Sunshine

You would think after 9 years of writing this blog, I would run out of things to write.  Especially about Ainsley, because I've been talking about her the longest.  But my lack of posts has nothing to do with lack of material.  Really, it's all about time.  My day starts around 6:30.  I read emails while toasting bagels.  I take calls while tying shoes.  I place orders while reminding kids to pack up their bags.  Life is all about multitasking from 7-8:45 each morning.  Then work keeps me so busy...from the moment I drop off at the bus, to the moment I sprint out the door to pick them up again...that it's tough to take a moment to write anything.  And don't even get me started on the evenings.  Between homework and t-ball and baths and trying to have small quality moments with each kid before tucking them in...well, blogging is just not possible.

But, things sit on my mind and my heart.  Things that are like 4 year olds.  Sitting patiently for a small time, until they can't take the wiggly feeling anymore.  Then these things tap and poke until they are all out climbing through my soul.

Writing is so much to me.  It is my passion, my validation, my therapy.

So today I have to write.  No matter what else is going on, I have to take the time to let it out, because this thing that has been fidgeting on my heart has to come out.

I need to tell you about this girl.  I need to put it all down so I can remember.  I need to record it so she knows.  I need to freeze this moment, for any hard ones to come.

When they handed me this sweet little girl almost 10 years ago, I had no idea what I was getting into.  I had no idea how much joy she would bring me, how I would cry for her, how my whole body would ache over her, how I could spend hours and days worrying over the tiniest thing, how looking at her sleeping face could bring tears and smiles at once, how the thought of her could warm my chest.

This girl is so special, and it is apparent to anyone who meets her.  She has a light that just bursts out of her.  If I could pick one word to describe her it would be happiness.  She is rarely sad.  She is always flexible.  She loves to laugh and sing and smile.  I look at her and am amazed by her beauty, but I am in awe of her heart.

Nothing gets this girl down.  I met with her teacher last week, because school doesn't come easy for her.  She is easily distracted and would prefer to spend her time in her own imagination than doing long division.  And I am worried for her.  I worry that it will just get harder, that middle school is just around the corner and she'll never keep up.  I worry that moving to a new school will make it worse.  But then...

Her teacher went on and on about what a wonderful girl she is, how she brings a cheeriness and fun to the classroom that a lot of kids need.  That she's the first to include anyone who's feeling left out.  How she always encourages others when they are down.  She assured me that it's not just teachers that feel this way about her...even her classmates recognize her for what she is.  And as I sat there listening to this I had to keep myself from bursting into tears, because she's right.  I fight with this girl over homework and I force her to focus on things she's not interested in, and all along, she is a light that we need in this world.

She may fall behind in school.  She may struggle with math.  But this girl is so much more than I was at 10 years old.  She is going to bring so much to this world that you can't teach, that you can't learn.  I know however she chooses to live her life, whatever she chooses to do to share with the world, she is going to bring so much sunshine to those that need it.  She already does.  It's just going to grow and blaze and shine brighter the older she gets.  I have seen her arrive in this world has a happy, easy baby.  I have seen her grow into a bright and compassionate little girl.  I am so lucky that I get to witness her transformation into a passionate woman.  That I get to watch that big heart get even bigger and stronger.

I am most grateful, above all else, that I get to bask in her light.  I always thought, and still think most of the time, that mothers teach their children.  But Ainsley has a knowledge that I don't have, and I am fortunate to have such a wonderful teacher.

Gone

I ignore news.  I totally avoid big stories.  So honestly, I have no idea how or why or when the gorilla thing happened.  I know the very basic details and you know what?  I'm not going to read about it.  Because I don't want an opinion about it.  You can call me ignorant and stupid...I don't care.  The fact is, that we are in information overload these days with the internet and social media.  I simply can not care about everything.  I would be a ruined soul.  I can't do it.  

