If You Get What You Put In...

So its been a really long time since I've blogged. I was going to say that I blacked myself out in protest of SOPA and PIPA, but in reality, I think soup is good and I don't really know Pippa, but I have nothing against her. I like Kate better, though. And, I really am anti piracy. I don't get the big hats and the scraggly beards, and all that "arrrrr matey" business. What are they, Australian? No one says "mate" up over. (Get it, instead of down under). But, I have a conundrum, so I thought I would take to the interwebs.

I find that the divine Ms. T is a bit lost these days. She has quit all of the things she used to do, with our blessing, but she has yet to find something new. She quit violin because she didn't actually enjoy playing. We decided to let her, as daily practice and paid lessons are not worth the daily battle and expense for something she won't put any effort toward. Volleyball... same thing. Girl Scouts.... ditto. But now, there's nothing. We tried to find some volunteer activities, but there are few for an almost 13 year old, and her goal of participating in drama is harder to come by than I had thought. So, she is drifting aimlessly through her 12 year old universe. But, she's not the only one, so I am not too worried. I know that as she grows older, opportunities will arise and she will be able to find activities. Here's my fear... I am not sure she'll enjoy any of them.

She is participating on our new church's youth group, and I have seen the same thing I've seen from anything new she ever starts. Very little. If you get out what you put in, and you put nothing into everything.... what is she ever going to get out? There is very little participation, so she comes home with a blah opinion of it. The next week she is even less interested in going. But, if she isn't going to contribute to anything.... she won't ever get past the new kid hump. I see in the youth group the same thing I saw in orchestra, volleyball and girl scouts.... a kid who is there, but not there. Friendly to others if they meet the long criteria of how they dress, look, act, etc... but not going out on a limb if you don't make the first, second and third move. Worse than depressed... apathetic.

I moved from my lifetime home of Bettendorf, Iowa to Kansas City when I was one month shy of 14. I was terrified of making friends and being somewhere new. In Iowa, first days of school were never scary, because it was the same kids shuffled around to different classrooms. But, that day... I would be alone for the first time since I was 3. The day we moved I got a fortune cookie that said, "You're only as happy as you'll let yourself be" and while I still had more butterflies in my stomach than in the Amazonian rain forest... I went with it. I wasn't happy to have moved... but I tried. So, I guess my question is.... what happens when you won't let yourself be happy?

Other Duties As Assigned

I worked in Human Resources, what feels like a lifetime ago, and I used to always laugh at the job descriptions that I wrote for literally every single job in our company. The last responsibility was always, "other duties as assigned," basically saying that your job is defined by these other 8 bullet points... but if we ask you to do something, your job is to do that, too. It's a "cover your ass" way of telling your staff that there ain't nothin' outside of your duties, so be ready to work.

I always laughed, because my "other duties" always seemed way out there and very frequent. I would be assigned anything from planning Christmas parties to helping my Director write a slide slow presentation at 10p on a Friday night to forging letters from our Commissioner to put in the annual report. My other duties sometimes seemed to outweigh and outnumber my real duties. But now that I am a stay home mom... I have found that my "other duties as assigned" category has gotten way out of hand.

Apparently one other duty is puke clean up. If one of our four legged family members loses their lunch, it is my duty to clean it up. I didn't know that. I figured whoever found it first should be the one to remedy the sitch asap. But, I learned this morning that if someone other than me stumbles upon the lovely gift (aka literally steps into it at 6:01am), they are to wake me.... begrudgingly clean up the large chunks when it becomes clear that I am not waking up for puke clean up.... and leave the ugly orange stain for me to take care of later.

My "other duties" also seem to include breakfast. Now I realize that I blogged about turning over a new leaf and providing a home cooked, healthy breakfast for Mark and Tabbi in the morning, but sometimes, that new leaf gets tired and it wants to sleep in. On Thursdays, when I drop Will off at school and don't have to get in the shower til 7:30.... my new leaf thinks that Mark and Tabbi can get their own food. And sometimes, on Mondays when I don't have the groceries for something fresh, my leaf decides that it should just sleep an extra 30 minutes because Mark and Tabbi can nuke their own food.... but, no. That leaf is wrong. I get huffy sighs and sarcasm if I don't provide the food. I thought I was being nice.... but apparently it's my job.

