National Guard Youth Challenge - Round 2

Sorry I haven't been around as much as I'd planned when this year started. I've spent the last couple of weeks scrambling to get MG ready to go back into the NGYC Program. We took her to West Texas on Saturday.

Strange how I was so anxious for her to be gone and now that she's not here I spent a good deal of my day thinking about her and wondering if she's OK.

That's what we moms do, isn't it. This moving them toward the edge of the nest is challenging.

Right now I'm tired physically, mentally, and emotionally. But at the same time I'm amazing exhilarated with the thought of the steps I can take to improve myself while she is off improving herself. The next 6 months should be interesting. I'm glad I have y'all along for the ride.

Hugs and TTFN for now.

WHEN YOU THOUGHT I WASN'T LOOKING

A message every adult should read because children


are watching you and doing as you do, not as you say.



When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you hang my

first painting on the refrigerator, and I immediately

wanted to paint another one.



When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you feed a

stray cat, and I learned that it was good to be kind

to animals.



When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you make my

favorite cake for me, and I learned that the little

things can be the special things in life.



When you thought I wasn't looking I heard you say a

prayer, and I knew that there is a God I could always

talk to, and I learned to trust in Him.



When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you make a

meal and take it to a friend who was sick, and I

learned that we all have to help take care of each other.



When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you take care

of our house and everyone in it, and I learned we have

to take care of what we are given.



When you thought I wasn't looking I saw how you

handled your responsibilities, even when you didn't

feel good, and I learned that I would have to be

responsible when I grow up.



When you thought I wasn't looking I saw tears come

from your eyes, and I learned that sometimes things

hurt, but it's all right to cry.



When you thought I wasn't looking I saw that you

cared, and I wanted to be everything that I could be.



When you thought I wasn't looking I learned most of

life's lessons that I need to know to be a good and

productive person when I grow up..



When you thought I wasn't looking I looked at you and

wanted to say, 'Thanks for all the things I saw when

you thought I wasn't looking.'

I AM SENDING THIS TO ALL OF THE PEOPLE I KNOW

WHO DO SO MUCH FOR OTHERS,

BUT THINK THAT NO ONE EVER SEES.

LITTLE EYES SEE A LOT .



Each of us (parent, grandparent, aunt, uncle, teacher, friend)

influences the life of a child.

How will you touch the life of someone today? Just by

sending this to someone else, you will probably make

them at least think about their influence on others.

Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply.

Speak kindly.

Leave the rest to God.
 
 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 
Grandma Margie emailed this to me a long time ago. I thought today would be a great day to share it. I have not idea who wrote it or where the email originated. If you do PLEASE let me know so that I can give proper credit.
 
 
Peace, Blessings and Remember that little pitchers have big ears.
 

How far or how long...

The drive out to West Texas was pretty uneventful. We won't go into the drama at the hotel. Suffice it to say that nobody got much sleep.

The NGYCP-Texas Youth Challenge facility is a school turned TYC turned military-style youth rescue compound. Amazingly, I didn't get any pictues of it! DUH! I'll be sure to do better in January when we drop her off for the start of the program. I did get some of the scenery along the way, though.  It's really a whole bunch of nothing but scrub brush and distant hills with roads cut through it all -- including the hills! LOL!

After the orientation session we dropped My Girl off in San Antonio. She was very obviously glad go see me go, but what bothers me more is that I was glad to be gone. And what hurts my heart the most is that despite my best efforts I don't know how to reach her. I don't know how to help her grow out of the childish, imature, grossly age-inappropriate behaviors that will be so life limiting for her.

I guess I could just quit trying. I guess I could let her continue on the path she's chosen and assume that eventually she will grow out of it. But that would require that she find somewhere else to live because I can't watch her do it to herself. Oh, wait. That's what she's done. So why am I agonizing over it?   One good reason: I'm afraid of losing her.  I'm afraid of failing her. I'm afraid of pushing her too far away and of holding her too close.

My fears don't really matter much, though, because no matter what I do she pushes me away. No matter how hard I try, what test I pass, what hurdles I jump, there are more trials, more tests, more reminders that I'm not her real mother; that her real family are the people who refused to give her a home and unconditional love and support when she needed it most. Then my hurt turns to resentment which turns to sniping. It's a vicious cycle that is slowly killing our relationship. So, now I have no choice but to walk away for a while. Maybe the separation will do us both good.  I'm not going far. She can get to me when she's ready. I'm going to leave it up to her to decide how long or, like Martina McBride sings so beautifully, How Far...

Peace, Blessings, and Parental Wisdom to all.

Just because it's for the best...

...doesn't mean it won't hurt.

My Girl has been accepted back into the National Guard Youth Challenge Program. We will be leaving tomorrow to take her to West Texas for orientation. Then we will be dropping her off in San Antonio to stay with her other family until January when the program officially starts.

She and I have somehow lost our ability to be in the room without sniping - or worse - over the last couple of months. We are both to blame, we both hate it, yet neither of us has a clue where to start to fix it.  The best solution for now is for her to be elsewhere.

While I won't miss the daily cat fights, I will miss the beautiful heart that shines through now and then. I will miss the rare moments of light-hearted companionship. Even few and far between is better than nothing at all.

Truth be told, right now I feel pretty much like a failure in the Mom department. Why can't I just ignore her continual passive-aggressiveness? Why can't I find a way to teach her how to stop it?

I know that this is just part of the process she needs to go through to get to where she needs to be in life. I just wish it didn't hurt so much -- this struggle to accept that things didn't turn out the way I thought they would when we adopted her.

One day, with the grace of God, she will be grown and independent, and we will be able to look back and laugh. For now,

Peace, Blessings, and Pass the tissue box, please.

Teach the Children Well & Honor those who do.

The other day I was standing in line at the grocery store behind a couple of moms with school-age kids in tow. They were complaining, in front of the kids, about the supplies they were having to buy for an upcoming class project.

Mom 1: I don't know what she thinks they're going to learn from such a stupid project.
Mom 2: I know It is so totally lame! You know we are going to end up doing them just to get it done.
Both: HA HA HA HA

Mom 2: The thing that bothers me the most is why WE have to buy the junk to make it. Doesn't the school have a budget for that?
Mom 1: Well even if they don't the teachers get paid enough that they should have to buy the stuff to do it. If nothing else that would cut down on the number of stupid projects they want to do each year.
Both: HA HA HA HA HA!

The whole time the kids, who looked to be about 5th graders, were listening intently to every word. I wonder how long it will be before those two moms are getting notes home about their Little Johnnies acting out in class and disrespecting the teacher? And I wonder who the two mombos (my new name for bimbo moms) will blame it on?

I wanted so desperately to say something, but I knew that whatever I said at that moment would sound something like: "You stupid dumbass b****s! What the hell do you think you're doing undermining your child's education?? Grow the F up you mombo!" which would only have resulted in the total loss of my point. Instead, I opted to (uncharacteristically) bite my tongue and drag out this email from Grandmamargie that I've been saving for a while....

TEACHERS' SALARIES
Teachers' hefty salaries are driving up taxes, and they only work 9 or 10 months a year! It's time we put things in perspective and pay them for what they do--baby sit!
We can get that for less than minimum wage.

That's right. Let's give them $3 per hour and only the hours they worked, not
any of that silly planning time. That would be $24 a day (7:00 AM to 3:30 (or
so) PM with just 25 min. off for lunch). Each parent should pay $24 a day for
these teachers to baby-sit their children.
NOW...How many do they teach in a class, 30? So that's $24 x 30 =$720.00 a day.
However, remember they only work 180 days a year!!! We're not going to pay them for any vacations.
LET'S SEE....That's $720 x 180 = $ 129,600 per year.
What about those special teachers and the ones with master's degrees? Well, we could pay them closer to minimum wage. Just to be fair we'll go $7.00 an hour. That would be $7 x 8 hours x 30 children x 180 days = $302,400 per year.
Wait a minute! There' s something wrong here! Average teacher salary $50,000/180 days = $277/per day/30 students =$9.23/8 hours = $1.16 per hour per student.
A very inexpensive baby-sitter and they even try - with or without your help - to EDUCATE your kids!
WHAT A DEAL....And you don't even have to buy them pizza!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Make a teacher smile; show this to someone else who appreciates teachers...

