Year 3 In the Books

Marching band season came around this year without much fanfare. It's my daughter's third year - she just folded right back in. The first year was exciting- it was new, there were things to learn and adjust to. The second year of marching band was like a second year of marriage, the newness had worn off but it was still fresh. It was emotionally difficult. This year, it became part of the routine. She was confident in what she was doing, she knew the schedule and expectations and it just WAS.

I spent the season shuttling her here and there, chaperoning football games and helping at competitions like I always do. My daughter is playing the piccolo this year so that was neat to watch. "I can finally HEAR you!" I exclaimed. She came home toward the start of the season and told me that her section leader had assigned her to a new seventh grader- to kind of watch over her and help her with learning what she needed to learn. She was in that girls shoes, so she understood the struggle.

She would come home and let me know how things were going in her daily "tea" spilling sessions to me. One day we took this girl home and as she was getting out of the car my daughter turned to her and said, "You worked REALLY hard today. Keep up the good work! I'm so proud of you!" The girl gave her an exhausted half-smile and went into her house. As we were driving home, we had a chat.
"I think I've figured it out!" she said.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. If I get frustrated with her, it doesn't work. So now, every time she does something well, I point it out to her and tell her "good job". Every time, even little things. Then she will do it like that again."
"So, positive reinforcement?" I said.
"Yes!" she replied.

She loved this little child and genuinely wanted to help her. I think it brought her satisfaction to be in an unofficial mentor role. It's been fascinating to watch her grow over these past few years. She came in as an inexperienced seventh grader, who doubted her abilities and was really looking for her place in the world but now, 3 years later she is a lot more mature, so much more confident and she has a passion for music that is enviable. I'm proud of her.

This past weekend was Lower State. The day started early and it was a windy, overcast day with an on and off drizzle. The group of us parents did what the parents do - we unloaded the truck, administered first aid, plumed hats, we set up props, we cheered as the children performed, we fed them, we loaded the truck, we sat and we waited.

When they announced awards, I huddled with some of my close friends and grasped their hands, and we all held our breaths. We needed to be in the top 8 to make it to the State Competition. They called our band and we were not in the top 8. My heart fell into my stomach and I could hear the sniffles and the tears of the kids sitting behind me. I was sad for them, it was disappointing. I thought they marched a great show. They've grown and improved so much. I was proud.

Life is like that sometimes. Sometimes you work incredibly hard and you still don't win. Sometimes you want something so bad and it just doesn't happen. Life is full of disappointments and heartache - this group of kids knows that more than most. BUT they are resilient and I can't wait to see the amazing things they do next year.

When we got back to the school, I helped clean up the bus and get things put away. My daughter asked if she could go eat with friends. I handed her my debit card and kissed her on the forehead. "Yes, just be home between 10:30 and 11:00."

I took home her friend, who is in the 7th grade. It's her first year. "I'm just sad it's over. I'm going to miss my friends," she said. The young ones don't even understand, they THINK it's "over". I tried to explain, "It will go by really fast. You guys still have 2 more football games, and the Red, White and Blue festival. Then you get a week off for Thanksgiving. Then you have the tree lighting and the Christmas parade. Then there are auditions , and you will all be at together. Maybe you get 8-12 weeks in the spring but then you have the banquet and spring training. It goes by fast. Besides, you are at the middle school which means you have morning rehearsals and afternoon rehearsals, and multiple concerts. Trust me - you will have NO problem filling your time."

Band kids, the ones who are all in, are balls-to-the-wall all year round. I know. I'm living that life.

I went home and took a shower and crawled into bed. I was exhausted. I heard my daughter come in at 10:36. She came upstairs and filled me in on her dinner excursion. The child can talk. "Are you okay?" I asked. She shrugged, "It sucks but it was a growing year. It just be like that sometimes, you know?" I laughed. That's her saying- it just be like that sometimes. "This marching season went by really fast but I'm excited for next year. It will be really good." She told me about some things she planned to work on and goals she was setting for herself. LOVE HER.

The next day was a recovery day but sure enough, that evening I heard the sound of her metronome through her door and the state solo being played. Band doesn't end - there are auditions to be prepared for.

I participated in marching band for 3 years in high school so when my kid joined marching band I was kind of aware of what I was getting into and the level of commitment it takes. I feel bad for the parents whose kids join marching band and they were never in band because it can be an adjustment. Here is a list of things I think new band parents need to know:

- Your child will spend more time with the marching band than with their own family from August-October. It is a huge time commitment. It's okay, they are in good hands.