Other duties can also deal with bobby pins. I didn't know I was the bobby pin supervisor, but I must be, despite the fact that my hair is so short I can't use them. But, Tabbi had a fun up do on Saturday, and apparently asking our hair stylist to do something fun with her hair means that I have to then clean up the 47 pins when they come out and are spread all over the house by child and beast.

My other duties could go on forever, but I can't... because it is almost 7:50a and my real duties need to be done.

I have become a bad person

I used to stand on very high moral ground. When I was in college, I was the president of our Amnesty International group for a time and a strict believer in the sanctity of life.... all lives. I fought against the death penalty and argued it still while working at the Department of Correction, walking in front of my state's death row, claiming that the murderers and rapists on the other side of that brick wall deserved to live. I stood on my soap box and looked down from on high and I preached and believed that murder, even when it is a bad person, was wrong. Then I had kids.... and I can't seem to get my soap box up on that high ground like I used to.

I read the headlines today, and I can't get there. I read about Penn State and that monster who attacked so many children... and I can't get there. I read about the staff that did nothing and think about the children harmed AFTER someone could have stopped it... and I can't get there at all. I think about those mothers who have to look at their babies (no matter what age these boys are now) and know what that man did to them... took from them... and I can't get anywhere close.

I read about a father who tied up his child and then beat him to death, today and the saddest thing is, you can read a similar story every few weeks. People whose children were neglected, beaten, abused.... and I can't defend my old position any more.

I have become a totally different person since I had kids. I don't fight for all humans to have rights anymore. Instead, I see my kids.... everywhere. I see my boys in those victims in Pennsylvania... I see my sons as the one in that closet tied up. I see them... and I know that I can't defend saving certain lives anymore.

There was a father on the news awhile back, and his son was murdered in the 70s by an evil man. The child was tortured for days and later killed, and the killer chronicled each sadistic and evil act in a journal that the father heard read aloud during the trial. Each suffering moment outlined in graphic detail. The news story reported that the killer was due to be released soon, and the father is being watched because he has declared openly that he plans to kill the man who killed his son. 30 years have passed.... and the father swears that the killer will not walk the streets long. I know in my head that this father is wrong and that killing this man will not bring his child back or give himself the peace that he is searching for.... but after having my own kids and turning into this new person, I can say this... That father's reaction is the one that I now can understand. I could put my soap box on his ground.

The Sing Songer

So, I don't allow myself to be photographed, videotaped or recorded thanks to confirmed reviews of past appearances where I bear a striking resemblance to Corky from Life Goes On (evidence dates back to Good Morning America crowd appearance.... not pretty). Actually, as I get older and far more frightening, I look more like Chaz Bono. And my voice sounds like a Muppet gone wrong. So, I don't record myself. Today, however, I am kinda sad about that because today's blog post really ought to be a vlog. I am never going to do my annoyance justice in type... but the desire to not be mistaken for Chaz wins... so a-writing I will go.

Last Thursday, I took Jack to Chik Fil A for lunch. We'd had a hard week... Will was sick (which may end up being a later blog post), and I felt like Jack became the invisible kid for awhile. So, Will finally made it back to school and I decided it was time to do a little bonding with old Whatshisname. But, much to my dismay... in the Chik Fil A play place we encountered the most feared creature of all time... The Sing Songer.

Moms, I know you know her. She's the one who sits OUTSIDE the play place reading her iPad listening to her iPod sitting in her iPants doing iParenting. Which means, she will look up once in a blue moon and confirm that her child is in the play place, and then she'll go back to iAnything other than watching her kid. If said glance shows that something has run amok in the play place, she will sashay her iWay in and as her 8 year old son is straddling a toddler punching him in the face like Ralphie to Scut Farkus (although this time an unwarranted beating) and she will say in her sing songiest Disney princess voice, "Honey, you're beating someone up again." And her kid will shrug and stand up, wipe the blood smears off his face and say in an equally fake song from the Disney movie from hell, "Sorry, Mooooom."

