of Joplin. Our address was Joplin and we did most of our shopping there. But, because we didn't attend the schools in Joplin, I didn't feel like I fit in there either.
For years this didn't matter. I thought to myself, who wants to be from Joplin, Missouri? It's nothing more than a dot on the map, a stop on the interstate, a blackhole that sucks in its residents tricking them into staying and never reaching their potential or pursuing their dreams. (see I told you I'd sound like a jerk, stick around)
When I was picking out colleges I wanted to get out of Joplin and never look back. In fact, my parents wouldn't even let me consider Missouri Southern State College, the Joplin school.
I scoffed at all things Joplin as being uncultured, quaint, and too boring for my tastes. So I headed off to Springfield, met great people, got a degree, headed off to Columbia, got a doctorate, and settled down to start my family.
Over the decade that all of this took place I visited Joplin frequently and even Seneca from time to time. I kept in touch with many friends and eventually reconnected with others. All the while, when people would ask where I was from I would reluctantly offer up Joplin with the explanation that my school years were spent in Seneca.
May 22, 2011, I was enjoying a quiet evening with my husband and daughter. We had dinner, washed the kid and put her to bed around 6 something. As I always do, I grabbed my phone to check out Facebook after Claire was in bed. I started reading these posts from friends talking about some tornado that had hit Joplin. I immediately turned on the Weather Channel and called my parents to make sure they were safe.
My dad answered, yes he knew there was a tornado, no they weren't hurt. My mom was actually napping through all of it. Relieved that my family was safe I turned my attention to the broadcast.
The next few hours were like a movie. It couldn't be real life. The reporter was standing in the parking lot of the pharmacy I worked at during high school. Except there was no pharmacy. There wasn't anything, anywhere. My mind couldn't wrap itself around what I was see. It was so incredibly disturbing. The destruction was incomprehensible.
I wanted to do something, anything to help. I wanted to drive down and start dragging debris around. I was 7 months pregnant, so it wasn't really an option. So I sat, feeling helpless and so very sad for my hometown. That's right, my hometown. In an instant I felt protective of all things Joplin; the people, the places, the culture.
In the days that followed the people of Joplin showed the world, and this former resident, what they were made of. They showed what real human compassion looks like and they did it with such grace. They didn't let the storm victimize them. They stood facing down the challenge of rebuilding a city and said, when can we start?
In the times that I have traveled back to Joplin to visit my parents and friends I have many times driven down Main Street and been shocked by what I see. Before 5/22, between 26th and 20th streets you couldn't see very far to your east and west because of the buildings and beautiful mature trees. If you traveled to your east you would find neighborhoods made up of lovely ranch style-houses. If you traveled to your west you would find older homes that might resemble more of a Cape Cod style. Those are all gone now.
In their place new homes are springing up as fast as builders can build them. Families are once again celebrating milestones like graduations and birthdays.
If Joplin was a chalkboard, it was wiped clean when the tornado came through. But it couldn't erase the spirit of the people in its path.
I am proud to say I am from Joplin, Missouri. Not because I want you to ask me about the tornado, but because I want to tell you about the amazing community that I was lucky enough to be a part of for my first 18 years. The place that my family has called home for generations.
I think the tornado restored a sense of community that may have been waning in this world of email and social networking where you never actually have to talk to another live person.
Joplin is more than a dot on a map. Its residents are more than a number on a population sign. They are strong, resilient, beautiful people.
I would also like to say that out of the tornado several of my classmates have shown like the stars that they are. The Rhatigan Brothers wrote an amazing song and you can listen to it here. Erica Tremblay has made an amazing documentary and you can view the trailer here. Danny Craven and his Joplin High School students made this video. These people make me proud to say that I grew up in a little town in southwest Missouri. When I listen and watch these things, I can't help but cry. I am ashamed that it took such loss and suffering for me to feel pride in where I came from. I am proud, though.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Love Thyself
I was talking to my sister last night about raising daughters. After some reflection, I've decided to share a bit of this with you so that maybe a daughter or two won't have to go through what I put myself through.
First, let's be clear, no one did this to me. I did this to myself. I'm talking about bulimia. Oh, and a side of anorexia. I literally tortured myself for a decade. Every day I woke up hating myself. I hated what I looked like, I hated how I acted, all of it. I hated feeling bad all of the time.
See, if I wasn't binging and purging and hating myself for that, I was starving and generally angry. Every single bite that crossed my lips caused some sort of self-loathing. I hated food. I hated my body. I hated my family because they didn't understand me. I was the worst person on earth for several years.