-Practice will run a few minutes late. Just know it, try to be patient. It is what it is. The only exception to this rule is if you are running late to pick up your child - then, it will have ended on time and you will get angry text messages in all caps that read: WHERE ARE YOU?!?!?!

-Don't plan anything on the weekend - ESPECIALLY in October. There will be band every weekend. Don't plan trips out of town, don't organize the family reunion....EVERY kid in the marching band is important and is like a piece in a puzzle. They need to be there.

- You'll probably want to buy two show shirts because there will be a football game before a competition or your kid might misplace their show shirt. The same goes for long, black socks. You will be doing an extra load of laundry a day because they will come home in yucky, sweaty clothes everyday. Make sure they pack an extra deodorant in their band bag- and a water bottle.

- Have grace. You child might not tell you that their bibbers need to be mended until the night before, they might leave their timeline crumbled in the bottom of their band bag, they might show up to band camp without their instrument....it can be stressful for them learning how to balance marching band, school, family, friends and life. They are not trying to be dicks. Thankfully, marching band teaches great life skills - like multi-tasking, time management, and responsibility. Long term benefits for the win!

-Help! There are a lot of opportunities to participate and the band NEEDS parent volunteers. The director and kids need to focus on their jobs so the parents fill-in with the miscellaneous stuff and take stress off of the staff. As a band mom, I have moved equipment, hand washed color guard uniforms, held back hair with a flute between my knees as a kid vomited, I have calmed nervous breakdowns and tracked down gauntlets, I have helped with fundraisers and collected trash. When there are parents to help with these things, everything goes a lot smoother. Any amount of time that you can dedicate is important and helpful. Plus, you get to meet other amazing parents who might turn into your good friends.

-When you are around volunteering, you get to know all the kids. They will be excited to see you. I was in the mall once and I heard footsteps behind me and a set of arms threw themselves around me before I could even turn around. It was just a random marching band kid. That made my heart smile. You get to know the people your kid is around too which calms your nerves when they go to Cook Out after a competition. You'll watch them grow with your own child and you will celebrate their successes. Guess what? The other band parents are like that with MY KID. Do you know how amazing it is to know that there are other people who would make sure my kid is taken care of when I am not around? Parents who will snap pictures of my kid and send them to me? That will keep an eye out for her? It is the BEST.

-When, if at all possible, come and watch them. Even if you've seen the show a thousand times. Even if they just marched it at the football game. Even if they have terrible teenage attitude and act like they don't want you there. There is something special about having someone be there just to see YOU. It matters. They won't forget it and you will never regret it. I promise.

The Corn Maze

It's October which means we are in full Halloween mode. We love Halloween and we spend the entire month celebrating - we decorate, watch spooky movies, carve jack-o-lanterns and enjoy a visit to the corn maze.

We have been going to the same corn maze every year since 2007. This was our 11th visit. We packed up the kids (and Hollister Boy, the official tag-a-long) this Sunday and headed to the corn maze. It's quite a sight to see now. When we first started going, it was a small event. It was only it's third year in existence. There were some animals, a hay ride, a pumpkin shed and a corn maze. That was it. It wasn't crowded, they only accepted cash.

But now, 11 years later, things have changed. There are two parking lots and a cop directing traffic. Every year they added new things and you walk up and there are food trucks, snow cones, a sand pit playground thing, a corn kernel sand box, a small kid maze with hay bales. It's kind of neat to have watched it grow.

At the very front they have pictures of all of the corn mazes organized by year and the kids pointed them out and were like, "I remember this one. Oh- the one with the football. It was really hot that year!" We have so many wonderful memories of the corn maze.

The first year, it took so long for us to get through. No one was there but us and I sat in the maze and nursed my 1 year old as we took a break. Another year, the crop wasn't so good and they turned the bare area into a resting stop. There was the year that it started pouring down rain when we were in the middle of it and we were determined to finish. We laughed as we ran through, punching our cards as the rain came down. When the kids were young, they'd want us to carry them. They'd walk a little, then we'd carry them on our hips, then down again to walk a little, then we'd carry them again.

I remember the first year they made it all the way through without us carrying them ONCE. I smiled to my husband, "Can you even believe it?" That was so long ago.

 It's been hard to find time as the kids have gotten older. Last year, we made it to the corn maze at the last minute.