Just last night I told Clif that I had no idea what had happened, but my Facebook feed was cluttered with rants about how everyone should stop judging parents.  Yet, I didn't see anyone judging.

And then I came to work this morning and browsed some websites and WOW.  Judgy McJudgerson everywhere.

I have no idea what that kid's parents were doing.  I have no idea if the zoo was justified in shooting the gorilla.  I have no idea who is to blame for any of it.  And I don't want to know.  But what I do want to do is share the following story.  But before I do, I want you all to know that I am a closet anxious person.  I pretend to be really calm and collected, but inside ANXIETY ABOUT EVERYTHING.  People think I have my stuff together and that I don't let things get to me.  But inside WORRY AND OBSESS ALWAYS.

So when it comes to my kids, I worry.  A lot.  If I'm out and about, I'm constantly counting them and making sure my eyes are on them.  One, two, three.  Pause.  One, two, three.  Pause.  One, two, three.  Over and over again.

This past weekend, I took the kids to Virginia Beach to visit a friend.  It was me and my friend and our 5 children, ages almost 3 to almost 9.  On Friday night we walked about 5 blocks to a playground on the beach.  It's in a very populated place.  It's near a very large statue that Cohen immediately took a liking to.

"Mommy, what that?"

"Mommy, can my touch it?"

"Mommy, you throw me in the sky so I touch the turtle?"

I put him off for the 30 minutes that the kids played on the playground.  Telling him we'd go look on our way home.

And there I sat, counting heads.  One, two, three, four, five.  Pause.  One, two, three, four, five.

When it was time to go, it was dark and 5 kids and 2 moms were accounted for.

I told the older 4 to stay put and not run ahead like they had on the way.  I told them it was dark and we wouldn't be able to see them as well.  And then I walked Cohen to the statue, crowded with people.  He touched a couple of fish and could not reach the turtle.  I was gone for 3 minutes - maybe.  I went back and only 3 kids remained.

Freddie was gone.

"Where's Freddie?"

No one knew.  I froze in a sea of people.  He was gone.  

"Where's Freddie?" I asked again.  Blank faces.

One of the other kids said something about the direction he had seen him go.  I left Cohen and Ainsley with the other mom and started running down the beach, screaming for Freddie.  I could barely breath.  Tears were hot in the corners of my eyes.

What if I lost him?  What if I never saw him again?  What if someone took him?  What if he wandered into the ocean?  What if he gets to the street and is hit by a car?  What if, what if, what if?

"Excuse me mam?" A man stopped me on the boardwalk, "Are you looking for your son?"

"Yes!" I cried.

"He's about a block up with a police man."

I don't think I even thanked him.  I just ran.  And there he was.  Fingers in mouth, crying, hiccuping, terrified, and with a police officer.

I called his name and scooped him up as he ran to me.  Thank God, thank God!

I lost him.  But I found him.  I wasn't watching for a few moments and he disappeared, but then he was back.  And I wanted to cry and scream and laugh all at once.  My legs felt like jello and panic continued to course through my veins as we walked back to the rest of the group.

I'm a good mom.  I'm not perfect.  I make lots of mistakes, but I do lots of things right.  I don't lose kids.  Ever.  But I did.  I looked away for a moment, walked in another direction when I thought my instructions were clear, and poof.

I don't know what that toddler's parents were doing - maybe they were smoking crack in the bathroom.  Or maybe they were distracted for a tiny moment by a phone or a stranger or another kid.  I'm really sorry that an endangered animal was killed.  But the idea that it can't happen to any of us.  Well, that's ridiculous.  And in that moment, what would you want done?

Take A Beat...Breathe

For this past week, I've only had one child to feed and put to bed and look after and play with and pick up and do all the things with.  Every year my mom takes Freddie and Ainsley for a week.  And every year, I'm reminded what an awesome mom I can be with one child.

I finish the week psyched to be the mom I know I can be, because I've just done it.  For a week I've been patient, I haven't yelled, I haven't doled out punishments, I haven't lost my temper, I've said yes more than no.