Or someone who SHOULD!

Peace, Blessings & Thank God for those who teach.

Sex Ed: Part II - What Parents Should Know

HOWDY!! Sorry it's taken so long to get back to this. Life on my particular roller coaster gets me down sometimes and, as I told Margie, sometimes it's better just to not spread the misery. Plus, when I'm all grumpy and frustrated, everything comes out negative and that is never what I want this place to be. Thought provoking, insightful, entertaining, funny, and lots of other things, but never intentionally and/or uncomfortably negative! Anywhom, on with the show...

The overwhelming question I get when counseling families and in the comments here is basically this: How do I keep my kid from ruining his/her life by having premarital sex?

I wish there were some easy answers to that question, but since there aren't, I'll tell you what I have seen work and what I've seen fail miserably.

The first thing parents have to realize is that when it comes to keeping teenagers from doing whatEVER they are going to do, GIVE UP STRESSING OVER IT. You cannot keep your kid from doing stupid if said kid decides that stupidity is more fun and rewarding than any resulting consequences. Our parents couldn't stop us. Their parents couldn't stop them. And so on, and so on, all the way back to Adam and Eve. Does this sound at all familiar:


God the Parent


After creating heaven and earth, God created Adam and Eve. And the first thing He said to them was:

"Don't."

"Don't what?" Adam asked.

"Don't eat the Forbidden Fruit." God replied.

"Forbidden fruit? We got Forbidden Fruit?

"Hey, Eve..we got Forbidden Fruit!"

"No way! Where?"

"Don't eat that fruit!" said God.

"Why?"

"Because I am your Creator and I said so!" said God, wondering why he hadn't stopped after making the elephants.



A few minutes later God saw the kids having an apple break and was angry.



"Didn't I tell you not to eat that fruit?" the 'First Parent' asked.

"Uh huh," Adam replied.

"Then why did you?"

"I dunno," Eve answered.

"She started it!" Adam said.

"Did not!"

"DID so!"

"DID NOT!"



