New Years Resolutions. Millions are made every year and millions are broken. Everyone takes in the first day of the New Year with refreshing eyes. There’s a sense of possibly wiping the slate clean or perhaps shining it up a bit and doing away with the dullness. There’s something about the New Year that just brings on a sense of a fresh new breath of air. Me? I don’t think I’ve made a New Years resolution in a while. Why bother? I always break them, but as a mom I want to do better. Don’t we all?
It’s been a while since I’ve blogged about my life as mom. Since we last spoke, I’ve gone back to work full time and it’s taken over a year for me to settle into this new lifestyle. I have bouts of anxiety (brought on by my need to follow my “best is the standard” mantra – actually I stole that from my favorite coach. Can anyone guess who that is?). I have bouts of frustration and anger, lack of patience, days of feeling so overwhelmed that I think I’m going to drown in my own personal sea of desperation to be a “super mom”.
My boys are growing each day. When I’m not working, I’m refereeing two overly competitive boys. I’m trying my best to keep the romance in my marriage, although to be honest that falls to the wayside more times than I would prefer. I’ve let go of my writing, something that I used to live for. I stopped working out, which only seemed to drag me further down. I had these strange dreams of how life would be as a working mom. Everyone else made it look so easy. Television shows, books, and magazines…they all made it seem like if you just “leaned in”, life would be grand.
Each day I’ve woken up promising myself that I will do better, that I will be better. I will be the best mom my boys could have. For the first few years of motherhood, I set up goals and resolutions to do more with my children, to take them on more adventures, to be the coolest mom that anyone had met. Best let’s be serious, reality doesn’t always go the way we hope in our minds.
So this year, I’m not making a New Years Resolution. Nope, not one. I’m not even making two or three or ten or twenty. I’m not setting any unrealistic goals for myself or my children or my family. I just want to breathe. I just want to take each day and remember that while the days seem long, the years are short. I want to take a moment to just BE in the moment. And oh yeah, I’d love to get back to writing again. Let’s hope this blog on this first day of a New Year will set a new precedent for me.
A few days ago as I was looking through some old thumb drives, I stumbled across a story I had started working on. Although I knew time was a hot commodity in my life and sitting back to re-read some of my hopeless work wasn’t exactly budgeted, I still found myself ignoring phone calls and emails just to get a glimpse of what I was writing. And I have to say…I was impressed. I mean I’m not Dean Koontz or Nelson DeMille, heck I’m not even Stephenie Meyers (which while I’ll admit I read the whole Twilight series, I still don’t think she’s that great of a writer), but I’m good, or I suppose I should say I was good. So, after reading 25 pages of single spaced type written words that flowed forth from my brain, my heart and my soul, I began to wonder what happened to that aspiring writer? Then the shatter of glass, also known as my two demonically beautiful children, brought me back to reality…my kids happened to me.
I once started this blog site with a post entitled “My Little Parasite”. Little did I know then that my children would evolve into more than just the parasitic leeches that sucked me of all my nutrients needed to sustain a healthy pregnancy and lifestyle. Little did I know back then that they would indeed take more including, but not limited to my sanity, my patience, my energy, my brain cells, and my once toned body (they didn’t take my vanity, by golly! I still have that! Take that, you selfish little gems!).
Once upon a time, these slender fingers used to gracefully dance across my laptop. They felt the flow of energy from my thoughts and emotions as I composed what I thought would become a NY Times Bestseller. They developed callouses and blisters as I couldn’t stem the ebb and flow of my lifelong dream. I even managed to maintain that desire, that thrive, that goal to continue on with said dream after having children, well, um, at least after having Davey. Add an extra child into the mix who’s temperament is exactly like his mother’s (hey, at least I’m willing to admit my flaws) and my desires for writing have vacated as quickly as Hollywood’s one time support of Harvey Weinstein.
My darling little parasites have become more than just needing sustenance to grow and stay alive. No, these darling little gems have sucked me of my emotions and all of those wonderful thoughts and dreams that used to float around in my heart and mind, and they’ve done it with a vengeance. Now, hold up! I know what you’re thinking. You’re about to jump on that bandwagon of judging moms. I get it…I’m selfish and I’m emotionally abusive (look at what I’m saying about my children). Hey, I’m actually ok with that judgment. I’m exhausted and I’m even sad at times that what once encouraged me, what once was my outlet, what once made me happy, is just one of the many things that my children have taken from me.