I just wasn't a nice person. My diseases made me that way. Now, as an adult, and as a survivor of these ugly diseases, I can see what I had become. Anyone that knows me now knows I love my family more than anything. My mom and sister are my best friends. I have probably the world's best in-laws and I love them like we were related by more than vows. My father and I have a better relationship today than we have ever in my life and I'm glad of that. I can't even describe the love I feel for my husband and daughters.
It's because of this love that I will not let them do to themselves what I did.
Every day I woke up hating how I looked and to compensate I was a raging bitch. I have no idea how I had friends. My body was the grossest thing I had ever seen. There were times I wanted to claw it off of me. I envied everyone else. I envied the confidence of my friends. I envied how they would just eat lunch and not worry if they would be able to puke it all back up. I envied their relationships and their attitudes. Why did everyone else get to be in such a good mood? They had dinner parties and I was generally busy. I feared eating in front of people. What if I got all binge-y in front of people. They would see how gross I was.
My disease was contagious. I had a partner in crime during my teen years. We would skip meals together, we would skip entire days. I'm pretty sure she knew at the time what I was doing when we did let ourselves eat but I wasn't going to share my darkest secret. I feel so incredibly guilty now for dragging someone else down with me. The solace that I have comes from the knowledge that she, too, recovered from my sweeping sickness.
I destroyed the trust in my relationships. Bulimia and anorexia are such deceitful diseases. No one ever comes out and says, "yeah, I'm going to go throw this stuff up. Be right back." Every bite taken is a lie. I had a handful of serious relationships that suffered. I mean honestly, what do you do when someone you care about is slowly killing themself? I think you probably get mad, then shut down, then not care and then say hurtful things. I had a few friends that went through this cycle. I am sorry for what I put them through.
A good thing came out of all of it though. I can spot these monsters from a mile away. Claire and Zora would have a hard time sneaking them past me.
Parents, you don't have to be a recovering eating disorder sufferer to catch the signs. Do your research. Ask questions. Be present in your children's lives. I will do every thing in my power to keep my girls from going through what I went through. I want them to know that they are beautiful no matter what. I want them to know that regardless of their beauty they are more than meets the eye. I want them to find self-worth in their accomplishments, friendships, and goals. Sadly, I want them to be nothing like 17 year old me.
Thanks for letting me get these things off my chest, blogosphere. Today I can say that I love the way I look. I strive to be in better shape, but I won't apologize anymore for my size and shape. I came by these things honestly for the first time in a long time.
First, let's be clear, no one did this to me. I did this to myself. I'm talking about bulimia. Oh, and a side of anorexia. I literally tortured myself for a decade. Every day I woke up hating myself. I hated what I looked like, I hated how I acted, all of it. I hated feeling bad all of the time.
See, if I wasn't binging and purging and hating myself for that, I was starving and generally angry. Every single bite that crossed my lips caused some sort of self-loathing. I hated food. I hated my body. I hated my family because they didn't understand me. I was the worst person on earth for several years.
I just wasn't a nice person. My diseases made me that way. Now, as an adult, and as a survivor of these ugly diseases, I can see what I had become. Anyone that knows me now knows I love my family more than anything. My mom and sister are my best friends. I have probably the world's best in-laws and I love them like we were related by more than vows. My father and I have a better relationship today than we have ever in my life and I'm glad of that. I can't even describe the love I feel for my husband and daughters.
It's because of this love that I will not let them do to themselves what I did.
Every day I woke up hating how I looked and to compensate I was a raging bitch. I have no idea how I had friends. My body was the grossest thing I had ever seen. There were times I wanted to claw it off of me. I envied everyone else. I envied the confidence of my friends. I envied how they would just eat lunch and not worry if they would be able to puke it all back up. I envied their relationships and their attitudes. Why did everyone else get to be in such a good mood? They had dinner parties and I was generally busy. I feared eating in front of people. What if I got all binge-y in front of people. They would see how gross I was.
My disease was contagious. I had a partner in crime during my teen years. We would skip meals together, we would skip entire days. I'm pretty sure she knew at the time what I was doing when we did let ourselves eat but I wasn't going to share my darkest secret. I feel so incredibly guilty now for dragging someone else down with me. The solace that I have comes from the knowledge that she, too, recovered from my sweeping sickness.
I destroyed the trust in my relationships. Bulimia and anorexia are such deceitful diseases. No one ever comes out and says, "yeah, I'm going to go throw this stuff up. Be right back." Every bite taken is a lie. I had a handful of serious relationships that suffered. I mean honestly, what do you do when someone you care about is slowly killing themself? I think you probably get mad, then shut down, then not care and then say hurtful things. I had a few friends that went through this cycle. I am sorry for what I put them through.