Having had it with the two of them, God's punishment was that Adam and Eve should have children of their own...thus the pattern was set, and it has never changed.

~~~~~

I've often wondered if our Creator is still kicking himself for including that 'free will' clause when he was doing the R&D on molding man into existence. Even He has to be surprised at just how far that little piece of celestial legislation has allowed man to go. In light of how His whole human race thing developed, can we, as parents of brain-deficient teenagers expect to have any more control of our progeny? (Go watch that video; it is very enlightening. Go ahead - I'm not going anywhere until you get back.)

Welcome back. You should now feel much better about your relationship with your teenager since you know that part of his (or her) behavior is hard-unwired at this point in his development. See what I mean about not stressing over it so much? To me, stress is just failure in action. If we have succeeded in fixing a problem, we don't stress over it, do we? (Now I'm sitting here trying to figure out if I'm the kettle or the pot in this stress mess!) So how about if we take a look at some things that we CAN do to try and steer our kids down a safe(r) path in life.

There are the obvious things like setting a good example in your home and in your relationships with those outside your home. Kindness, consideration, patience, and consistency are all important. More important is letting your kids see you being human the right way. That means that if you screw up, you acknowledge it and apologize for it. AND FIX IT if at all possible. They have to know that you aren't going to come down on them for screwing up as long as they handle it correctly. They have to know that above all else, you love them and will fight to the death for their future success. And for those of you who are patting yourselves on the back for sticking up for your kid, right or wrong, STOP IT! That kind of thinking gets them into more trouble than holding them accountable for wrongs and rewarding only the things they do right.

How does that have anything to do with Sex Ed? Think about it: if Mary can't come tell you that she broke a dish or felt like hitting some smart-mouthed beyoch today, what makes you think that she's gonna tell you that she's thinking about sleeping with some knuckle-dragger?

Another thing that seems to work well is to take the mystery and misery (and a little of the excited anticipation) out of sexual issues by talking very plainly, clinically, and age-appropriately about them. Forbidden fruit is always more attractive than the mundane bowl of goodies within arms reach. If a question is asked, do your best to answer ONLY what was asked. Too much information will make the kid afraid to ask more questions. Too little will leave her wondering what you are hiding. They are smart that way. Dang it!

And for pity sake DO NOT overreact when Freddie comes home at age 5 and asks you why his wee wee (he should be calling it a penis at this age, by the way!) isn't as big as Billy's. Or why his best friend, Annie, doesn't have one at all. Know that kids have been playing doctor ever since Adam and Eve first examined each other after their apple snack. How you react to their first forays into that venue will determine how much you know about their travels in the future. For all the things the little darlings can't remember from moment to moment, they will remember that first reaction for the rest of their lives if you bumble it.

So, the bottom line to all of this is that sex ed doesn't begin when your child enters puberty. I starts when they enter the world. Making them feel safe, loved, secure, and valued is the best defense you can give them against having some insecure over-sexed ball of hormones make them feel safe, loved, secure, and valued if only for the one moment it takes to rush head first over a cliff that will leave their souls and bodies bruised and battered for the rest of their lives.

And if the worst does happen, take a deep breath, say a prayer, and hug your kid. He needs you now more than he will ever know until he has kids of his own and is trying to figure out how to keep them from going where he went. It's the circle of life, folks. We all survived it. So will they.

Peace, Blessings, and The RIGHT Kind of Love to all.

Damama's Use it or Lose it Advice on: Sex Ed

PARENTAL WARNING! THE ATTACHED FILMSTRIP WILL RAISE QUESTIONS YOU MAY NOT BE READY TO ANSWER WITH YOUR KIDS YET. DO NOT WATCH WITH THEM PRESENT.

Today the local talk radio people were all going on about the fact that apparently Texas is winning the race to have the most pregnant teens in the country. I didn't hear the whole story on whatever it was that sparked all the chatter, but I was quite amused and extremely appalled at some of the comments made by the parents who called in. The one that bothered me the most was a man who said his daughter knew that if she ever showed up pregnant he'd disown her. Literally. No joke. Makes me wonder what other all or nothing conditions he puts on his love. What a way for his children to live.

I was most greatly amused by the people who truly believe that simply having their kids' butts in the church pew every time the doors are open will keep them from engaging in premarital relations. Oh don't we all wish it was that easy!?! This reminded me of my very precocious devout days as a youth member of one particular local Baptist church...

Betsy*, Tom*, Bill*, and I met when we were all chosen to be members of one of the first Christian youth rock bands in Texas. You have to remember that in the 70s the idea of having drums and guitars in church was a pretty radical concept -- especially so in our small-town, staunch Southern Baptist church! Our progressive Youth Leader, however, was a visionary and talked Reverend NutJob into allowing him to give it a try in an effort to get more kids interested in coming to church. We were actually pretty good and soon began receiving invitations to perform at other churches in the area. We were even invited to perform at a church in Dallas which meant an overnight trip. And that was the beginning of the end of our musical careers.

As you can imagine, since we spent so much time together we inevitably formed very close bonds and eventually paired off: Betsy and Tom; Bill and me. (The rest of the band members were all really weird guys, several of whom actually went on to professional music careers!) The only problem was that Betsy was Rev NJ's only daughter. Rev NJ was very protective of his flock. He was OBSESSIVELY protective of Betsy who was forbidden to date until she was at least 18. Her 15-year-old hormones had other plans, though, so we spent a good deal of time figuing out ways to get around the no-dating rule. We would have been in good shape if it hadn't been for that dang Dallas trip. The trip on which Miss Betsy lost her virginity. And her freaking mind!

Before the Dallas trip Betsy and Tom had been able to keep their relationship under wraps. They sat together during services, but always with a respectable distance between them; only holding pinkies with their hands down on the hardwood pew safely out of Daddy's sight. Afterward, they were like two lovesick octopuses: all arms and suckers. You couldn't slide a piece of paper between them with a battering ram! Their new postures did not go unnoticed by the Rev. (or anybody else with half an eyeball in their head!)

Always willing to give his baby girl the benefit of the doubt, he accepted her assurances that they were only friends. He did, however, warn her that fornication is a sin that would cause her to burn in hell with evilist of evil-doers. The warnings fell on deaf ears, because poor Betsy, though she tried as hard as she could, any time Tom was within reach she couldn't help but latch on and melt all over him. As the strong spritual leader he was, her father began to find clever ways of working morality messages into every sermon.

... "And the Lord gave us the trees and the flowers. He gave us the beasts of the field, the birds of the skies, and the bees of the garden. And it was all beautiful until we ruined it with

FORRRRRNIIIICATION!"

Didn't matter what the topic was, that man could figure out how to segway into FORRRNIIIICATION. After a while we realized that his segways always coincided with Tom touching Betsy and a whole new game was born: How many times can we get Rev NJ to scream FORRRNIIIICATION during the sermon. If memory serves me right, the record was 8.

Within 3 months of the Dallas trip our little group was disbanded (ha! punny!). Betsy was sent to a "private boarding school" where it was rumored that her healthy baby boy was adopted by a wealthy family from somewhere up in North Texas. The whole experience turned me totally off of church. It would be years before I would agree to try it again.

From all of that I learned that first and foremost, as a parent you cannot stick your head in the sand about what your kids can and will do if they decide they want to. You cannot make arbitrary, unbendable rules and expect your child to just follow them without question. You have to be open to hearing things you might not want to know; doing things you might not want to do. But above all, you have to keep your sense of humor. We all survived our teenage years. Our kids will, too.


I ran across this Sex Education film strip. Too bad Reverend Nut Job's not still around. Think of all the great sermon fodder he'd have to use to warn us all about the evils of FORRRRRNIIIICATION!"

Teen driving revolutionized by Ford! (???)

My Girl has finished her driver education course, but is really balking at taking the test to get her learner's permit. It is the strangest thing I've ever seen in a kid! To give her some credit, she and The Boyfriend were T-boned a couple of months ago, which scared her pretty bad. Thank God that's all it did! In a weird way, I'm sort of glad she's in no hurry. I'm not sure I'm ready to unleash her on the motoring public just yet!

Oh, what's that? I forgot to tell you there was a Boyfriend? Ummm.. sorry... Well, there is. And he's 22. And he's one of the best things that has ever happened to her so pick your jaw up off the ground and get over the fact that I am, indeed, allowing my 17-year-old daughter date a 22-year-old college senior. You'd just have to see them together to know how good they are for each other. Besides, that's not what this post is about. Yes, I promise more details in the near future, but for now, on with why I brought up this whole driving/wrecking thing to begin with...

It seems that Ford Motor Company thinks it has come up with the solution all parents have been clamoring for since the first time the first teenager put pedal to metal. They have devised a feature that will let parents set limits for teens. AN 80 MILE AN HOUR LIMIT! Go ahead, pop over there and read the article and then come back. It is short, but fascinating! (Note: if you right-click and select "Open in a new window" you won't lose this post to go read the article. And you know who you are that needs that advice to keep you from accidentally closing the windows and having to log back in because you are afraid to have the computer remember you for fear that someone might hack your computer and hijack your passwords.)