So the question is…will I get back that spark or do I just succumb to my children and let them completely devour me and all I have? Stay tuned…
***on the positive side, at least I’ve written a blog post***
“Date nights are so important.In fact, they are critical,” psychologist and relationship expert Melanie Schilling told The Huffington Post Australia last year.
How important are they to YOU?
When my husband and I first became parents, I think we were so enamored with our little bundle of joy, that the thought of leaving him, of missing out on one his firsts and the many, many milestones that seem to flow like never ending debris upon the river’s currents, was just too unbearable.We would squeeze in little hours of one on one time when we had the energy and frankly when we were bored with Davey’s non-productive days.Let’s face it, Angelina Jolie said it best when referring to her first biological child as a blob with little personality during the child’s newborn days.
When our second child came along, we were desperate to get back to who we were.I suppose the “newness” of having a child had already lost its luster.We didn’t hyperventilate with each blink of Henry’s eye, or post fastidiously upon social media about how well he burped, as we had so embarrassingly done with Davey.I know, I know, poor Henry.That second child just always seem to get the burn.
As our children have gotten older, Davey is almost 6 and Henry is 3 & ½, my husband and I find we need that break from our children, to reclaim a part of ourselves.We find that it’s worth the money to spring for an occasional babysitter and to dress up for a night out on the town, a night that now seems to end at 10.My husband jokingly asks me if I recall the times when we were going out at 10.I tell him “no”, as his children have seared those memories from my brain.That’s right!I said “his children”.
I have this conversation, about date nights, with so many of my fellow parenting friends.I’ve found that the discussions are usually pretty split between those who think it’s important and those who feel that the children and family unit as a whole should be a top priority.Of course, I encounter the occasional judgmental prone mother who tells me I’m selfish for wanting something more.I’ve learned to not let those criticisms get to my inner heart and guilt me into a subversion, and I will tell all of you the same thing.You’re no good to children, if you’re not good to yourself, and that includes the relationship with your partner.
I’ve noticed that our country doesn’t place as much emphasis on the parent’s one on one intimacy as others do.According to the March 14, 2014 issue of The Guardian:
Couples therapists would say parents like us should work harder to balance our priorities in order to preserve the family unit. It’s even on the political agenda in some countries; well, Scandinavia anyway. Last October, the government in Oslo issued a plea to parents in Norway to embrace “date nights” more frequently in response to rising divorce rates – now 40%, with those aged 40 to 44 most vulnerable to separation.
Therapists agree that it is important for parents to still have that time for each other, to find a way to rekindle the romance they once created or to just keep the spark going.That’s great and all in theory, but when you’re on a budget, date night isn’t always that easy.That same article in the Guardian said this:
That sounds about like my household.My husband and I find ways to take advantage of freebies where we can.If the grandparents offer to take care of the children, we pounce on the opportunity and may walk around downtown for an ice cream.Our local YMCA offers a Parent’s Night Out every 2nd Friday of each month.Included with our monthly membership is one Friday night, 4 hours, from 6-10 of nothing but me and my husband.
Since the date nights are few and far between for us, I’ve required us to capitalize on the time together.We’ve set up ground rules:no talking about the children, no discussion of work, and no conversing about outside family members.
Friday before last we had a Parent’s Night Out.My husband, understanding my need as a stay at home mom with very little talk of anything not Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle or Magic Treehouse Books, read up on current events.I steal the occasional time to get caught up while waiting in car line, getting a few moments alone in the bathroom, or via podcasts as I’m cleaning.We put away our phones and any other electronic device and find a way to focus on ourselves, learning about each other again, remembering the little nuances that made us first fall in love, and just talking! It’s important.
What about all of you?How important is date night for you and your partner?How often do you get that much needed, well-deserved, and long often overdue time together?Have some ideas you want to share, i.e. where you go, what you do on a budget, or any rules you have (like mine of current events discussions), then comment below.
Happy date night to all of you and try to remember what first made you fall in love with your partner!
Let’s talk about success in today’s society, with our children, with ourselves, and with our ability to emulate and imitate the Lord’s merciful acts.
Technology has become quite my friend, just as easily as it has become my enemy.While I rely on technology, and more specifically social media, to keep me up to date with the news of the world, I also find it to be quite stressful especially where my children are concerned.