In this case, the kid was a diaper wearing little mini boy. But man, despite his size he took a swing at every kid that walked by. Older kids came sliding down the tube slide bawling over the punch the little brat man gave them. One little boy burst into tears as the hell beast (I mean toddler) punched him square in the nose and demanded his hat. (It was a really cool Transformers hat, so I had to give the little killer that one). The older hatted boy thought for a minute, until I jumped in from the mommy bench and said, "Hey... you don't hit, and you don't give that kid your hat." The brat man just ignored me and went on his way. Moments later The Sing Songer noticing the distress wafted in and said, "Hooooney, keep handsies to your selfie." I said in Lynn/Muppet voice, "he's hitting everyone." And she said, singing to me, "Oooooh, he is in such a phase." And, out she drifted as if I had imagined her there.

Maybe TechnoMom would have a lower likelihood of mothering the next Jeffrey Dahmer if she didn't sing to her child and instead used a little bit of what I like to call "Old School Mom" voice. It's the voice that was used back when people didn't worry about psychiatrist bills and CPS knocking on their door. It's the voice that put the smack down so hard actual smacks were never needed. Maybe then her little 2 foot tall torture machine would have actually stopped hitting. It will help him to not be hated in the play place by parents and children alike, and one of these days the older, bigger kid isn't going to be scared to fight back and her little munchkin will go down singing a different tune. One of these days, the dude he hits may be Jack.... and your future mini mangler ain't got nuthin' on mine. And while I use that Old School Mom voice to get Jack in line.... if your dude hits him.... I may just sing song my "no," too.

The Post Where I Bash Men... (love you, Mark!!!)

So, I was talking to my friend yesterday, and she was telling me about how her fiance (who shall remain nameless so he doesn't know she is complaining about him to her girlfriends all day long) carried in her work laptop into their apartment the prior evening so that he could use it, and then he forgot to tell her it was in their apartment, and then forgot to get it in the morning, therefore making her insanely late when she commuted all the way to her office and promptly had to turn around and go all the way back home to get it. And, hearing this story, I wondered... how is it our capable men, successful and able to function at work, can be such nincompoops at home (love you, Mark!!!!)???

I wrote about Mark's condition once here, and it occurred to me yesterday after talking to Amoh (names have been changed to protect the guilty), that is it true of most men... and I devised a theory.

I think that these men are actually quite bright. I think they are capable, and I know for a fact that when Mark steps outside this door for work purposes, he is. He can manage it, fix it, do whatever the nerd world of IT men do, and do it well. But, when he steps back into family mode.... something happens (love you, Mark!). And I think it is the fact that he married a super smart and capable woman (good taste, Mark!). I think Nayr (Amoh's fiance) is doing the same thing. Once these men hitch their home lives to capable women, they are magically transported back to the last time they were hitched to capable women... THEIR MOTHERS. Suddenly they morph back into "care for me" mode coupled with "I will happily do what you tell me to, you just have to ask several times and remind me a lot" mode. Not unlike their behavior at home with their mothers. Obedient, not take charge.

Here's an example. Last night, Mark kindly went to CVS to get my prescription refill and get cash for Tabbi who needed it for school. Mark comes home. Cash goes on the counter. We head upstairs to bed, and I get ready for bed missing only my pill I pop at bedtime (thyroid disease, not drug addiction... FYI). I ask where it is... and he looks at me and says, "uh... CVS." So, basically he went to CVS, got cash, forgot prescription. I questioned why he would think going to CVS to get just cash made sense, and he said, "I did feel like I was forgetting something." Uh... drug store.... drugs. Drug store..... drugs. Hmmm... But, like a good mom, I sent him back to the store... offering to make a list this time so he didn't forget. And he willingly went... so it's not like I am ordering him around and being mean... it just takes a couple nudges to get him going in the right direction (love you, Mark!), whereas at work, he tends to get the task done the first time.

So, here's my conclusion. If you want your man to step up and be a little more independent, you have to be a little more dependent. If you need him to be on the ball, you have to get off of it. So, the choice is up to you. Either deal with the fact that you play the role of wife and mother (to your children and him sometimes, too) or step down, loosen the reigns and watch him thrive under the responsibility. I know which one my control freak side chooses, but that might not be the answer for you. All I know is that I know now where this comes from.... and in the immortal words of G.I. Joe (who would have this same problem if he married uber-independent She-Ra) "knowing is half the battle."

I'm Sorry, Mrs. A

I was just at my son's elementary school this morning, volunteering in his Kindergarten class. I got to cut and tape and wrap string around cardboard squares, and it could have been the most peaceful hour of my life... except for all those pesky kindergartners running around.