Welcome back!

Ok, so they've got a pretty valid reason for setting the upper limit at 80. I can see where once in a while one might have to accelerate up to 80 to get out of the way of a wreck. IF ONE WAS ALREADY GOING 70+ BEFORE THE INCIDENT HAPPENED!!! And they said that "Just lopping it off at exactly 70 mph was felt to be too limiting." TOO LIMITING???? I THOUGHT THAT LIMITING THEIR SPEED WAS THE WHOLE POINT?!?!?!?! GRRRRR! As far as I'm concerned, 60 is plenty fast enough for the first six months they are on the road alone. There are plenty of surface roads to get from here to anywhere without having to ever get on a freeway.

They go on to say that they are going to make "...use of technology, and through the magic of software, we're able to build features on top of the features we already have." COOL IDEA! Love that anti-theft thing, but how about asking mothers what that new build should look like. As a matter of fact, I won't wait for them to ask. Instead, I am sending the following suggestions in an email to their Public Affairs Department.

According to the article, "In addition to speed limits, MyKey also will limit the volume of the audio system, and it will sound a six-second chime every minute if seat belts are not fastened. The chime sounds for adult drivers, too, but ends after five minutes to avoid annoying adults who adamantly don't want to wear seat belts." (aka IDIOTS)

Really?? You can do all that with a smart key? WHOA NELLY! Then how about programming that sucker to:

-- Allow PARENTS to set the max speed for their child based on when and where they will be driving using a formula of maximum SAFE speed plus 10. (With a maximum of 65 for emergencies only.)

-- Send parents a text message EVERY TIME the speedometer climbs past the maximum safe speed. Better yet, include their GPS location in the message. Might as well know where they were breaking the rules while we are at it!

-- Allow NO radio or sound system of any kind if they go over their parentally-determined speed limit. Yep, that's right -- JUST CUT IT COMPLETELY OFF!

If keys can be smart, then why not seat belts?

-- Come up with weight/size based seat belt alarms. If the weight in the seat is X then it's going to take a minimum of Y amount of belt yardage to surround it. Just buckling it and putting it behind you would trigger the shutdown of the sound system until all seat belts were properly fastened around all those chubby little tummies. And speaking of 'all those' ...

-- How about some butt alarms that count how many kids are in the car. I know here in Texas young drivers are limited on the number of passengers they are allowed to carry. Why not send mom a text message when the butt count exceeds that limit? AND CUT OUT THE RADIO until the butt count is corrected.

And if the keys, belts, and seats can be smart, why not the antennae?

-- Let's go ahead and rig the car so that cell phones don't work from inside it as long as the engine is running. And for safety's sake and Mom's peace of mind, why not add a communication system (including a phone cam!)that can only call three or four parentally programmed numbers: 911, Mom, Dad, and one alternate. How else are you gonna keep them off the phones?

So what I am proposing is what I call:

DAMAMA’S TOTAL MUSICAL SOLUTION

-- If the speed isn't immediately reduced or the infraction isn't corrected, within 30 seconds, automatically kill the car’s audio system and activate external speakers that blare nursery rhymes like I'm a Little Teapot, It's a Small World, and If you're Happy and You Know It. Or how about some Okie From Muskogee? Better yet, how about THIS. heh heh heh!! How quickly do you think that car could decelerate to 60 or under?? How fast do you think that seatbelt would click or somebody's butt would be booted out the door? Probably not nearly fast enough for the totally humiliated kid in the driver's seat! Definitely not fast enough to keep us parents from going prematurely gray.

It takes 8,460 bolts to assemble an automobile, and one nut to scatter it all over the road. ~Author Unknown

The elderly don't drive that badly; they're just the only ones with time to do the speed limit. ~Jason Love

May all of our children live to be old and slow. Like they think we are.

Important Notice from the DTD

Contagious Neck Rash Identified by Dumbbutt Teenagers Department (DTD)

(Illustration only - not an actual picture of this particular outbreak)



Houston, Texas (September 9, 2008) - Damama T, Zookeeper and Warden President and Founder of the DTD, today issued a health alert to the parents of all teens. The DTD has uncovered a potential health threat to teens as evidenced by a recent and unexplained outbreak of Purple Neck Rash syndrome in the home offices of the DTD. The malady seems to primarily effect females between the ages of 17 and 18 and usually appears after bouts of exertion such as going out on a date. While males may also be effected, the DTD has not yet seen any first-hand cases.

In an effort to stem the spread of this unsightly and often painful disease, Damama T has issued official warnings to the male most recently in contact with the DTD's resident disease carrier citing the need to refrain from applying any oral pressure to the effected area thus causing further spread of the rash. Doing so could potentially result in the parent's need to take whatever steps are necessary to contain this outbreak, up to and including indefinite quarantine of the afflicted teen.

Any parent observing Purple Neck Rash syndrome should use extreme caution when examining the discoloration as the teen carrier may exhibit signs of excessive agitation. Continued attempts at examination may incite the patient to bellow that the examiner is "out of your flipping mind and too stupid to know what you are looking at! IT IS JUST A RASH!" Additionally, upon learning that the DTD intends to notify the boyfriend other potential victims of the appearance of the rash, the teen may lose total control and resolve into a fit of the hysterical screaming mimis. Parents should not take this behavior personally as it is a normal part of the progression of the disease.

The discoloration will resolve on its own within one to two weeks, usually leaving no permanent scarring, but this does not mean that the patient has acquired an immunity to the disease. Reappearance of PNR is not uncommon as teens tend to regularly cross-contaminate each other. However, with any luck the fear of future extended quarantines may provide enough behavior modification to reduce the number of outbreaks.

For additional information on why teens do what they do, the DTD highly recommends that parents read: Teenage Brain Development. This scientific article has played a huge role in the reduction in the number of murderous thoughts experienced by the staff of the DTD. Hopefully it will help others, too. (For real.. no joke. Go read it!)

Adolescence is perhaps nature's way of preparing parents to welcome the empty nest. ~Karen Savage and Patricia Adams, The Good Stepmother

Why don't they make a pill for THAT??

They seem to have developed pills to modify just about every nuance of the human condition. Too angry? Too sad? Too happy? Gotcha covered. Tired? Hyper? Apathetic? Piece of cake! Anxious? Confused? Fearful? Easy peasy! Have a pain in your head? Your back? Your foot? Your pinkie? Take two and call me in the morning. But what about that most dread malady: PAIN IN THE BUTT PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVELY DEFIANT TEENAGER.

Come on, you recognize this. It's typically characterized by the repeated phrase, "Yes, Ma'am." followed by the total disregarding of whatever the request happens to be. Conversations with afflicted teens go something like this:

Mom - Girl, please remember to turn off your lights, TV, radio, fans, and lamps (all of which are on virtually all. the. time. if she's in the room) when you leave the house.

Girl - "Yes, Ma'am."

Mom - Please don't leave your dishes on whatever surface you are nearest when you finish eating. (Think couch, almost finished cereal, and two dogs. Not a pleasant thing to awaken to in the morning.)

Girl - "Yes, Ma'am."

Mom - Please ...

Girl - "Yes, Ma'am."

..."Yes, Ma'am."

..."Yes, Ma'am."

Does this sound familiar to you? On the surface they sound like the kindest, sweetest, most compliant and cooperative creatures ever to walk God's green earth. Upon closer inspection, though, every day you find the lights still on, the dishes still wherever, the clothes still on the bathroom floor, the whatever still being done or not done day after day after day after FRIGGIN DAY!!! And all of it accompanied by a sweet, polite, smiling, "Yes, Ma'am." I, personally, am to the point that if I hear that syrupy sing-song "Yes, Ma'am." one more time, SOMEBODY'S HAIR IS COMING OUT! What does it take to get them to put feet on that damnable response??

One would think that pharmaceutical companies would have JUMPED on this by now! After all, it is an ailment that, in one of its many and varied forms, effects every parent on the planet. It even has its own definition in the Medline Plus Medical Encyclopedia. Go ahead. Click over there and read it. I'll wait.....

.....



So what'd ya think? Did you notice that line about "A person with this disorder may appear to comply with another's wishes and may even demonstrate enthusiasm for them. However, the requested action is either performed too late to be helpful, performed in a way that is useless, or is otherwise sabotaged (why didn't they add IGNORED here???) to express anger that cannot be expressed verbally."? Sounds familiar, huh!?!?

And anger that cannot be expressed verbally? Really? I'd actually rather be told that she didn't want to do whatever, and why, so that we could discuss possible alternate solutions before I have threatened to take her phone away for noncompliance. I'm not TOTALLY unreasonable. There have been a few times that I've been convinced to change my mind. Maybe then there wouldn't be any anger that needed expressing!?!?!?!

Did you notice the "Treatment" section? Therapy. Yep, it says, "Counseling may be of value in helping the person identify and change the behavior." May be of value?? MAY??? MAY???? Try, NOT!! Been there and done that so many times that the damn t-shirt is now ripped to tattered shreds and is being used to firmly secure my wrists to my waist so I don't beat her to a bloody pulp!

So now, with no hope of a better life through chemistry (Thanks, Cousin Howard! That's such an accurate phrase!), I'm forced to come up with my own treatments for this disorder. Here's a list of possiblities:

1. Boot in the Butt (BIB) - Apply pointy tip of right cowboy boot to posterior region of afflicted youth. This may provide only temporary relief for the patient, but will provide immeasurable pleasure to the caregiver. Note: having a criminal defense attorney on retainer might expedite the caregiver's release from post-treatment incarceration, but a cost/benefit analysis shows that it would damn near be so worth it as to be cheap at twice the price! (No, I wouldn't really do this but there are sure days when it's fun to daydream about!! LOL!)

2. Buy out - Offer to pay for compliance. Note: Ensure that compliance has been achieved BEFORE tendering any cash. Prepayment will only result in the drastically increased necessity for additional BIB treatments.

3. Ostrich-ization - This was the counselor's advice. Ignore it, it'll go away. Quit asking. Quit worrying. Quit caring so much! Way more easily said than done!

4. Treatment in Kind (TIK) - Start responding to their requests with, "Yes, Dear" and then promptly do something else. This will provide a great way for you to stretch those creative thinking muscles that have been long deadened by the tediousness of day-to-day life with PIBPAD teen.

5. Prayer - for patience. for peace. And a time warp that rapidly moves us to the day when THEY have their own teens and we can sit back and LAUGH OUR OLD, KNOWING BUTTS OFF!

Dear Mommy,

I am writing to tell you how adorable your children are. When you all came into the restaurant I was afraid you might be one of those quiet, reserved families that add absolutely no entertainment value to a room. I'm so glad you proved me wrong. I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised given the fact that you had 5 kids under the age of 10.

Because each of your younguns put on his or her own special performance, please allow me to praise them individually.

First, how clever of you to dress the baby in nothing but a diaper. It can be so hot in crowded public places. Wouldn't want him (or her - forgive me, it's kind of hard to tell the gender of a 3- to 6-month-old with no clothing clues) to get over heated and start REALLY crying.

Next, I bet your 2/3-YO is going to be a reporter! The way she kept announcing everything that was going on was amazing. I was particularly impressed by her identification of one particularly foul odor as a dirty diaper. How observant of her to notice, and loudly point out, that she knew what it was because the "sh#*" was "running down his da#! leg." I wonder where on earth she picked up that language. Kids say the darndest things!

Your 4/5-YO son is obviously destined to be a musician. His ability to drum, tap, bang, or hit everything (or anybody) in sight may just develop into the coordination needed to succeed as a percussionist. He's off to a great start in his practice habits, too. I've seen all sorts of motivation techniques, but I've never ever seen one that seems to work as well as you telling him to "Stop it or I'm going to beat your a$$!" Reverse psychology. Very clever, indeed.

I was a little concerned about your 5/6-YO daughter who kept walking around and around the table saying, "Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy," but she settled right down after you took her to the bathroom with you to change the baby. I wonder what she was allergic to in there that caused her face to swell up like that on one side only. Very strange. I must say, though, that her use of the table cloth when she ran out of napkins to wipe her nose on was very resourceful. It was a shame that the server didn't get back with the extra napkins in time to keep her from wiping her greasy, sticky, ketchup-covered hands on the 2/3-YO's hair. However, I must thank her for busting the myth that a sustained high-pitched screeching banshee from hell scream note can break glass. Also, I had no idea a 2/3-YO's lungs could hold that much air.

Last, I was thoroughly impressed with your 6/7-YO son's ability to sit there and play his video games with such concentration even amidst all the excitement. I guess the music and sound effects from the game he was playing drowned out the rest of the world for him. With such selective hearing abilities, perhaps he has a future as a high school teacher? LOL! What was that game he was playing, anyway? It sure sounded action-packed. I bet my nephews would love it, but they'd probably need headphones in order to drown out the external noises. Poor things.

It is such a shame that your husband appears to be deaf and half blind as he seems to miss out on so many of the delightful antics. I guess his cell phone has some sort of special adaptations that allow him to use it with such apparent ease. By the way, could you please ask him what the tune is that he has set as his ring tone? Even after hearing it 13 times I still couldn't place it.

And finally, our waitress asked me to convey her greetings. She is so sweet. I always try to sit at her station when we dine there. I'm sure she didn't mind that you left no tip. After all, it IS her job to clean up after the restaurant's guests and it really didn't take THAT long to wash down all the chairs, scrape the smushed in french fries off the carpet, refill the salt and pepper shakers, replenish the supply of sugar packets, and scrub the ketchup off the wall. Speaking of ketchup, I guess one of the other guests grabbed the ketchup bottle off the table because she never did find it. Or the butter dishes. Or the bread basket. Isn't it amazing how things just sprout feet and walk away?

Well, I will close now. I've taken up enough of your valuable time. Have a great day, now, ya hear!

ps: A friend of mine may be interested in talking to you about your awesome parenting skills. She's really busy most of the time, but I'm sure the CPS office where she works would let her take some extra time to come visit. Let's keep an eye out for each other so we can exchange contact information the next time we meet. Mmkay? TTFN

Damama's Use It or Lose It Advice on: Getting in the picture.

We went out to Cracker Barrel for dinner tonight. It is one of my favorite home-style cookin' joints. I love their chicken 'n dumplins (that's how we say it down South - those endin' Gs are for the prissy britches set!). Well, actually I only love the dumplins part. They are just like the ones Mom made -- another of the recipes lost after her death. Their red beans (ok - pinto beans if you just want to get all technical about it) are as close to Mom's as I've ever tasted, too. And, sorry, Mom, but their biscuits kick your biscuits' floury white little butts. All that food stuff is great, but the most fun part is the walk I take down memory lane as I wander through the gift shop. So many of the toys and candies take me waaaaay back. Back to the days when I thought my mommy would always be in the picture.

As in most families, Mom was the shutterbug: always behind the camera, rarely in front because she didn't like having her picture taken. As a result, I have loads of pictures of me, me and Dad, me and various boyfriends, me and pets. What I don't have is any pictures of me and my mom.

When I got old enough to grab the camera I started stealing candid shots of her whenever I could sneak up unobserved. But, again, those times were rare. When I the boys came along we would take turns taking pictures - again one of us was always behind the camera. When she was gone I went in search of photos to show the kids. What I didn't find broke my heart -- there were no pictures of me with mom.

How about you? When was the last time you got in FRONT of the camera? When was the last time you had a picture taken of just you and each of your children alone. Ever? What are the things you want them to remember about you? Do you sew? Crochet? Paint? Garden? Do you have any pictures of yourself doing those things? How about your parents? Do you have photos of you alone with each of them? Who are your friends? Do you have pictures of yourself with them? They will need to remember, too.

As moms, we want to give our children the very best of everything, but so often we unwittingly shortchange them on tangible memories of US. So here's your first challenge: Go buy a bunch of disposable cameras and give one to each of your kids. (Put their names on them to avoid confusion!) Then encourage them to take pictures of each other, you, the family. (You might want to specify no nasty or rude or embarrassing butt shots!) When you get them developed you'll get a great idea of what interests them. You might also get to see yourself through their eyes.

Your second challenge is to make a vow right now to hand that camera off to your husband every now and then. Having memories of you through his eyes is another great gift for your kids.

This Celine Dion song, so beautifully presented by nataliedg, tells the story in this mother's heart. I know it is a song that you sing, too. Please don't let your Coulds slip away into sad Should Haves before it's too late.

If I Could




Peace, Blessings, and SAY CHEESE!

Gypsies, Tramps, and Peace Thieves

Laying side by side in the wee hours of the morning, her in her hospital bed, me on my roll-away, Mother and I talked quietly about our life together.

“Were you ever sorry you adopted me, Mom?”

“Yes. If I thought I could pull it off, I’d have given you to the first gypsy troop I could find heading out of town.”

“It was when you found out about Bob*, wasn’t it.”

She laughed in that sweet, half-giggle way of hers and said, “Well, yes, that was one of the worst of them.”

“Them?” I replied in mock shock, knowing full well that during my teenage years I’d given her plenty of reasons to toss me in the nearest Dempsey Dumpster (or gypsy wagon) and run for her life. She was right about one thing, though: my first fully involved sexual relationship had nearly killed not only her soul, but also her spirit, and very nearly her body as well....

I met Bob a month or so after the beginning of our sophomore year. He was a new kid. I knew what it was like to be the new kid and never allowed another new kid to feel left out. We had science together and, since none of the “cool” guys would lower themselves to be lab partners with a new kid, I took the job on myself. It wasn’t long before we were a couple. When Spring break came, we couldn’t bear the thought of being apart for a whoooole weeeeeeeek, so we devised a plan for him to spend lots of time with my friend Sally’s boyfriend who just happened to live only a few blocks from me. Coincidentally, Sally* would be spending most of Spring break with me. Both of our mothers worked full time, so they loved the idea of us keeping each other company. They had no idea just how much company we were going to be keeping with the guys.

On Thursday of that week, after Mother left for work at 7:00 a.m., Sally and I went to work primping and preening. We shaved our underarms and legs, checked each other for unsightly blemishes, did each other’s hair and makeup. Around 10:00 a.m. two totally clueless boys arrived and were presented with what we were sure would be the best surprise of their lives.