Podcasts are one of my favorite things to listen to.I enjoy getting snippets of news via NPR podcasts, or listening to 60 minutes while I’m doing laundry or the dishes.In a lot of cases, I’m listening to news specifically through my Amazon Echo and Echo Dot while I read and write blogs, pay bills, and finish up any writing projects I’m working on.It’s a different level of multi-tasking, than what my parents were used to.One podcast I enjoy listening to is Focus on the Family.In most cases, they have short little 20 or 25 minute devotionals and/or anecdotes about family and living a Christian life.Last week, one of the podcasts focused on success and pressure.They asked the question, “How do you define success?”And obviously, in today’s society success is defined in a more superficial and at times egotistical way as opposed to a spiritual one.So, today I wanted to discuss that in this blog.
Many parents will say their child is successful if he or she gets into a good school.If he or she wins the MVP trophy in soccer, scores the most goals in basketball, wins the geography bee, the spelling bee, is the valedictorian, or makes the President’s list.I don’t want to take away from these parents, because they are right…their children are successful, but they’re falling short at times in the way the Lord asks us to be.The Bible tells us to seek first the kingdom of God, to live for something bigger than what is on the surface.
So many parents these days have created a thin line between a child doing his or her best and satisfying the egotistical needs and desires of his or her parents.Ok, ok, friends, I know what you’re saying to me, “let he who doesn’t sin cast the first stone.”It is not my place to judge or to “preach” because I am just as guilty.For any of you who follow me on Facebook, you’ll see my often times shameless posts about my children completing tasks, some of those tasks are completed at an earlier age than their peers.That is my pride shining through and some could call it my gloating, and this is where I state that technology and social media, specifically, are my worst enemy. They encourage me to not focus on success in a Christian manner.
How many of you out there post photos of your children online?I’d be willing to bet that every one of you who reads my posts and have children, do this.You’re proud of your children and you want to share it with the world.I get it, I do, but does it add too much pressure on us as parents to encourage (and some of you go a few levels above encouragement) our children to succeed?Are our children becoming an appendage of our own superficial egos?Think about that for a moment.
This past Sunday, my pastor discussed “The Exceedingly Great and Precious Promises of God” from 2 Peter 1:5-11 and it correlated a lot with how we determine success, or at least I was able to relate it in my Christian struggles to be a good mom and mold my children into successful adults.I want to look at two particular passages from 2 Peter 1.
“Therefore, my brothers, be all the more eager to make your calling and election sure.For if you do these things, you will never fail, and you will receive a rich welcome into the eternal kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.”2 Peter 1:10-11
Peter wrote a second letter because false teachers were troubling the church and disturbing the faith of some by their heresy, immorality, and greed.Perhaps I’m seeing a parallel in what Peter found and how we, Christians and non-Christians, are determining what makes our children successful.We are placing realistic and un-realistic requests and stresses upon our children, and why are we assuming these are the only ways to be successful?Thanks to social media, the competitive factor amongst parents has increased.Our children’s success, or lack thereof, becomes a direct reflection upon how well we are raising our children.We can be seen as failures.We are labeled as dead beats and disconnected parents.We allow ourselves to dwell upon a shallow view of success.I struggle daily to make sure that what I’m conveying to my children as “success” isn’t something that is just defined by our society.
So, what was my point with the post?To encourage all of you to relax a bit, to let go, to not pin your child’s goals upon what Nosey Neighbor’s kids down the street are doing.God created us in His image and He has a higher purpose for us and our children than what society leads us to.This is not to encourage an indolent nature with our children, but continue to guide them and influence what true success is.And just like Peter says in 2 Peter 1: 5-8,
“For this very reason, make every effort to add to your faith, goodness; and to goodness, knowledge; and to knowledge, self-control; and to self-control, perseverance; and to perseverance, godliness; and to godliness, brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness, love.For if you possess these qualities in increasing measure, they will keep you from being ineffective and unproductive in your knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.”
And isn’t that how true success should be defined?
The shimmery gray dress nipped at her ankles, skirting the tops of her feet with a sassiness.It had been an easy find, unique and affordable.It brought out her inner Roman goddess, accentuating all of her attributes and masking the flaws.
A company Christmas party.What could and should be expected?What was the protocol?Who was there to impress?It didn’t matter because this night allowed her to step inside of her comfort zone, to be someone that she wasn’t during the 9-5 monotony of Corporate America.This was her night to be herself.
Company Christmas parties…what was the protocol?Bring a date or go solo?In the end, she talked her roommate into coming along.They agreed on a few hours at the buttoned up Corporate America shindig before heading out to a much more laid back, casual atmosphere of a friend’s Christmas party.