A good thing came out of all of it though. I can spot these monsters from a mile away. Claire and Zora would have a hard time sneaking them past me.
Parents, you don't have to be a recovering eating disorder sufferer to catch the signs. Do your research. Ask questions. Be present in your children's lives. I will do every thing in my power to keep my girls from going through what I went through. I want them to know that they are beautiful no matter what. I want them to know that regardless of their beauty they are more than meets the eye. I want them to find self-worth in their accomplishments, friendships, and goals. Sadly, I want them to be nothing like 17 year old me.
Thanks for letting me get these things off my chest, blogosphere. Today I can say that I love the way I look. I strive to be in better shape, but I won't apologize anymore for my size and shape. I came by these things honestly for the first time in a long time.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Thanks Tripp and Courtney for continuing to teach me life's lessons
Okay, I'm going to break your heart for a minute or two here...
A few months ago I blogged about a wonderful little angel named Tripp Roth. He valiantly fought EB for 2 years and 8 months before finally taking his eternal rest.
I still follow his mother Courtney's blog. I have been avoiding reading it lately even though she's been understandably absent, only posting a few times since her son's passing.
Today, I took a deep breath and clicked...I'm not even sure why because I knew it was going to be sad. I knew I was going to cry my eyes out and ache for this mother and her son.
I'm so glad I did. You see, I've been having a bit of a pity party for myself lately. When we moved to Texas we had some very intensive family time. It was me, Claire and Zora all day every day. Claire spent 2 days a week at an in-home daycare in Columbia, but in Texas, we hadn't found anyone yet.
Since I work from home I technically don't need childcare, but I think Claire does. I don't stimulate her enough during the day and I have to care for Miss Baby so at times, she's not center stage and she lets you know that this does not please her.
This made me a crazy person. Claire was bored, so she was acting out. The baby is now mobile and, like her sister, a bottomless pit, so I am constantly trying to keep her full.
I couldn't take it. This myth of stay-at-home-mommyhood. I didn't feel fulfilled, I felt drained and at my wit's end. I wasn't cherishing every moment, I was counting the seconds until Rob got home and I could do something like shower or pee by myself.
Then we found our balance. Claire goes to Montessori school every day in the morning. Miss B and I spend a glorious few hours together and bond like I did with Claire when she was a baby. I feel peaceful again. I feel like a sane person.
So why do I feel like an a-hole? It's because I feel guilty not feeling gloriously fulfilled by staying home with my children. This is not my calling. I am as good of a mother as you'll find, I'm certain. (yeah, I'm tooting my own horn) But I'm not a kindergarten teacher and never wanted to be one. I want to play an active role in my children's learning and education. I want to help them learn to read and do math and become world citizens, but I don't want that responsibility to rest solely on my shoulders. It's too much. I'm not cut-out for this gig.
All of that being said, there are people in this world that put me to shame. They are strong and patient and put on this earth to do something special. Courtney Roth is one of them. She spent every moment of her son's short life caring for him. She gave up anything that resembled "her" life and lived for him. This is something I hope that if necessary, I could do. I also hope I'll never have to test that theory.
Now she is without her baby. She has to figure out how to go on without him. It makes me realize that I wouldn't trade a single tantrum or tear, any of those drops of spilled juice or cereal messes, any of those "one more story, please Mommy" moments if it were my last with my babies. They are precious to me. I take the ease of my life for granted. I sweat the small stuff. I cry over spilled milk, literally.
I don't want to anymore. I want to savor each second. I'm going to try my best to take a deep breath and enjoy my babies like they deserve to be enjoyed. They are miracles and they are my angels. Tripp Roth continues to teach me things. Wise beyond his years. Thanks Tripp and thanks Courtney for continuing to be strong and honest for those of us who are neither at times.
A few months ago I blogged about a wonderful little angel named Tripp Roth. He valiantly fought EB for 2 years and 8 months before finally taking his eternal rest.
I still follow his mother Courtney's blog. I have been avoiding reading it lately even though she's been understandably absent, only posting a few times since her son's passing.
Today, I took a deep breath and clicked...I'm not even sure why because I knew it was going to be sad. I knew I was going to cry my eyes out and ache for this mother and her son.
I'm so glad I did. You see, I've been having a bit of a pity party for myself lately. When we moved to Texas we had some very intensive family time. It was me, Claire and Zora all day every day. Claire spent 2 days a week at an in-home daycare in Columbia, but in Texas, we hadn't found anyone yet.