Then this week fades into next, and reality sets in.  Three kids mean chaos that overwhelms me beyond my breaking point.

I love my kids.  Of course I do.  I don't think I even need to say that.  But three kids is no joke.  I have three little people with different wants and needs, clamoring for my attention from the moment we walk in the door at night until the moment the last one shuts his sleepy eyes.

So all week, I've been trying to figure out how I carry this calm, patient Jaime with perfect parenting skills into next week.  Because so often I feel like my kids get the worst of me and I hate the thought of them growing up just wanting to get out of a house where mom is always stressed and annoyed and tired.  So. Very. Tired.  These three people are the most important people in my life, but because of all the other noise and demands and responsibilities, I can't give them the me I want to give them.

I get up and go to work every day and deal with a bunch of whiny, ridiculous, adult-babies.  Then I fight through an hour of traffic and race through pick-ups to finally walk through the door and have dogs knocking me over to get out and dinner waiting to be cooked so homework can get done and reading can get done and bedtime can happen so I can have 30 minutes of quiet before I go to bed and do it all over again.

That's not life, that's survival.  I don't want my kids to learn how to survive life.  A lot of days, most days, I feel like that's what I'm teaching them...how to make it to the end of this journey, and that's no way to live.

Right now, we're a bit stuck with the situation.  There's no space to quit a job.  There's no wiggle room to hire help.  There's no cushion to pick up and move to a slower pace.  We are trying desperately to change all of that, but until then I have to be a grown up and do what needs to be done and I don't have a lot of choice in the matter.  I guess there's always a choice, but not a good one.

So for now, I'm going to do my best at changing the one thing I do have control over...my attitude.

In a week and a half, my kids will be back in school and the autumn cacophony will fill our house and it will feel like the entire universe is crashing around me, but I'm going to breathe.  I'm going to take a beat before I yell.  I'm going to count to 10 before I scream a punishment.  I'm going to be as patient as I can be.  I'm going to do everything I can to slow things down and not have life rush past me in the blink of an eye.  Just like I've been all week with just me and Cohen.  Because my kids deserve a mother who's enjoying life and not just surviving it.

Faking Confidence

Parenting is the hardest job I've ever had.  I think a lot of people would agree with that statement.  I have a job, sometimes it is hard and busy and sometimes it is not and I can write a blog post :)

But parenting, never leaves my thoughts.  I become consumed with how I'm raising my kids, am I doing it right, will they be screwed up forever, how do I avoid mistakes that will turn them into horrible/sad/asshole/(insert any terrible description here) people?

I know in my head that kids become their parents.  I am so like my mom.  In so many ways.  I don't really look like her and we don't really have the same personality.  I can be very moody (like my dad), I rarely see her in a bad mood.  I can wallow (like my dad), I never see her do that.  Sometimes I feel like the whole world is against me and things are unfair (like my dad), but I rarely hear my mom complain.  But sometimes I'll hear my voice or catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror or in a picture and it almost takes my breath away at how much I am like her.

So one day, Ainsley will probably think the same thing.  How do I make sure that she ends up with the best parts of me?

I have never had the best self-esteem.  I don't have a lot of confidence in myself.  I'm shy and I often worry about drawing attention to myself.  I make excuses.  I never admit to being good at anything.  I never want someone to think I'm loud or obnoxious, so I stay quiet.  I do not take compliments well.

But I wasn't always that way.

As a kid, I loved to put on shows and act in plays and sing in church.  Anything to get on stage and draw attention.  And better yet, I thought I was amazing at all of it.  At some point that stopped and I just wanted to be invisible.  I wasn't bullied, wasn't picked on more than any other kid, wasn't abused.  No mega trauma happened in my life.  Yet right around middle school, my whole personality changed.  I can remember walking through the halls and just trying to blend into the walls so no one would talk to me or notice me.