Her clear acrylic heels adorned with rhinestones clicked on the staircase as she made her way to the next party.The shoes elevated her normal 6 foot frame allowing her to look out above the masses.She was at ease, all pretenses of being someone else released its hold upon her and exited through the closing door after gently taking a bow.She smiled as she was relieved of her shackles of dissimilation and could be with her friends, her chosen family, her village.
The drinks flowed, the music caressed her soul, and the card games stripped her of any monetary satisfaction, but she was content.Her body melted into the sofa as she engaged in friendly banter among her co-partiers.The evening was quickly becoming a propitiation to what had been a mentally taxing week, and just when she thought the night could not become more blissful, the door across the room opened.
A trio of males, past the age of being called boys, but still exuding a slight level of immatuturity that prevented them from being referred to as men, entered the apartment.They were all strangers to her, not one face exuding any sense of familiarity and just when she decided that the three were too mundane to warrant anymore of her curiosity, the third one came into view.
He was tall, dark, and handsome.Every fairytale cliché of Prince Charming was wrapped up into him.Tragic love stories were written about him, with tortured hearts and damsels in distress.It was at that moment in time, with the opening of that door, that her life would change forever.From that point forward in life, each step, each decision would be made with a new perspective.
Did he see her?Could he sense the quivers in her belly, the skipping of her heart beat?Could he possibly notice her, one girl in a sea of beautiful women?
She should look away, she thought to herself.How mortifying would it be if he caught her staring, but she couldn’t tear herself away from watching him glide into the room, a smile spreading across his face as he met each person.He was tall, black hair, with a slight little cleft in his chin.He was broad shouldered, muscles clearly seen beneath the sleeves of his shirt. He was the exact opposite of the skinny, non-athletic nerdy types she’d always been attracted to.He couldn’t possibly be interested in her.
Finally she decided it was time to look away, to not be quite so obvious, but it was a little too late.He’d seen her and shock of all shocks, he was walking over to her.
He introduced himself and she reciprocated.He took a seat alongside her on the couch and the conversations never seemed to lull.There was always something to talk about, something funny to be told, and there was no place else either one of them could imagine being at that very moment in time.
As the night waned, many of the partiers, her roommate included, decided to go elsewhere.She uncrossed her legs and begin to rise, in doing so she lost one of her shoes.At that moment, he knelt down and while grabbing the shoe, he cupped one hand behind her shin and slid the shoe back onto her foot.
“It looks like Cinderella lost her glass slipper,” he said with a smile and that is how the greatest love story came to fruition in 2003.
One of my newest endeavors that has taken me away from this blog, is actually one of my most favorite past times. I thought today, of all days, would be a great day to fill you in on this adventure. For those of you who may be unaware to the significance of the day, today marks the 10th anniversary of my brother’s passing after fighting leukemia for 3 years.
A year ago today, as I sat in my rotary meeting, I listened to a speaker discuss a new park that was (and is) under construction in Greenville. It is to be called the Cancer Survivor’s Park, and it’s to be a place of rejuvenation, a place of learning, and a place of healing for everyone who has experienced some form of cancer directly or indirectly.
As I sat in that meeting, I learned that I was considered a survivor of cancer because I am a survivor of my brother. The executive director, Kay Roper, spoke so eloquently and passionately about this park, what it meant to her and what it would mean to the community. Within moments, I had a lump in my throat and tears at the brim.
I’d spent a good year and a half before meeting Kay, trying to find a place for me outside of being Davey and Henry’s mom. I looked for something that would be an old semblance of myself, the creative, hard-working, career oriented individual I always thought I would be. I knew what I was looking for was volunteer work as I didn’t have the band width to handle a full time job and still be the mom my boys had grown accustomed to. Problem was, as I’ve always said, it couldn’t be just any volunteer work. If it was going to take time away from my boys then it HAD to be something more worthwhile than padding the bottom line of corporate America. AND it had to be something I could passionately feel good about.
As with most things in my life, there is always Divine Intervention. Even when I think the Lord doesn’t hear me, He is always listening. When He brought Kay into my life on the 9th anniversary of my brother’s death, I knew this is where I was supposed to be and that my patience and faith in Him had finally paid off, as it always does.
When I started volunteering with the Cancer Survivors Park Alliance, I was intimidated. As I’d told my husband on countless occasions, I felt like our children were sucking me of any brain cells I had. My mind, that part of me I once coveted which perhaps wasn’t the smartest in the world, wasn’t feeling challenged anymore. The wheels were always turning but I wasn’t learning something new. For a while, and even now, it’s felt like the boys had drained me of any intellect I’d had and I hadn’t been able to replenish that.