Last October was a heavy time. It was busy,  gymnastics season was moved to the fall, marching band was in full swing, my oldest daughter experienced two tragic deaths of people she knew. It was hard for all of us. The state marching band competition was the last Saturday of October and I had to get up early the next day and go to work.

I came home from work that Sunday afternoon, exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally spent. I pulled my scrubs off and told the children to get ready to go to the corn maze. My husband was like, "Are you sure? We don't have to." I nodded, "We're going, we can't break our tradition."

It was the late afternoon, the coldest it's ever been. It was overcast and we all shivered as we made our way through the maze. The kids ran ahead, we laughed and it was a beautiful time- like it always is.

Afterwards, we had gotten barbecue at the food truck and we sat together and ate. We talked about Halloween, the sun was going down and the heaviness had lifted. In a world that seemed to be changing all the time, that had become more confusing, different and hard for the kids- this was a place that was familiar, that was grounding, that was the same. It brought comfort to all of us.

Now, here we were a year later. I paid for our wrist bands and we made our way through to see the animals. The kids admired the chickens and pet the cows and the pigs. They asked if they could paint pumpkins. I didn't think they'd want to this year but they still do. They all picked out pumpkins and set them on the tables and painted them. It was a sight to see because lined up on both sides of the table were little children- all under 8, painting their pumpkins and at the very end were our adult-sized children hunched over painting their theirs. Not noticing that they were out of place at all.

We took our phones out and took pictures of them. "Look at me!" my husband said, snapping a photo. Some of the other parents there looked at us weird as we took pictures and oohed and aaahed at their pumpkin painting. To them, we probably seemed ridiculous. But we don't see our kids the way they do. They are still our children and we are still making memories. We are cherishing the very last pieces of their childhood that are slipping away from us.

They will understand one day, too. I watched the parents of the young children as they "helped" and wiped noses and instructed on hand washing. That was me, once upon a time. I sighed.

They set their pumpkins down to dry and we rode on the hay ride and then we made our way through the corn maze. The kids helped navigate and ran ahead, as usual. We were about halfway through when we came across two children. A boy and a girl. "Excuse me, do you know were we are?" they asked, handing us their map.

I called my husband over and he showed them exactly where we were. The kids were like, "We actually lost our mom. Can we stay with you guys and you can help us get out of the maze?" My husband was behind them looking at me like,


I couldn't very well leave them in the maze all alone. That's not who we are. "Sure, you guys can stick with us until we get through and if your mom isn't there then we'll let the workers know."

We went on our way through the maze- now with 5 children in tow. I asked the kids their names and ages. They told me, "I'm 10." and "I'm 11." Then they told me their life story. I didn't ask, they just shared. "Our parents are divorced." That was the first thing they told me. I was like, So much for keeping the conversation casual. They were there with their mom and her boyfriend. I got the impression that they didn't like the boyfriend very much. The boy had gotten lost first, according to his sister, and the adults hadn't seemed concerned. Then SHE got lost but she found her brother and they decided to stick together and then they had found us.

"Is this your first time being here?" the boy asked.
"No. This is our 11th year in a row," I replied.
"We're you a kid then?" he asked.
"11 years ago?" I laughed, "No."
"How old were you 11 years ago?" he asked.
"I was about 24," I said.
He looked puzzled. I explained to him that these big children were MY kids. I think he thought we were just a bunch of friends. That made me chuckle that he thought I was must have been a child 11 years ago.

The kids were delightful and they just tagged a long. We all were having a great time. When we were almost through, we ran into the little kid's mother and boyfriend. "I thought we had finally gotten rid of y'all!" the boyfriend exclaimed when he saw them. Oof, as my girls would say. The kids waved to us and said goodbye. I smiled back at them and bid them farewell.
   

After we'd made it through the maze, we got barbecue and chatted about the day. The kids watched the little ones play in the sand that they had played in years ago. It was a nice time.

When it was time to go, the kids went to retrieve their pumpkins that they had painted. "Will we still come here when the girls grow up?" I asked my husband.
"Hell yeah. Me and you can do the corn maze."

I thought about what that will be like. There are only 3 more Octobers until our oldest graduates and just 5 for our youngest. That first visit without them will be weird. I can see it now- the two of us walking in, alone. We'll look at the pictures of the corn maze of all the years past and we'll reminisce. We'll ride the hayride, just the two of us. We'll sit on a hay bale and take a selfie and send it to the girls - Wish you were here. :) We'll watch the parents of young children, carrying their bags and their sippy cups, looking tired and we'll remember when that was us.