High school was the same.  I can barely remember any kids from high school.  There are a few that I was friends with and there are a few others that I am Facebook friends with.  But this year is my 20 year reunion (sidenote: WTF?!?!?  How is that possible?) and I ended up in the Facebook group and I have no recollection of these people.  I've been looking them up in my yearbook to try and remember faces.  And I can, with 100% certainty, tell you that they have no idea who I am either.  Because in high school, I perfected being invisible.  Never too good or too smart or too friendly, but not bad either.  Just right down that average line.

I'm getting off on a tangent here, because this post isn't about me and my issues.  It's about Ainsley.

My girl, who is so full of energy and happiness and sunshine.  So totally over the moon about herself.  She can stare at herself in the mirror for hours if I let her (I did the same).  She loves to sing and dance (so did I).  She'll try anything.  Loves to be the center of attention.  Adores pictures and videos of herself.  She even has started her own "how to" video series.  All her idea.  This girl has so much confidence...

but...

Lately, she's been saying things.  She and Freddie will play a video game and she'll quit, saying "I'm not good at that, Freddie is way better than me."  She and a friend will do cartwheels or rolls and she'll want to stop saying "I can't do those."

And then, at the end of one of her videos...How to make Mint Chocolate Cupcakes...she was icing a cupcake all by herself for the first time ever.  And on video she said "So this one I put green icing on...it looks horrible I know, because I'm terrible at it."

And my heart broke.  Tears stung my eyes.  Because here she was being so brave to do something she had never done, on camera, to post to You Tube, and she was talking about how bad she was at it...

Just. Like. Me.

And in that moment, it finally sank in.  Something I've known since I was pregnant with her.  Something I've tried to instill.  But something I have never practiced in front of  her.  I can not expect to make her a strong, independent, confident woman unless I show it to her.

So really this is a post about my issues, because I can't let them become Ainsley's.  It's not easy to change 30 years of doubting myself, judging myself, criticizing myself for every move.  But I'm trying.  And I'll keep trying until I truly believe it so Ainsley can keep her confidence.

Here's her first video..."How To Brush Your Teeth and Hair"...more to come.

Broken

Remember when you first brought your first baby home?  And remember how scared you were?  How you were afraid of every little thing?  I can remember lying awake with teeny tiny Ainsley in a cradle next to my bed, just listening to her breath.  Every catch in her breath would draw me from bed to check on her.  I can remember literally thinking...Do I really need sleep?  It's not that important, right?

Then time moves on, the baby becomes a toddler, then another baby comes along...and there's still always this underlying worry about "things" but you move about your days and that worry just becomes something normal and it's not a constant, daily, minute-by-minute fear.

Then something happens, anything...big or small...and it all comes rushing back and suddenly you're treating your 18 month old like a glass doll.

The other night, Cohen fell in our kitchen and hit his head on the corner of the wall.  I wasn't looking at him when it happened.  We had just gotten home and it was our normal "walk in the door, walk the dogs, get dinner ready, do homework - all before bedtime" chaos.

I was going through Ainsley's homework book when I heard the thud.  I turned around and Cohen looked up at me with an eye full of blood.  In that moment, I just reacted (freaked out) thinking his eye was gone.

At an octave I don't normally reach, I squealed "What happened?!?!  Oh my gosh, what happened?!?!"

I scooped him up and grabbed paper towels to wipe the blood.  I was relieved, but still shaking when I realized it was his forehead and not his eye.

I took him to the hospital as soon as Clif got home.  I didn't remember toys or snacks or diapers...just drove off feeling very helpless and scared.

He got 5 stitches in the ER...so nothing terrible.  He was never in any danger of losing too much blood or going blind or dying.  But I was just so freaked out.  And I've found myself hovering over him more the last couple of days.  Less okay with his fearlessness to climb anything, jump from anywhere, run always.  He wasn't doing any of those things when the fall happened.  I'm not exactly sure what he was doing, but I know he was standing in the kitchen one second and looking up at me covered with blood the next.