I was struck by the magnitude of what Will's teacher does every day. The number of kids and the size of their personalities.... I truly walked up to her and said, "I don't know how you do it!" She shrugged and smiled humbly, but did share that it is a bit harder this year because she has 11 more kids than she had last year, and last year she had an assistant. It took me a minute to process the mathematical logic where the district would add kids and then subtract an aide... and it hit me. "Vote no." Last spring there was a referendum to raise our property taxes a meager amount in order to maintain the school's budget. But, the public spoke... and what's worse, they voted... and the referendum failed.

After sitting in that room today, with a fantastic teacher in a 4 star school, all I could think is that all of those vote no-ers owe that teacher an apology. I hope that some day those people that couldn't spare $25 a year (I am sure you can find them eating McDonalds or spending money at the movies, but couldn't spare even that small amount for the school district) can see what their lack of generosity has caused. They sit back and say "down with taxation" and criticize the school district's money management, and I get it. The superintendent has some fat he could trim, but when the federal and state government slashes education budgets, there ain't enough fat to be trimmed to earn all that funding back. And interestingly, I wonder how these people will feel if the schools stop being 4 star award winners. What happens when my generation decides to flock elsewhere because we want our kids in the best school district, but this one can't even pay the phenomenal teachers and aides that it takes to be the best. What happens to your home values when the buyers look away and the market drops? Is it worth your $25 a year then?

I want to apologize to my son's teacher today, and to all the other teachers who heard "we don't care about you" when they heard the result of that vote in the spring. I want to say that I am sorry that their jobs are the harder for it, and our extremely high expectations haven't changed. I am sorry that they got the message loud and clear, that we expect them to do more, earn less, work harder and put in more time... and we will sit back, drink our Starbucks $8 lattes and bitch about the state of the economy and education in this country. I am sorry that for some reason people don't realize that the building blocks of education should be more important than, well, anything else. I am sorry.... not because I voted no... but because I didn't work harder to make everyone else vote yes. I am sorry... and I hope that my volunteering, and that of the other parents who actually support our schools can be a little help in what must be a very uphill battle. I'm just really sorry.

Jack's Credit Rating

So, I have recently come to the realization that I do not give jack enough credit. Somewhere between an infant seizure, helmets and speech delays, I concluded that Jack was special. Not the "all parents think their children are special" special, but a "protect him from everything and keep him close to (if not fully inside) the nest" special. But, in recent days both Jack and I have been forced out of our comfort zone, and while I think I am still a little shaky, he is passing the tests with flying colors!

First, Jack has had to embark on the wonderful world of speech therapy in a school. He has aged out of the miraculous program that brings the therapist to your home once a week for a free play date, and now goes to one of the local elementary schools once a week to meet with that speech teacher. So, we've left the house AND he leaves me behind. Even with his beloved Anna, I was always right near by on the couch. Now, he walks down a long hallway into a foreign room in a foreign school with a foreign person. (Actually, probably a domestic person, but you know what I mean). And, he isn't 100% yet. I walk him down the long hallway (at his request), but he just pushes right through the door and goes on in. HE GOES IN!!!

His other test is preschool. My Jack started preschool last week, and while there were tears on day one... it was not nearly as bad as I thought they would be. I expected clinging and screaming and having to dig his face out of my butt (where it was planted during the entire "Meet the Teacher" night). But, no. He cried in the car, walked to his seat in the class and sat stoic as I walked out. Day two... just a bottom lip, single tear. Day three... minor frown. Day four... NOTHING. He pleasantly walked in and said goodbye to me. I fully expected to be pulling him out of preschool to spend another year at home with me, praying that it would work when he turned 4. And, it works. Now.

These milestones, while major in every child's life, are epic for Jack (or at least for my version of Jack). He even played at neighbors' houses twice this week, with other kids... something he has never done before. My amazing boy who has been called "scary smart" by two separate speech therapists is finally coming out of his shell. He's no longer just sitting silently, he is joining the world and he is doing so with relative ease. All my fears, all my hesitations and stress.... He has shown me that (like the relationship between Visa and me), I am not giving him enough credit. Like my bills if my credit limit were higher, Jack is being given opportunities now, and he is choosing to soar.