The following week at school, the boys broke up with us. Devastated, Sally and I wrote notes back and forth trying to figure out what had gone wrong. We didn’t understand how they could be so cruel after we’d been soooo kind. Being at that “it’s none of your business, Mom!” stage of teenage pseudo-independence, I sulked and grouched around the house so much that mother was finally compelled to go on a scavenger hunt in my room to try and figure out what was wrong with me. She didn’t have to look long to find one of our notes wadded up in the trash.

As a 15-year-old, I was outraged at her invasion of my privacy. Now, as the mother of a teenage girl, my heart physically aches at the thought of her sitting there in shock and horror as she read the words that no little girl’s mommy ever wants to read. I can hardly bear to think of how she looked as she read, but I will never forget the look on her face when she drove up to where a friend and I were walking in the neighborhood and ordered me into the car. I saw the crumpled paper laying on the car seat and immediately knew that she knew.

She’d actually taken off work early to come home and take me shopping in a surprise effort to cheer me up a little, but I’d already left the house when she got there. By the time she had me in the car it was about 4:00 p.m., however, she’d already called our family doctor, obtained the name of a gynecologist friend of his, and had an appointment scheduled for me at 4:30. It had been over 4 weeks since Spring break and she didn’t want to waste one more minute before making sure that I wasn’t pregnant or diseased. Or both. When I protested she growled, “You want to be a woman, this is part of it. And don’t you DARE put up a fight. You will do whatever the doctor needs you to do. Is that clear?” It was. I knew that if she had to get my dad involved it mean another beating and I would do anything to avoid that. Thankfully, so would she.

Fortunately, I survived the humiliation of that first gynecological exam even though I was wishing for death the whole time. It would take a few days for any test results to come in, though, so we were sent home to wait. And wait. And wait. And the waiting was done in tense silence with the barest minimum of contact between us. A few days later she got word that everything was alright. That may have been true medically, but relationally things couldn’t have been more wrong. She no longer knew how to relate to me. I wasn’t a baby anymore, but I was still her baby. I also wasn’t a woman who could be counted as her equal with whom she could easily converse about womanly things. I was a testy, withdrawn, and thoroughly nasty-to-be-around teenager. Years later she’d told me that because there was no one she could talk to about it all, she had fallen into such a deep depression that she came very close to ending her own life.

I realized that I had tears on my cheeks when the soft beep-beep of the morphine machine shook me out of my reverie as it released the much needed pain medication it hoarded like liquid gold. I reached across the dark void between us, squeezed her hand and said, “I love you, Mom, and I’m so sorry I put you through so much hell.”

As she once again drifted off into peaceful oblivion, she whispered softly, “You were worth it. I’m glad there were no gypsies.”

Now, nearly 25 years later, I am comforted by the fact that eventually this very difficult, painful, gut-wrenching, maddening, yet somehow wonderful job of parenting an emotionally damaged and behaviorally challenging teenage girl will be worth it. And I, too, am very glad there are no gypsies in town. Today.

*Names changed

Damama's Use It or Lose It Advice: Family ties are built, not born.

"HE CHEATED!!!"
"No I didn't. You're just a poopy head sore loser."
"MOOOOOOM!!!!!! He called me a poopy head!!!"
"He called me a cheater!"
"You ARE a cheater!!"
"Well you ARE a poopy head!!"


Sound familiar? When my boys were little that was how nearly every game between them ended. Being young and dumb, I attributed it to normal kid behavior that I could do nothing more about than to put up the game and make them go do something else. Separately. As hard as I tried, I could never really get them to play nicely together. Now, looking back, I realize that there was one key ingredient missing from their playtime: Me.

Don't get me wrong, my kids weren't neglected in either the legal or the moral sense of the word. They were clothed, fed, educated, disciplined, hugged up, smooched on, and told every day of their lives how very much I loved and cherished them. I just never knew that I really need to play with them, too. And that makes me sad - for them and for myself.

I think I've mentioned before that I was adopted at the age of 10. Prior to that, I'd pretty much raised a younger brother on my own because my biological mother was an alcoholic prostitute who usually only came home when she had “work” to do, or she needed to sleep off a bender. Having become a mommy at the tender age of about 3, I missed out on those very important early developmental stages of my childhood. I didn't experience the joy of having a mother to play with, so when I had children of my own I had nothing on which to base that part of their raising.

Until they were around 10 or 11, I really didn't know how to relate to them. By the time I finally started figuring it out, they didn't want to play with me. I was MOM, for cryin’ out loud – not somebody to have fun with! It hurt me deeply when they'd come home laughing about all the great times they'd had at so-and-so's house; how that person's mother was so fun and cool. The first time one of them referred to a friend's mother as "mom" it broke my heart. I just didn't understand why my house wasn't a fun place to bring their friends to play. I didn’t realize until years later that I hadn't set myself up as someone who was fun to play with, so they found more enjoyment in others.

And the saddest part of the whole saga is that by me not playing with them, they never learned to play with each other. I didn’t know how to help them be close because, again, thanks to my own upbringing, I’d never been close to a sibling as a playmate. I was adopted as an only child, so I didn’t have any brothers and sisters to play with. I never learned that lesson that larger sibling groups are taught: get along, play nice, or else. And because I didn’t know, I couldn’t teach.

My guys were very different types of boys from the get-go. Bug was the brainy kid. Twig was the brawny one. Bug wanted to be inside reading, doing puzzles, or playing computer games. Twig loved anything outdoors and could jack a ball off a t-ball stand over a two-story house by the time he was 5. My thought process revolved around allowing them to be their own person. After all, you can’t MAKE people like each other, even if they are brothers. And since they had nothing in common, I thought it was best to just let them do their own thing.

That’s a great idea for building strong, independent, self-sufficient men, but a rotten idea for building strong, connected, close-knit families. No, you can’t MAKE people like each other. But how will they know whether they actually like each other if they don’t ever truly get to KNOW each other? And the only way to really get to know someone is to spend time with them. And for kids, a big part of that has to be parent-involved play time.

Looking at life from the far side of Hill Five-O has given me a whole different perspective on things. I wish I’d spent more time thinking about how to build relationships and less time worrying about how to build wealth. I understand more about the need to slow down and make memories as well as hurrying up to making dinner.

How about you? When was the last time you had fun with your children? About now you may be thinking that that means stopping everything else and focusing 100% of your attention on them. Well, sometimes it does. And those times are important. But those day-to-day fun ops are so much more important. Those times when you have them together and can turn some everyday moments into Wow, whattaday! memories. For each family those opportunities are different. You have to be creative and attentive if you are going to find them. It could be something as simple as letting them fold their breakfast napkins into hats or as elaborate as a Super Bowl party that includes you throwing all the normal rules out the window and just having fun.

One of the coolest examples of these kinds of fun-teaching, memory-building, bond-strengthening games I’ve ever seen is the Dessert Game that Allison over at A Mom Thing has devised. In her words, they have used this game to teach their kids... “To share and help each other out. To have fun no matter what...And to realize that oftentimes the gamble just isn't worth it.”

I have a feeling that Allison’s kids will be close in a way that mine never will. Please don’t be like me and reach this stage in life with regrets born of ignorance. Now that you know, you must act like you know. SO GO PLAY!

Peace, Blessings, and Strong Bonds to all.

Damama's Use It or Loose It Advice on: KIDS, CHORES & CONSEQUENCES

Lucille over at Who's Going to Tell You posted about wanting a garbage man to keep from having to take out the garbage. Again. Mass quantities of it because her Hubby did the smash-and-stack trash handling technique while she was sick with pneumonia. I TOTALLY agree that he should do a better job of helping out - not only while she's sick, but all the time. However, in my humble opinion, her problem is just a symptom of a larger issue that has bugged me for years: Kids, Chores, and Consequences.

As moms, we all to often do things ourselves because it is, well, just simpler. Less hassle. More efficient. We want things done a certain way, and the kids / hubby / a housekeeper / God Himself just couldn't do it as well as we can. Heaven forbid that someone might think that we are not perfect June Cleavers because the pillows on the couch aren't positioned a just so; there are newspapers on the floor by Hubby's chair; the kids beds aren't made; or the kitchen looks even remotely used.

For those who agonize over every speck of dust that drifts through the air in their spotless, pristine abode, life can become unbearable for everyone in the house. Mom is always on edge because NOBODY CLEANS ANYTHING (the way she thinks they should). The kids are miserable because Mom is always nagging. But then, on the other hand, they often ignore the nagging because they know if they hold out long enough, Mom will get fed up and just do it herself. Yes, there may be some meaningless consequence like losing TV or game privileges for a few days, but hey!, eventually she'll quit nagging and just do it herself in the first place because it's easier for her in the long run!

I have a friend who solved the problem by using a thing called natural consequences. She had 3 kids of an age that should be able to handle their share of household responsibilities, so she made up a duty chart. As often happens, trash duty became a major sticking point. So she got creative and instituted a new rule:

On trash day, if the responsible party hadn't emptied trash cans, then everyone else got to put said trash (in a bag, of course) in the shirker's room where it stayed until the shirker could take it out - whether it took until the next trash day or whenever. Catch: Kids were not allowed to leave their rooms to do anything fun, TV, games, sports, shopping.. NOTHING FUN if their rooms weren't clean. They couldn't just pile it on the curb either, because trash pickup only happened on Wednesdays and Saturdays. And they couldn't put it out on the normal holding area if the next trash day would be a sibling's trash duty day because then that sibling would be doing part of their job. So if the timing was wrong, they were stuck with it in their room for at least 2 days.

One of her sons decided to heck with it because, hey, he didn't have anything fun he wanted to do anytime soon. And he figured he could just sit in his room and read. Mom would eventually give in and give up on that stupid duty chart thing. After about a week it smelled so bad that she was tempted to give in, but instead she just put a fan outside his door FACING IN so that the stink kept being blown back inside! Bonus: The fan also discouraged the FLIES from leaving his room. It became a huge standoff situation.

About 3 weeks later, he finally decided to clear out his room. By then, his clothes and bedding all smelled like rotten trash. The only reason the rest of the house didn't smell was because of the fan plus Mom had spent a fortune on air fresheners and sprays, but she said it was worth it when she watched him finally drag the bags to the curb and then have to wash his stuff himself because she refused to enter his room with it smelling like that.

The other two learned a valuable lesson: Mom's not gonna give in so we might as well just do it! It wasn't always easy, but she'd succeeded in making believers out of them and they balked much less. Her kids are now in their early 30s. The two boys make great husbands because they don't think anything at all about just doing whatever needs to be done. It finally just became a habit.

Too often we let our kids get off easily because we don't want them to feel unloved or overpressured. More often it's because it's just easier to get it done and over with ourselves. But if God loves us enough to impose rules, responsibilities, and consequences shouldn't we love our kids enough to do the same?

Peace, Blessings, and Positive Natural Consequences to all.

Life in MIL Land

First I want to thank all of you who have emailed me and left comments regarding: 1. Where the heck I’ve been. And 2. How Bug and Lady N’s visit went.

Where I’ve been: I’ve been lazing around, spending some time with Hubby, doing a little shopping with a friend, and generally just enjoying my clean house and my carefully selected, lovingly placed Christmas decorations. All too soon, I’ll have to take it all down and the house will slowly go back to its normal, lived-in state.

The kids’ visit went well. The biggest problem I had was that I just could NOT stop being Damama. As so many of you can attest to, 30-somethings do not want to be mothered! It’s just so darned hard for me to turn it off! Oh well. One day you will be the 50-something, learning to live in the new and challenging world of mother-in-lawdom. I hope I’m still around reading your blogs so I can whoop and holler and say, “SEE!! Told ya so!!”

It is really weird, this mother-of-the-husband world. Not only do you have to cope with the addition of a permanent other-half to your son, but your relationship with him changes, as well. Neither change is necessarily a bad thing, just a new, weird thing that sometimes leaves you feeling like you’re standing with one foot in quicksand and the other on eggshells.

But then I remember feeling that same way when I became wife-of-the-son. I guess I was so wrapped up in those odd, unbalanced feelings that I never fully appreciated how hard it was for my first husband’s mother. I wonder where she is now. Maybe I should find her and tell her that I now understand. And maybe I’ll finally forgive her for making me eat her fried frogs legs after she’d pointed out that they looked just like baby legs jumping and jerking as they cooked in the pan.

(For those of you who’ve never seen cooked frogs legs, here’s a picture of the finished product.




And if you still don’t believe me, go check out some of the frogs legs cooking stuff on YouTube. Warning: some of them are so gross that I refuse torture you with ‘em here. )

Just suffice it to say that I’ve never again consumed that particular Cajun delicacy, and forgiving her for having seared that image into my young brain is a MAJOR step in my emotional development!

Now the moral to this story: If you are married to the son-of-the-mother, be patient with his mom. Try to get to know her as a woman, not just as his mother. She might just surprise you and be someone you could actually like. And remember that some day...

When I'm an old lady, I'll live with each kid,
And bring so much happiness...just as they did.
I want to pay back all the joy they've provided.
Returning each deed! Oh, they'll be so excited!

(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)
I'll write on the wall with reds, whites and blues,
And I'll bounce on the furniture...wearing my shoes.
I'll drink from the carton and then leave it out.
I'll stuff all the toilets and oh, how they'll shout!

(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)
When they're on the phone and just out of reach,
I'll get into things like sugar and bleach.
Oh, they'll snap their fingers and then shake their head,
(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

When they cook dinner and call me to eat,
I'll not eat my green beans or salad or meat,
I'll gag on my okra, spill milk on the table,
And when they get angry...I'll run...if I'm able!

(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)
I'll sit close to the TV, through the channels I'll click,
I'll cross both eyes just to see if they stick.
I'll take off my socks and throw one away,
And play in the mud 'til the end of the day!
(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

And later in bed, I'll lay back and sigh,
I'll thank God in prayer and then close my eyes.
My kids will look down with a smile slowly creeping,
And say with a groan, "She's so sweet when she's sleeping!"



Thank you, Margie, for sending me this so I could share it here.
Author unknown – if you know, please tell me so I can share that too!

Regret vs. Guilt – Caution: Rant Storm Ahead

I received several emails about my admission of having emotional problems – most supportive, some questioning, some borderline rude. One in particular, however, was a very, mmmm... pointed note from someone whose mother was mentally ill (“a wacked out bi###”) and, therefore, entirely to blame for this now 40+-year-old woman’s life of drug addiction and criminal activity. She said that she is now in recovery but will never forgive her mother for not being emotionally there for her when she was a teenager. If she can’t overcome her “illness” and become a “whole person” it will be all her mother’s fault.

She also stated that I should be ashamed for not taking responsibility for my children’s problems because they were most likely my fault just like her problems are her mother’s fault. She said that her mother’s traumatic childhood, abusive marriage, and ensuing emotional problems were not her kid’s problem and that she should have just sucked it up and done what was “right by us kids.” I admit, I don't know the whole story, but I'm betting it's long and involved one.

My first thought was to delete the email, dismissing it as the rantings of a woman who desperately needs to grow up and quit blaming the world for her own refusal to take responsibility for her life and her future. Then the thought crossed my mind that if she was brave (brazen?) enough to actually put it in writing, how many others are there who are thinking it but are too polite to speak the “truth” as they see it?

So, this post is a public service to all the other imperfect parents of kids who are using them as an excuse to screw up their lives.

First, I never said Hubby and I were to be idolized as perfect parents. I said that we did the best we could at the time with the tools we had. Before Cheryl, unfortunately, my tool belt was woefully empty. I’d done fine until they became pre-teens – little ones are pretty easy to manage with love and diligence alone. But once their pre-pubescent attitudes started working overtime, without knowing it, I was seriously in over my head. I didn’t understand how to discipline without anger. I didn’t understand how to set limits without smothering. I didn’t understand the importance of listening more than, or at least as much as, you talk. And worst of all, my emotional problems probably contributed to my son’s drug addiction. All of this I REGRET. However, I never intentionally set out to mess him up, so I don’t feel GUILTY.

I know it’s hard to understand the subtle difference. Let me try to help some:

The Free Dictionary defines them as follows:

re·gret
v.tr.
1. To feel sorry, disappointed, or distressed about.
2. To remember with a feeling of loss or sorrow; mourn.
n.
1. A sense of loss and longing for someone or something gone.
2. A feeling of disappointment or distress about something that one wishes could be different.

guilt n.
1. The fact of being responsible for the commission of an offense.
2. Law Culpability for a crime or lesser breach of regulations that carries a legal penalty.
3. a. Remorseful awareness of having done something wrong.
b. Self-reproach for supposed inadequacy or wrongdoing.
4. Guilty conduct; sin.

Some examples of regret vs. guilt are:

- Doctors who, today, can save countless lives that would have been routinely lost 10 years ago. They regret that the cures weren’t found sooner, but they do not feel guilt over not having had the tools back then.
- Firemen who respond to homes with burglar bars blocking quick access, preventing them from saving the residents trapped inside, feel regret that they could not save the people, but they are not guilty of having killed anyone.
- Parents who were not parented themselves, or have mental/emotional problems, or physical disabilities, or financial troubles, or, or, or… but who still love their children and try, to the very best of their ability, to keep them safe and provide for their physical needs; to teach them right from wrong; to instill in them a sense of self-worth and self-pride; to hold them accountable for their actions. Parents who expect their children to go to school and get reasonably good grades, and to abide by the laws of civility and the courts. Parents who stay involved and continue to try, and care, and be there when their children falter in any of these – even when the child is pushing them away with every ounce of their being. Parents who recognize their shortcomings and acknowledge them and apologize for them and try to improve them. These parents have every right to regret some of the things they did not do because they were either unable to do them or didn’t know they should have done it differently. These parents are not, however, guilty of any sin or deliberate omission or malicious misconduct toward their children. They were just doing the best they could with what they had to work with at the time!