So one little accident and I'm suddenly that terrified new mom I was 7 years ago, afraid every move I make with be the wrong one.  Sure that one decision will upend my perfect life.  Thinking that one mistake will break my baby and I won't be able to stitch him back together.

He's fine, by the way.  Barely cried when it happened.  Cried during the stitches, but was ecstatic when they brought him a red Popsicle.  He's resilient and awesome and other than the line of stitches down his forehead, you'd never know anything had happened.  But I think I'll always wear the scar.

To the Woman in the Booth Over There

Dear...Woman/Lady/Patron,

You'll have to forgive me, I didn't catch your name.  Honestly, if I passed you on the street, I probably wouldn't recognize you.  I'm not sure what color hair you have or how tall  you are.  I don't know your age or where you're from.

All I know is that you sat near us at Outback on Friday night, so I could make certain assumptions about your life, but I'm not going to do that.  I'm going to do my best to give you the benefit of the doubt.

So for a moment, let me tell you about us.  We don't eat out very often.  When we do it's normally at one of those counter service places.  You know the ones that are just a step above fast food.  We go to places like Chipotle, or Chick-Fil-A, or Firehouse Subs.  Oh and pizza...we do pizza quite often.

We work.  My husband and I both work full time.  And we have young children...as I'm sure you noticed.  So on nights that involve errands or dropping off cars for oil changes, well, it's very hard to get home and get dinner on the table before bedtime.  So on those nights, we do eat out.

Rarely do we go to a sit-down restaurant.  It's not very affordable for a family of 5 and really the kids are much more happy with chicken nuggets or pizza.  But on occasion, when we're feeling financially optimistic, we will go to a place like Outback.  Before Friday night, I'm pretty sure I hadn't been to an Outback in over a year.  The food is okay, and it is very pricey.

I won't take my kids to a nice restaurant.  If I'm not sure what kind of place it is, I always call and ask about the noise level and if they have a kids menu.  I am always very conscience of my children in public and how they're acting.  I never want them to be perceived in a bad way.  I know they aren't bad children, I know they're just children.  But some tend to jump to conclusions based on a momentary meeting or impression.

So Friday night we decided on Outback, and so did you.  I didn't even notice you.  I was very busy cutting up grapes for the baby, finding ketchup for the preschooler, and walking my 2nd grader to the bathroom.  There were definitely some tears from the baby at the beginning, and maybe towards the middle when the grapes ran out and he had to wait for more.  You see, we're in this crazy kid phase.  He doesn't want to be in the highchair but he's really too young for a booster seat.  He loves the booster, but he doesn't like to stay put, you know?  Maybe you don't.  Again, I don't know you at all, so I don't even know if you have children.  But trust me, 18 month-olds are terrible listeners.  Asking them to sit and quiet down simply does not work.

It was as we were finishing our dinner that you made  your presence known.  You walked over and very politely said "Excuse me, I have a request for you."  I looked up and don't think I didn't notice that you were directing this at me.  You didn't even glance at my husband.

You continued..."The next time your son is screaming at the top of his lungs, please take him outside as to not disturb the other guests in the restaurant."

Or something like that.  To be honest, no one has ever said anything like that to me before.  And at this point my husband was talking back.  Like usual, I can never defend myself the moment I need to.  I'm much better at taking the time to write it down.  Plus, while all this is going on and you and my husband are exchanging words (and again, don't think I didn't notice how you kept looking at me, even though he was doing all the talking, like "A mother should control her children.")  I'm very aware of the fact that we have 3 sets of little eyes watching us.  Three sets of little ears hanging on every word.  Three little minds and personalities being shaped and impressed by everything we do.

There was an exchange, a heated one.  I think the only thing I did was thank you for informing us of how to be good parents.  Some smart ass comment, that probably didn't even come out the way I intended it to because I really suck at that kind of thing.  Then you left.  I can't remember what you said after your initial "request" and I can't really remember any of my husband's words...just the look on his face.