Since I work from home I technically don't need childcare, but I think Claire does. I don't stimulate her enough during the day and I have to care for Miss Baby so at times, she's not center stage and she lets you know that this does not please her.
This made me a crazy person. Claire was bored, so she was acting out. The baby is now mobile and, like her sister, a bottomless pit, so I am constantly trying to keep her full.
I couldn't take it. This myth of stay-at-home-mommyhood. I didn't feel fulfilled, I felt drained and at my wit's end. I wasn't cherishing every moment, I was counting the seconds until Rob got home and I could do something like shower or pee by myself.
Then we found our balance. Claire goes to Montessori school every day in the morning. Miss B and I spend a glorious few hours together and bond like I did with Claire when she was a baby. I feel peaceful again. I feel like a sane person.
So why do I feel like an a-hole? It's because I feel guilty not feeling gloriously fulfilled by staying home with my children. This is not my calling. I am as good of a mother as you'll find, I'm certain. (yeah, I'm tooting my own horn) But I'm not a kindergarten teacher and never wanted to be one. I want to play an active role in my children's learning and education. I want to help them learn to read and do math and become world citizens, but I don't want that responsibility to rest solely on my shoulders. It's too much. I'm not cut-out for this gig.
All of that being said, there are people in this world that put me to shame. They are strong and patient and put on this earth to do something special. Courtney Roth is one of them. She spent every moment of her son's short life caring for him. She gave up anything that resembled "her" life and lived for him. This is something I hope that if necessary, I could do. I also hope I'll never have to test that theory.
Now she is without her baby. She has to figure out how to go on without him. It makes me realize that I wouldn't trade a single tantrum or tear, any of those drops of spilled juice or cereal messes, any of those "one more story, please Mommy" moments if it were my last with my babies. They are precious to me. I take the ease of my life for granted. I sweat the small stuff. I cry over spilled milk, literally.
I don't want to anymore. I want to savor each second. I'm going to try my best to take a deep breath and enjoy my babies like they deserve to be enjoyed. They are miracles and they are my angels. Tripp Roth continues to teach me things. Wise beyond his years. Thanks Tripp and thanks Courtney for continuing to be strong and honest for those of us who are neither at times.
Monday, April 30, 2012
It Looks Like a Stripper Threw Up in Here
I've been threatening to write this post for awhile. I've decided to just jump in with both feet and share my honest opinion(like you ever had any doubt).
Kids' rooms. What.the.hell? I remember the days of Strawberry Shortcake and Carebears and when Barbie was more of a plastic doll and less of a slut.
Let's start with a very special word with which everyone should familiarize themselves: appropriate. In short it means "suitable or proper in the circumstances." I like "proper" because it makes me think all Sense and Sensibility or Queen Elizabeth or something.
When I think proper for a baby girl's room or a toddler girl's room I think pretty colors (not necessarily pink or even pastel), educational and stimulating toys, lots of books, and soft things upon which to lie/sit/drool.
This is not the present trend though, as far as I can tell.*Disclaimer: I am basing all of this on what I see on Facebook and Pinterest...oh, and maybe Housewives of Somewhere-or-another.*
Now that we are all familiar with the word "appropriate" let's lay down some basic rules/review some tips for decorating your children's rooms so that you won't be bailing your daughter out of jail/pulling her down off a stage (eh-hem, the kind with a pole) anytime soon.
1. Animal prints should be used in moderation. Okay, so I love a good zebra print or even a giraffe from time to time (synthetic of course, get off my back PETA). However, you don't want it to look like a full-on African safari in there. I mean, hey, what's more cuddly than a bunch of skinned animals, but let's save those for birthday parties and t-ball games, k?
Sidenote: I have to mention that I have a good friend whose daughter, 9, has one of the loveliest uses of zebra print in her bedroom. So props to you, AH, for knowing how to not go overboard when decorating and for raising a delightful, classy little girl.
2. Feathers are actually kind of icky if you think about it. Seriously, whenever I see feathers being used on wedding cakes, centerpieces, etc I always get icked out. That was stuck in a bird, you know. Would you want me to pull out several handfuls of my hair for you to use as decorations? No? It's kind of the same thing except that I wash my hair more frequently than most people wash their birds. I hope.
How does this apply to baby rooms? People are constantly covering things in marabou. Marabou is a stork that apparently has some of the loveliest, fluffiest feathers somewhere on its storky body. So, I guess it's kind of appropriate if you believe children are delivered via bird. Otherwise, take that dust-catching, tacky frame off your baby's changing table and hit yourself in the head with it. Now you have some sense.