I joined the Communications Committee and listened to all of these people who were still in the working world, mostly in marketing and advertising, and I was in awe, enamored, and as I said before, intimidated. What could I contribute? I worried that the Lord had answered my prayer, but perhaps I had prayed incorrectly. Again, I just needed to have patience and faith in Him.
A couple of months ago, the opportunity arose for me to help out with a series that had become stagnant. There just were not enough people to get the series going again, to coordinate, organize, and even help write and edit. I didn’t hesitate. I immediately spoke up during that month’s meeting and said I would “own” the series, and it’s been a whirlwind ever since.
It is known as the Sunday Survivor Series, and is a bi-weekly story published on the park’s website every Sunday evening. The stories feature someone within our local community who has been impacted by cancer, either directly or indirectly. In most cases, the interviewees are survivors of some form of cancer, with the occasional relative of someone who has passed mixed into the shuffle of stories.
As an introduction of me joining the team, I was photographed with my boys and the creator of the series interviewed me. When I was being interviewed, I was amazed at how raw the emotions still were, nearly 10 years later. I found I could still feel Brian’s last hug, his last tug of my ponytail, his voice as he spoke to me, and even the raspy sound of his last breaths as he squeezed my hand. As I went through that interview, I was overwhelmed with a sense of joy that I would be able to help so many others tell their stories, that I will be able to offer that compassionate touch, that vessel for emotions and stories to eventually unfold.
So, here’s the link to the stories. Our newest one is out and what a wonderful young man and inspiration he is. The second story is mine.
Please take a moment to read it and then take a moment to read some of the other stories. Follow the Facebook page for the Cancer Survivors Park. Sign up for email notifications so you’ll always know when a new story is out. You may get to read some of my words there, even when they can’t always be here on this blog, and you may find an additional person who needs your prayers.
God Bless all of you for following me, for encouraging me, and for giving me your love in some way. I’m hoping 2017 will be full of great new adventures and insightful words to share with you all.
So, it’s been a while since I’ve posted here. Months to be exact. You see, I’ve stumbled across a bit of a problem or maybe it’s problems?…writer’s block, distraction, raising my boys, volunteering and even joining a women’s Bible Study (which will be a whole other post on its own). I’ve also sat back and begun evaluating my blog. Do I want to keep it? Are the words I’m writing entertaining, spiritually rejuvenating, educational, or just plain fun anymore? I mean, who actually reads these words? Who takes time out of their busy days to read my humdrum, my stories of dysfunction and insanity? Who? I have no earthly idea, but I’m back.
I’m back because I need this outlet. I need this place where I can complain, brag, whine, and just plain disgust everyone with the stories of my life and that of my children. I need the release. I need the feeling that someone else feels me, that someone else sits at their computer, reads my words, and says, “I feel your pain” or “I’ve been there before” or “your child really is the spawn of satan.” Yes, even that last one I need to hear.
I’m back because for a while my only thing to look forward to was writing, sharing my adventures, misdeeds, and disasters with you all, and then I left that fall to the wayside. The only thing I started looking forward to was my cocktails in the evenings, which isn’t always bad. I’m back because I feel like I’m becoming ignorant to the world around me, that my children are continuously sucking me dry of any brain cells. I’m back because I need to feel like there are other adult voices with which I can communicate even if it’s just through the written word. I’m back because I need you all and I need to feel that you’ve missed me, that you’ve questioned at least once where I was. Yes, I do have a bit of a narcissistic personality.
I’m not sure where to start anymore with my blogs. I’ve sat back and attempted to revive my blog, to find new things that will compel people to come to me, to read me, but I’m drawing a blank. After all, how many mom blogs are out there these days? Hundreds. Thousands. Millions. Perhaps more than that, I mean if I haven’t had the time to sit down and write then Lord knows I haven’t had the time to research the number of mom blogs out there. So, what do you all want from me? What makes you come to me? What makes you miss me? What do you want to read about? It’s not a rhetorical question. I REALLY WANT TO KNOW!
I can give you a teaser of what’s to come…my volunteer work with a wonderful cancer alliance and my new roles there, my two children and how dramatically different they are with school and my pains with how to get one to progress, and then my latest adventure that I’m super excited about…a Women’s Bible Study.