So here's the thing...I get it.  At least I'm trying to get it.  I'm trying to not be all judgy and rude, like some people.  So I'm saying to myself...maybe this was her and her husband's only night out all month.  Maybe she's never had children, or maybe she does have children, and she just doesn't know or remember.  Maybe this is the highest quality restaurant they go to.  Maybe my baby did ruin their meal.

If any of that is true...I'm sorry.  Really, I'm sorry if my child caused you grief and annoyance.  I'm not being condescending or sarcastic.  I'm really sorry.

But I think, maybe, you owe me an apology too.  Because what were you hoping to accomplish?  How does informing me after the fact that my child has ruined your night, do anything but make me feel terrible?  How does approaching people about the way they handle their children fix anything?

That night I went from being embarrassed to upset to angry to confused.  But here's the thing, if you were sitting in front of me right now, and I had the time to think about what to say to you so that I didn't cry or scream.  I would say this.  You have every right to a have a nice dinner.  But I have every right to take my family to dinner at a family restaurant.  You have every right to be annoyed with my kids.  But they have every right to act like kids.  Newsflash...we all live on this planet TOGETHER and we all have to figure out how to work it out and get along.  

So next time you're sitting near us in a restaurant that's meant for families, please feel free to ask for another table.  If I notice, I may be a bit self conscious but I will understand.  Please feel free to roll your eyes and cover your ears.  Again, it may bother me a bit, but I get it.  But please, do not stroll over in all of your high and mightiness and tell me how to sooth my baby or raise my children.  I've got that covered.

Sincerely,

The Woman with the Screaming Kid at Outback

Officially Retired

I thought that maybe I'd nurse Cohen for 2 years.  Ainsley went 14 months, Freddie went 19.  So I thought I could take Cohen a bit further.  However, I've known for awhile that I may not be able to get the night weaning to really work if I didn't just stop all together.

Then last week I went to Oregon for work.  I was gone 4 full days.  I pumped and got next to nothing.  So I knew I was done.

Even before I left, I thought that this trip might do it.  Might get him over the hump.  Might be enough time apart for him to realize he doesn't need it.  So on Monday night, before I left, I nursed him and I knew that it might be the end.  I'm glad I thought about that and took the time to sit and rub his cheek and hair.  I'm glad I focused on just that for 10 minutes so I can remember his little face like that.  I can distinctly remember the last time I nursed each of my kids.  I've been lucky that I've always known when the end was near.  I've always been able to plan it out.

This time it's a bit different.  I am done nursing...forever.  And the weight of that makes me sad, because it means that I have passed another stage, checked off another box, moved forward a bit more.  My baby days are over.

But overall, I'm okay with it.  I didn't collapse into tears in my hotel room when I realized I wasn't making any more milk.  And I didn't cry and give in when he asked for it a few times this weekend.  I will miss his little fist on my shirt, big blue eyes staring up at me, repeating "NiNi?  NiNi?"  I will miss nights rocking him to sleep in the quiet of his room.  I will miss the power to soothe him instantly.  But I forgot the wonderfulness that comes when nursing ends.

Up to this point, a nursing mother provides nourishment for the child and the child comes to rely on that as a way to soothe and comfort.  But this weekend, without the nursing, Cohen actually cuddled up on my lap and just sat there with his head resting on my shoulder or nuzzled in my belly.  He's never done that with me.  With Clif, yes.  He hugs his siblings willingly.  But not really with me, because I'm the boobs.  He is comforted by nursing.  So now he can snuggle me without that getting in the way.

So now the girls are officially retired.  Maybe I can finally buy a bra and wear it for longer than 6 months.  Maybe I'll finally know my actual size.  I'll  never again have sore nipples or engorged breasts.  I have completely enjoyed the 4+ years I've nursed my babies and I will always look back at those times as some of my most precious.  I will forever remember the sound a nursing baby makes, the feeling of let down, and the smell of milk breath.  But everything has to end, and I'm glad I was able to do it on my terms.  I am thankful for that and ready to take the next step.