3. Google stripper clothes. Do the colors that you see on any of these website match the colors or prints in your child's bedroom? If yes, you have chosen poorly, so go back to Lowe's and pick out something more suitable for a baby girl to look at every time she awakens from her precious baby slumber. Do not, in the alternative, assume that stripper clothes have gotten classier. They have not.
4. If when you step into the room you can see more than four be-dazzled items you have gone overboard. Frankly, I think more than one be-dazzled item for a baby's room is too much, but that's just me. You know that sparkly things look delicious to babies and they come off pretty easily. Choking hazard!
5. Does any of the furniture look like it belongs in the lounge of a swanky hotel or seedy gentlemen's club? Remove said item immediately and get something your kid won't either slide off of or stick to. Gross. What is wrong with you?
6. If you have committed anywhere from 2 to 5 of the previously enumerated errors, just go ahead and buy a pole for your child's bedroom because you may be raising a stripper.
Nothing against strippers, I hear it's good money. But I don't want my babies rolling around in glitter and wearing clear light-up shoes any time soon.
Well, the Devil takes many forms, they say. Mickey Mouse is one of them. Claire has recently become quite addicted to the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. She sings along with the songs and dances. It's cute, I guess. At least it's not Caillou.
Kids' rooms. What.the.hell? I remember the days of Strawberry Shortcake and Carebears and when Barbie was more of a plastic doll and less of a slut.
Let's start with a very special word with which everyone should familiarize themselves: appropriate. In short it means "suitable or proper in the circumstances." I like "proper" because it makes me think all Sense and Sensibility or Queen Elizabeth or something.
When I think proper for a baby girl's room or a toddler girl's room I think pretty colors (not necessarily pink or even pastel), educational and stimulating toys, lots of books, and soft things upon which to lie/sit/drool.
This is not the present trend though, as far as I can tell.*Disclaimer: I am basing all of this on what I see on Facebook and Pinterest...oh, and maybe Housewives of Somewhere-or-another.*
Now that we are all familiar with the word "appropriate" let's lay down some basic rules/review some tips for decorating your children's rooms so that you won't be bailing your daughter out of jail/pulling her down off a stage (eh-hem, the kind with a pole) anytime soon.
1. Animal prints should be used in moderation. Okay, so I love a good zebra print or even a giraffe from time to time (synthetic of course, get off my back PETA). However, you don't want it to look like a full-on African safari in there. I mean, hey, what's more cuddly than a bunch of skinned animals, but let's save those for birthday parties and t-ball games, k?
Sidenote: I have to mention that I have a good friend whose daughter, 9, has one of the loveliest uses of zebra print in her bedroom. So props to you, AH, for knowing how to not go overboard when decorating and for raising a delightful, classy little girl.
2. Feathers are actually kind of icky if you think about it. Seriously, whenever I see feathers being used on wedding cakes, centerpieces, etc I always get icked out. That was stuck in a bird, you know. Would you want me to pull out several handfuls of my hair for you to use as decorations? No? It's kind of the same thing except that I wash my hair more frequently than most people wash their birds. I hope.
How does this apply to baby rooms? People are constantly covering things in marabou. Marabou is a stork that apparently has some of the loveliest, fluffiest feathers somewhere on its storky body. So, I guess it's kind of appropriate if you believe children are delivered via bird. Otherwise, take that dust-catching, tacky frame off your baby's changing table and hit yourself in the head with it. Now you have some sense.
3. Google stripper clothes. Do the colors that you see on any of these website match the colors or prints in your child's bedroom? If yes, you have chosen poorly, so go back to Lowe's and pick out something more suitable for a baby girl to look at every time she awakens from her precious baby slumber. Do not, in the alternative, assume that stripper clothes have gotten classier. They have not.
4. If when you step into the room you can see more than four be-dazzled items you have gone overboard. Frankly, I think more than one be-dazzled item for a baby's room is too much, but that's just me. You know that sparkly things look delicious to babies and they come off pretty easily. Choking hazard!
5. Does any of the furniture look like it belongs in the lounge of a swanky hotel or seedy gentlemen's club? Remove said item immediately and get something your kid won't either slide off of or stick to. Gross. What is wrong with you?
6. If you have committed anywhere from 2 to 5 of the previously enumerated errors, just go ahead and buy a pole for your child's bedroom because you may be raising a stripper.
Nothing against strippers, I hear it's good money. But I don't want my babies rolling around in glitter and wearing clear light-up shoes any time soon.
Well, the Devil takes many forms, they say. Mickey Mouse is one of them. Claire has recently become quite addicted to the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. She sings along with the songs and dances. It's cute, I guess. At least it's not Caillou.
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