So, stay tuned. I am back. I NEVER really left, at least not in my heart and mind, and I’m hoping that 2017 will bring on my best blog to date. I might even learn a bit more about WordPress and make this site super groovy (sorry. I was on a bit of a Brady Bunch binge watching kick today).
The ball soared through the air, end over end, somersaulting its way into the open arms of the receiver. The kicking team chased feverishly after the ball as it headed towards its destination, with the receiving team defending the one who would be responsible for bringing the ball into play.
It was a normal kick off, one that plowed its way deep into the end zone and into the receiver’s hands. In most cases, the receiver would take a knee, or if he felt that his defenders could protect him he would bring it out onto the field, eager to gain some better position in the quest to score some points. That was not the case for this particular kick off. We all watched, many in horror and shock, others in excitement and jubilation, as the receiver tossed the ball behind him towards the referee. Why was that a problem? Because the referee hadn’t blown the ball dead nor had the receiver taken a knee. The ball was live and in the end zone, Clemson’s end zone to be exact, where a Tiger pounced on it and we were rewarded with a freebie of a touchdown.
I stood in silence as my fellow Tiger fans cheered with excitement. I watched the player on his hands and knees in the end zone, his head hanging low, and my heart broke. He was on the enemy’s team, the team we wanted to beat, the team we wanted to redeem ourselves with, but I couldn’t celebrate this touchdown. I couldn’t celebrate his pain. I couldn’t celebrate his embarrassment.
Perhaps it is because I am a mother, or maybe it’s because I’ve just matured and the game doesn’t matter to me as much as it used to, or as some would say, I’ve just become soft. Whatever the reason, I felt genuinely heartbroken as I watched this player in the end zone. When he finally rose and made his way to the sidelines, his coach was waiting for him. Words were spoken and the player took it, whether it be because he felt like someone should berate him for his own mistake or because he was still in shock over his goof up. I didn’t see the point after attempt. I didn’t see the celebration from my Tigers. All I could see was this young man and in him I saw one of my sons, and my heart broke even more.
How many of us have been there? Not a one of you can say you haven’t! We’ve all made mistakes, bone headed decisions, committed acts that were detrimental to not just us, but those who were and are depending on us. In most cases, we do them in front of a few people, not a national stage with nearly 60,000 live fans, with thousands more at home. If the fans at home were anything like the ones surrounding me in the stadium, then there was no mercy. I heard this poor kid laughed at, made fun of, and name called for what truly was a mistake. He was treated in a way that I can honestly say I hope I’ve never been a part of.
I continued to watch this kid and I couldn’t wonder if he were like me, continuously dwelling upon mistakes. Would he be able to shake it off and keep going? Would he file it into the never spaces of his brain, hiding it away never to show its ugly head again? Would he use it as determination to regain some of what he and his team had lost? He kept going, but whether he shook it off, I don’t know. His entire team seemed to have taken the fumble hard, almost looking as if the life had been sucked from them and I wondered how many of his teammates were ostracizing him. I wanted to go out on the field, clad in all of my orange and purple and hug the kid. I wanted to tell him to not let this moment define his performance in the game. I wanted to tell him to shut it all out, to drown out the noise from the crowd. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t the end of the world, which I knew he knew, but at that moment in time, I’m sure his world was crumbling.
I’ve listened to some of the sportscaster laugh at him. I’ve watched as they’ve replayed the fumble over and over, attempting to offer some new creative and comedic take on it. I’ve listened as they, and some of my fellow Clemson fans, treated this kid as if he’s the only one in this world to ever make a mistake. I’ve wanted to take these same people and put them in instances parallel to this young man’s and see how they would feel. Would they be able to hold their heads high and continue on with the game or would they simply tuck tail and run? I’m ashamed of these people and I’m ashamed of my fellow fans who went beyond basic celebration of a touchdown and took it to a whole new level of demeaning a kid’s spirit.
How would I react if I were in his shoes? That thought crossed my head and I can tell you, not well. I have a self-deprecating personality. When I let people down who are depending on me, I don’t bounce back as quickly as I should. That doesn’t sound like a good role model for my kids, but I am who I am. For me, I continue to relive my mistakes over and over, as if it’s a looping projection in my brain. Mistakes I’ve made in the past, I’ve allowed them to consume me, and much like I hope that my sons don’t have my personality in this respect, I hope this young man is also, indeed my opposite
So, to close this post, I want to shame all of you, Clemson and SC State fans alike, sportscasters and fellow fans of college football, who through your words and actions have in one way or another sought to tear down this kid’s spirit, regardless of whether your words or actions have directly impacted him. It’s a game. He’s a kid. He’s human and not immune to making mistakes. I’m praying for this kid and his team. I pray that God finds a way to use this to not just help this kid, but everyone else. I certainly hope this kid has a redeeming season and I genuinely want to apologize for the human race and how poorly he was treated for being nothing more than human.