Understand, I am not defending myself here. I have done nothing to be defended for. What I am doing is telling all the whiney babies out there who want to keep blaming your parents, teachers, preachers, doctors, friends, neighbors, siblings, etc., etc., etc., for your problems, to GROW THE HECK UP, FIND A COUNSELOR, LEARN SOME NEW SKILLS, AND TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR LIFE AND YOUR FUTURE.

And I am telling all the parents out there who are paralyzed by guilt and fear to CUT IT OUT, GET A GRIP, FIND A COUNSELOR AND GET HELP! You only have something to feel guilty about if you don’t continually try to find new tools to use in the building of your child’s future. As long as you keep trying, loving, teaching, and supporting the little miscreants, it’s THEIR fault if they choose not to take the gifts you offer.

OK – stepping off my soap box now. Thanks for listening and I will miss those of you who now refuse to ever visit here again…. But I’ll sleep really well tonight.

Peace, Blessings, and Sweet Dreams to you, too!

Not angry – just not guilty. :o)

It has been pointed out that my Jailbird post sounded angry. Sorry about that. I’m really not angry about anything – Just very adamant about the fact that I’m not to blame for my kids’ choices that put them behind bars.

My strongest reason for talking about this stuff is so that other parents might understand that they aren’t to blame, either! Unless you happen to be the scumbag who introduced my 12-year-old son to pot. Then you can rot in hell for all I care! Or if you are the even worse scumbag who so seriously abused my daughter that she has both physical and mental scars that can never be erased. Then you can rot in the deepest, darkest recesses of the places so far below hell even the devil is afraid to go there!

Now, as far as I’m concerned, this chapter of my blog is closed to all future negativity. (As you can tell, I haven't published any of the negative comments, and won't, so give up!) As I tell all those I counsel – the best rewards come from the hardest lessons. There WILL be rewards for my children at the end of the lessons they are learning. There ARE definite rewards already for me.

I marvel at all the people who email me behind the scenes because they still can’t bear to talk about it openly. Even those brief notes are steps on their road to healing the hurts they’ve nurtured (often for many, many years) about raising what the world calls “bad” kids. As I tell them, if you fed them, clothed them, educated them, and loved them with the expectation that they learn through that love how to be caring, honest, hard working human beings IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT THAT THEY GOT STUPID!

This is a week of Thanksgiving. I am thankful for many, many things, but most especially my children… all of them. Even the ones that have disappointed me, hurt me, ignored me, used me, neglected me, and/or abandoned me. If you are one of them and you are reading this right now, know that you are still loved unconditionally. If you are one of my “lost lambs,” read this and know that you can come always home. God keeps giving me second chances – how could I do less for you? Xoxo (Dear readers - this relates to a very long and sad story that I would rather not go into. Please don't ask. Just pray for my lost lambs. Thanks.)

Peace, Blessings and fond wishes for a Grateful and Plentiful Turkey Day.

My Jailbirds - Answers to Meme queries

The fourth of my meme 8 has spurred some interesting questions. Here is a brief (well as brief as I am able to make it!) explanation.

My oldest son is 28, married, lives in Michigan with his wife and my two grandkittens, and is the assistant manager for some store there. I call him Bug for 2 reasons - he was always bugging me with very insightful questions that I didn't have answers to and he was fascinated with insects even as a small child. He and his wife (that still sounds strange to my Mommy ears!) are coming in for Christmas and I am so excited/nervous I can hardly stand it!

My 2nd is 25 and is, for at least the next 2 to 3 years, a guest of the Federal Prison System. He got involved with drug trafficking to support the habit he began when he was about 12. I always asked if a parent was going to be home at friends' houses. I always talked to the parent to confirm their presence... I never EVER thought to ask if the parent would introduce him to drugs!!!

By the time he was 18 we had spent close to $50,000 on lawyers, rehabs, counselors, fines, military school. We had also moved 2 times to try to get him into a better situation. NOTE TO THE WISE: If your child is hell bent on doing what he/she is going to do, moving will only provide an opportunity to find the same people wearing different faces in the new place. By the time he was 19 he was in state prison. By the time he was 21 he’d gotten out of state, reoffended and was in Federal Prison. He has not spent a birthday or a Christmas at home since he was 13.

THANK GOD his brain is now kicking in. Sadly, he’s realizing what a mess he’s made of his life. Happily, he starts college in January. Once again, it will cost us money, but we will gladly pay the price if it means he has a chance to straighten his life out for good. Right now he thinks he wants to be a counselor to try to guide kids away from the path he walked. I’m praying that his history will lend such credibility to his counsel that he will be able to spare other families the agony we have endured. He also wants to pursue his musical career. He writes some unbelievable stuff!

My 3rd is 16-1/2 and currently a guest of the County Juvenile Corrections Residential Facility. We adopted her at 11. We knew she came with a load of baggage and we will continue to stand by her and help her deal with her problems. However, after some reaaaaly bad stuff that happened in October, we told her that she would always have a place in our hearts, but she no longer (at least for a while) had a place in our home. When she went to court for her sentencing, we asked them to help us help her. The court, knowing that in the last 5 years we've spent over $30,000 on her counselors, lawyers, rehabs, psych hospitals, and medications (not including the adoption costs), agreed to keep her locked up, for her own benefit, until January when she should be going to military school. As long as she's confined and not out in the free using drugs or beating people up, she can't screw up her scholarship.

I do have to give her some serious credit, though, because when the judge asked her if she wanted to go home, she said flatly, NO. She explained to him that she knew she could not make it “out there” and feared she’d do something so detrimental that there would be no coming back from it. Her long term goals are to join the military, possibly the Coast Guard or the Marines. The school to which she has a scholarship will help her decide which is best. They will also help her learn self control and discipline in a way that we, as her parents, have been unable to manage. The program has approximately an 82% success rate with kids just like her. We are SO, SO, SO VERY BLESSED to have found it!

I am blogging all of this stuff because I know there are lots of families out there who deal with such issues, but are too ashamed or guilty feeling to mention it. I, on the other hand, have n.o.t.h.i.n.g. to be ashamed or guilty about. My children were raised with the right moral values in a loving, upper middle class home with both of their parents doting on them from the first moment we laid eyes on them. They were expected to do chores, earn an allowance, get good grades, tell the truth, and be respectful.

Were we perfect parents?? NO. Did we make mistakes along the way?? YES. But we always did the best we could with the tools we had, and EVERYTHING we EVER have done has been for the benefit and wellbeing of our children. PERIOD. We could have retired by now if it wasn’t for all the money we’ve spent trying to get them the help they need. But it’s not about the money – it’s about the LOVE. We could have thrown up our hands and walked away a long time ago, but that is not who we are. And it is definitely not in line with the moral values we want them to understand and live by.

As for those who think we somehow did something that screwed them up: I REFUSE to allow anyone to make me feel like a bad parent or a low life because of my kids’ choices. I REFUSE to hide my “dirty laundry” in an effort to avoid offending anyone, including the miscreant kids who dirtied up the stuff to begin with! My husband and I live by, and taught our kids to live by what we call the headline test: If you would be embarrassed to have it splashed across the front page of the newspaper, then DON’T DO IT!

If you are a parent with perfect children, get down on your knees and thank your creator that you were so awesomely blessed. If you are the parent of a child who, like ours, has spent a good part of life with his head stuck up the wrong part of his anatomy, take heart. If you know you did the best you could, then hang in there and believe that God is in control and things will eventually all balance out. If I didn’t have that to hang onto, I’d have to be locked up now. In a rubber room. With a nice clean white coat to help me hug myself to sleep.

Speaking of sleep – I’m going to bed and try not to have nightmares about what could be happening to my kids in places where I can’t protect them. A mother’s job, truly, never, never, ends!

As always – Peace and blessings, and sweet dreams.

The Sound of An Empty Nest

A friend of mine with two sons barreling into adolescence, full speed (and sound) ahead, asked me, “What is the sound of an empty nest?” My first response was “Bliss.” Then I listened more closely.

The sound of an empty nest is chicken cordon bleu instead of chicken nuggets; McAlister’s Deli instead of McDonald’s playground.

It is the completion of a movie without the click of the channel surfer and the quiet evening spent enjoying a good book by the fire instead of a loud and rowdy game of Uno at the table. It is the soothing sounds of cool jazz on a peaceful drive to the shopping center instead of the giggly, energized chatter over boom-boom-booming rock.

It’s the tick, tick, ticking of the clock waiting for a call from 1000 miles away instead of footsteps running to catch the phone before the latest crush hangs up.

It is the silence of tears falling as a long forgotten lovey is stored away in a now empty room. It is the soft whisper of arms aching for the warmth of a hug, of trembling lips longing for just one more goodnight kiss.

It’s the echo of regret mingled with the soft voice of hope that one day, in the not so distant future, the clatter of little feet and the clamor of little giggles will drown out the noise of the empty nest.