Popped Balloons

As a parent, I believe it's a natural instinct to want to fix problems.  At least it is for me.  Even after three kids, I jump up when one of them falls down.  I hate to hear them cry.  It actually feels like someone is squeezing my heart.  Like it will just shrivel and dissolve in my chest.  It doesn't even matter if they're crying because they're bratty.  And believe me, I can recognize bratty.  The problem is that they are genuinely hurting, no matter the reason - even a bratty one, and that hurts me.

I have to make a conscious effort to not fix things for my kids.  To not do everything for my kids.  Ideally, my kids stay where they are forever and ever, never grow up, and never leave home.  Ideally.

Realistically, they grow up and need to be functioning, independent, reliant, adults.  They leave us and start their own lives.  That's the way of the world, right?  As much as we'd like to shelter and protect and fix...eventually, we won't be here.  It is natural that a child leaves his/her parent to start his/her own family.  It is natural that I will leave this world before my children.  So as much as I want to take care of them now, I need to know that at that time, they will be okay.

I am not a stranger to disappointment.  This is not an "oh poor me" statement.  It is a fact.  I was shown how to be independent and self reliant.  My parents didn't do everything, they didn't fix everything.  I actually think these things go hand in hand.  If you're never disappointed, you never learn to fix/adjust, you are forever dependent on someone.  I think it's just the way my generation was raised.  And the generation before that and before that and before that...

Until now.

The other day, Ainsley went to a birthday party.  She was particularly tired.  It's been a crazy summer.  Different activities every week.  Late nights.  Full weekends.  She got a balloon as she left.  It popped the moment we walked outside and she dropped it to the ground.  She burst into tears.  I literally took two steps towards the door to get another.  I stopped.  I knelt down and said "Ainsley, balloons pop.  It's a fact of life.  I'm sorry you're sad, but it's the way it is.  Let's go."

She nodded and cried a bit more, but was over it by the time we were driving away.  So is it natural that my immediate response was to fix the problem?  A very silly problem.  A problem that wasn't actually a problem at all.  The less balloons in my house, the better.  Was it natural because I'm a mother and I don't like to see my child upset?  Or was it natural because every where we look these days a parent, a school, a teacher, a government, a nation...is leveling the playing field.  Telling everyone that you're all the same, and everything's fair, and everyone deserves anything they want.

You're not good at math?  Well of course you are, here let's make it easier.
Your closet's too small?  Okay, let me bust down this wall and make it bigger.
The other team won?  Oh no, that's not fair...no more scoring.
You're offended by the word bossy?  Well, that word no longer exists.
Someone teased you?  BULLY!!!!!!! SUSPEND HIM! LOCK HIM UP!

As much as it hurts me to see them hurt, I want my kids to lose.  I want someone to pick on them.  I want someone to break their hearts.  I want them to flunk tests.  I want them to get rejected from a school/job/team/audition.  Because if none of that ever happens, and they go through life with everything being easy and handed to them, then aren't those good things lessened?  Why is winning awesome?  Because you know what it feels like to lose.  Why can friends be lifesavers?  Because you know what it feels like to be lonely.  Why is falling in love and getting married and having babies the best thing that can happen to a person?  Because a broken heart sucks.

You can't have joy without sorrow.  Happiness can not exist without sadness.  That feeling you get when you laugh so hard you can't breath, the one where the rumble of laughter consumes your whole chest and belly.  You can't have that if you haven't also been overtaken with breathless tears.