We all suffer from it, some more so than others. It starts out with a feeling of fogginess and disorientation and then almost as if by the snap of the finger, I feel as if I’ve been hypnotized and suffer from some form of amnesia, at least this is how it all began for me.
It started early, in the first trimester of my pregnancy with Davey. At that point, I blamed it on lack of sleep, which could have been a factor in feeling like I was sucked dry of all brain cells. As the months and years rolled by, one child became two, and I found that it wasn’t just from lack of sleep. It actually had me wondering if “mom brain” is a legitimate condition and if so, what causes it.
A couple of years ago, The Journal of Experimental and Clinical Neuropsychology examined evidence around reports of memory loss in pregnant and postpartum mothers, finding that your ability to organize and plan is disrupted during pregnancy and postpartum. I knew it!
There can be various reasons for “mom brain” including biochemical and situational, but there are also pregnancy hormones affecting brain symmetry. In other words, when a woman may have once been left brain dominant (logical), chemical imbalances can distort that and she could become right brain dominant (sensitive). As we all know, most of us don’t think logically when we’re sensitive.
Most studies I’ve read have stated that moms go back to their normal cognitive functions after they stop breastfeeding. Unfortunately for me, I seem to be in the minority of this case. My mom brain has gotten worse as opposed to getting better and I’m going into 2 years since I last breastfed a child.
Why write about this now? I suppose it’s because I’ve become less and less patient with myself as I continually suffer from mom brain. What are some of the signs I experience? Well, just last week I had an encounter with my youngest. He told me his name was Henry, not Davey. I knew that. Then why did I continue to call him Davey, he asked. I told him that he and his brother have sucked me dry of my brain cells, to which he responded with, “do you want them back?” Yes, my son! I would LOVE to have them back, but it appears mine are quickly dissipating, never to return especially if all of these studies I’ve been reading are true.
It’s not just that I call them by each other’s names, but I’ve also been known to call them by the dog’s name.
I have conversations with my husband. Not unusual, I know, but most of these “conversations” I have are in my own head. He’s at work all day, I can’t immediately talk to him about what’s on my mind, so I have the “conversation” with him and I portray how I think he will respond. The problem with that is I completely forget that the conversation didn’t happen with a willing and participating second party. This in turn leads to arguments of, “I told you that” and “we’ve discussed this already.”
I find myself wanting to say something, knowing in my brain what it is and how I want to say it, but it’s almost as if the spark isn’t there between my brain and my speech. I know that’s a doorknob that’s broken, for example. I can see it with my own two eyes, and I can see the word in my head, but I can’t for the life of me spit it out of my mouth! I’ve never had a problem with speaking, especially speaking my mind, at least not until I had kids.
Then there’s my coffee. My coffee intake has dramatically decreased for various reasons, but mostly because I get distracted by one of my kids and completely forget not WHERE the coffee is, but that I even HAD coffee to start with!
I lose my keys at least once a week, forget my YMCA membership card periodically, and I’ve even been known to forget to pack my son’s lunch before! What the heck has happened to me? Mom brain, that’s what.
I’ve even managed to sit down to write a blog and completely FORGOT what I wanted to write it on. I lose my train of thought mid-sentence, leaving me longing for the days when I could have intelligent conversations about our country’s state of affairs, the economy, and anything NOT child related. I no longer think logically, but have instead been reduced to a scatterbrained version of my former self. Could I even handle it in the working world again?
I’m sure many of you have suffered from this phenomenon. And if you’re like me, almost 5 years into being a mom, you STILL suffer from it. Unfortunately for me, it appears I will be stuck with it for quite some time. There have been zero signs of improvement. On the plus side, while frustrating to me, mom brain has proven to be humorous to others. I suppose you have to find that silver lining somewhere.
Birthday parties! I have a love/hate relationship with these. I don’t like planning them and for the most part I don’t like going to them either, but I know that they are an important part of my children’s youth.
Before I had Davey, the trend of themed parties was starting to come to light. For his first birthday, I somewhat jumped on that bandwagon and planned him a nautical themed party. I didn’t go all out with decorations and I most certainly did NOT have little goody bags for the guests. Most of the guests were family anyways, while others were people who I had just met since becoming a stay at home mom. It was a great birthday, but definitely not up to a party planners’ caliber.