I want my kids to love what they earn.  To be proud of themselves for an accomplishment.  And I want it to be their accomplishment.  Not mine.  If it's me handing them the toys and cars and clothes, if it's me working the math problems and writing the papers, if it's me picking up their dirty clothes and putting away toys - without any effort on their part - they'll never understand that feeling.  You know the one.  That feeling that makes you beam.  That feeling that you, just you, actually did something that was hard and challenging.  Sure it might suck in the now.  It might be the hardest thing to get through.  But that feeling when you get the reward, nothing beats that.  And to deprive my children of that?  That would make me a really bad parent.

The Flu

We get flu shots every year.  Well, the kids and I get flu shots every year.  I know I made Clif get one when Ainsley was first born, since she was too young to have one.  And I think he got one last year, or maybe it was the year before.

But the rest of us, do not miss a flu shot...except for this year.

I can blame it on lots of things...

-This is the first year in a long time that we have not been to the pediatrician all year.  It's a blessing, means my kids have not warranted a trip to the doctor.  They've been  healthy.  In fact, I can't remember the last time I missed work because of a sick child.  We've been for well visits, but my kids are old enough to be on the annual plan, and neither one of their birthdays fall during flu season.  So there was no reminder.

-The day they gave them at work I was out.

-I'm pregnant and this fall, was too tired and too brain dead to think about it.

...but really, I just blanked.

So we didn't get our flu shots, and it really didn't even cross my mind until early January.  I called 4 pediatricians in the area...all out.  I called CVS and stopped by the Target pharmacy...they don't give them to kids, even with a script.

I talked to my doctor at my last appointment, on Wednesday.  "The height of the season is over, but you might want to still get one.  Up to you."

Wednesday night Clif came home with a scratchy throat.

Thursday afternoon he left work early with a cough and headache.

Friday he stayed home with a fever.  Doctor confirmed...flu.

So I spent the weekend trying to keep the kids and myself away from him.  Even though he's been contagious for days.

This morning Ainsley had the shivers and said she didn't feel well.  No fever, but I'm pretty sure I see where this is headed.

We sent her to school.  I'm not sure it was the right decision.  But it will give me a chance to gather things up at work and prepare to telecommute for a few days if necessary. 

These things always remind me how hard it is to be a parent.  Making decisions based on instinct and answers from a little person.  I can't keep her home every time she doesn't feel like going to school.  Is this more?  Is this different?  Maybe.  Probably.  But I don't know really. 

Five and a half years in and I'm still just learning as I go.

Kindergarten Eve

Ainsley,

I'm going to try not and cry as I write this.  But I guess it would be better to do it now instead of at the bus stop tomorrow morning.

Tonight feels different than most weekends coming to an end.  Tomorrow you take a huge step in life.  You start Kindergarten and you are so thrilled.  I am so excited for you.

But...

I'm petrified.  So afraid of something hurting you or scaring you...I just want to hop on that bus with you to make sure you have a seat.  Then I want to follow you to your classroom to make sure you don't get lost.  I want to sit in the room all day to be sure you're heard when you need to be.

It's really hard to let you go.  I know you're not going to college or moving across the country, but this is a big let go for me.  I've always been the one in control.  Sure, you've gone to daycare but it's different.  I don't get to drop you off in your room and chat with your teacher and call to check on you.  I have to just trust that it will all be taken care of.  I have to trust people I don't even know to make sure you're okay.

Are you ready?  Have I taught you what you need?  Have I prepared you?  Do you know enough about strangers?  Do you understand that other kids can be cruel?  Have I showed you how to be kind and brave?  Do you know that no matter what, we will always love you?  From the depths of our hearts.  You can always turn home for comfort and answers and support.

I feel like there's so much we haven't covered and now here we are on the eve of Kindergarten and I'm speechless.  All I can do is smile at you and kiss your forehead, afraid that the tears will spill if I utter a word.

My head knows this is what's best for you right now, but my heart is aching.  Tomorrow I'll wave goodbye to a little girl riding on a school bus,  but all I'll see is that perfect, sweet bundle they handed me five years ago.

I love you Ainsley.  You're going to rock the socks off of that Kindergarten class.

Love,
Mommy