The following year, I had a Mickey Mouse clubhouse themed party and while I went a little bit further with it, I still didn’t go to extremes. I even managed to tone down the guest list. By the time Davey’s third birthday came around, I had Henry who was 10 months old and I’d learned a few things regarding parties, what I wanted and expected out of them, and what was really and truly worth the effort.
I decided that I no longer wanted to have the parties at my house. It’s a bit stressful preparing for a party and keeping a clean house with two boys, one grown man, and a dog. I also decided that I didn’t HAVE to invite those family members who I only see once every other year. In most cases, they were invited to save face, but every time they declined to show. Now I just don’t bother.
I also decided that theme parties are ridiculous, at least for me they are, and truthfully my kid isn’t that concerned. He just wants to have fun at some place he doesn’t go to everyday and with kids he can see outside of school. For Davey’s third birthday, I had his party off site and we invited a ton of people. My heart literally shattered when only 4 kids showed up. Davey didn’t care so much, but I did. I was pissed (still am to this day) at friends who didn’t show up. Again, it bothered me more than Davey. After that 3rd party, when I reserved a spot for 15 kids, with less than a third even RSVPing (come on, people, you’re adults. A simple yes or no works), I decided to reevaluate what may be keeping parents from bringing their kids, which then had me thinking, “what makes me NOT want to go to a party?”
First thing is gifts. I have enough stress in my life, enough things to keep on a calendar, that trying to go out and buy a gift for a 3,4,5 year old, whom I don’t know very well, is just a bit daunting. I spend what feels like a lifetime in the toy section trying to find something not too dinky, but within my budget. There are a select handful of kids who I will do this for, but really I don’t like doing it. I have enough toys in my house, so many in fact that I had to shuffle them in and out. Of course the necessity of buying a gift doesn’t keep me away from going to parties, but it’s still a pain in my ass.
So, what do I do with the gift headache? Last year, I implemented a new policy where gifts are concerned. There are people who feel they MUST by a gift. I had a few people tell me they were disappointed that my child wasn’t getting gifts. It’s a celebration, a party, a chance to have something that lasts longer than toys…memories and friends. Since I knew people would want to buy a gift, I encouraged them to go to one of my favorite charities, the GHS Children’s Hospital, and a buy a gift for a child who is in the hospital, a child who doesn’t get the luxury of going out for parties. I had thought it would be a hit, but alas only one set of parents bought a gift for a child in need. That genuinely broke my heart.
Second thing is food. I try to schedule my parties around a meal time so that encourages parents to want to bring their kids, because at least they don’t have to worry about dinner. I make sure to have enough food for the parents as well. If it means you will bring your child to my child’s party, then I will supply you with a meal. All my kid wants is to hang out and have fun.
Third, has to do with activities. When I was a kid, we had birthday parties at our house and my friends and I played out in the backyard barefoot with whatever toy was there. We created our games, played sports, and ate cake and ice cream. The parents were always on the porch or patio, not hovering over the kids trying to dictate what the kids should be playing. For some strange reason, it seems that this day that just a big fat no no with parents, so I just have the parties off site at some sort of activity center where I don’t have to beat myself senseless trying to come up with activities. Yet another thing that’s a pain in my ass.
I know, a lot of you are asking me about the gift situation right now. I can see you telling me it’s not fair to deprive my child of an essential part of his childhood by not giving him gifts on his birthday. To that I say, “back up and hold the phone.” My children do receive gifts. We have a small little birthday dinner, with my parents, aunt, and cousin, along with my mother-in-law every year where my children receive toys. They have gifts to open, so I’m not taking away their chance to open gifts. I know this is something that will keep me from attending a child’s party (not every child’s) and if I feel this way, I know other parents do as well. If I can alleviate that stress (usually the biggest headache for a parent taking their child to a birthday party), thereby encouraging more of my children’s friends to show, then I am a happy mom.
Birthday parties are a dime a dozen. When you become a parent, there are so many of them to attend, more than I ever recall attending when I was a child. It seems as if we’re receiving invites to a new party at least once a week and I know that’s only going to get worse as Henry is officially old enough to be in school and have friends of his own. Yet another party to plan and another whole set of parties to attend. It comes with the territory of being a parent, but why not find ways to be considerate of the other parents when planning the party. I know it’s the child’s special day, but even on his special day, consideration for others is always a must, at least in this household.