We will walk through the corn maze and argue over which way to go and when it's all done we'll sit and eat barbecue. We'll talk about our jobs, upcoming trips, the last time we talked to the girls....

Will I be okay? Will I have adjusted to this new life? Will this place bring me comfort- knowing that our visits brought us so much joy throughout their childhood? Will the memories of my children being young break my heart or will they sustain me? These are the questions that I don't have the answers to. They are the things I can speculate about but I really won't know until I get there.

We walked back to the car and I watched them. My girls laughing about something, Hollister boy towering above them as he walked alongside. Just like that, our 11th visit to the corn maze had come and gone.

How the Hell is it October?

  
It's been so long since I've written here. Over a month. I'm not vain enough to pretend that anyone cares that much but I have been so good at archiving our lives over the years that I'm a little disappointed in myself.

September was a little crazy. We took an impromptu vacation to St. Augustine after the Governor ordered mandatory evacuations for the coast. It was a little stressful, we made the decision to leave very quickly. We scrambled to get the house together and secure what we could, we took down our backyard oasis and made arrangements for the pets. We took our important documents, all the food we could pack in coolers and left the rest. I don't care about anything in my house. Things are only things.

We stayed at this adorable cottage just 2 blocks from the beach. We filled our days with beach going, sight seeing and generally relaxing. I drank pina coladas on the back porch every night. There was no hustle and bustle of driving kids here or there. It was so nice- a much needed break from real life. I needed it and I think the kids did too.

Since then, things have returned to normal. I quit my job. I grew weary of working every weekend. My husband is busy with work. He'll be traveling again soon. Definitely to Germany and possibly Hawaii. One day, when I kids are grown, I'll tag along on some of his work trips. In the meantime, the kids are keeping me busy with their activities. School is going well for them. Progress reports came home today. I haven't seen my oldests yet- she has all As and Bs in Powerschool so lets hope she keeps it up. 

My youngest was annoyed that she has a 92 in English. Otherwise she has a 98 and the rest are 99s. What the hell? I never had a 99 overall grade in anything ever. She's so smart.

This month I found out that when you get old your pubes turn grey and they fall out. I was really upset about it. I feel like it's something everyone should know. I've been telling people about it. Like a PSA. After I found out, I was sitting in the living room with my family and I just turned to them and said, "Just so you know- when you get old your pubes are going to turn grey and fall out."
They were horrified.
                          
Just telling you all in case you didn't know- Your pubes are going to turn grey and FALL OUT. You will thank me later.

Also, I'm pretty sure my air conditioner just shit the bed. It's like 84 degrees in my house right now. We've been waiting for YEARS. The unit was installed in 02. It's as old as the house. We don't even get it serviced because it's financially not worth it. Every summer we just cross our fingers and wait. It's a game we like to call How-Long-Will-This-AC-Last? or Us-Against-the-AC. Look at it.
 
It's a damn disgrace. It's a remnant from the civil war and they just built the house around it. hahaha BUT it's October now. It's hot as balls but only really for the next 2 weeks. I'm about to tell these kids to open the windows, take cold showers, and wear their little shortie shorts. I mean, I can't really be mad about it. It had a good run, it gave us all it had to give. All good things must come to an end.

So, that was my lame-ass excuse for a blog, for those that care. :)

This Thing Called Life

                                  
The past few weeks have been challenging. For a multitude of reasons. The children are back to school and we already have the beginning of the school year crud. Every year we seem to get a cold, strep or a stomach bug in the first few weeks of school. My oldest is napping on the couch just a few feet away from me as I type this.

The kids always want me when they are sick. I am wondering when, if ever, they will grow out of this. My oldest called me up to her room on Wednesday evening. She was propped up in bed, glassy eyed and flushed with her laptop on her lap. "Mom, I don't feel good," she said. She had a fever and a tummy ache. I got her some medicine, a heat pack and poured her a glass of ginger ale. She wept, "But I have to finish this geometry project." I set the computer on her desk. "To hell with geometry. You need to rest."
She asked me to lay with her and I obliged. I crawled into bed with her and she curled her body (that is now longer than me) next to mine. She was calm. I laid my arm across her and she fell asleep. Moms make everything better.

I have spent much of my career working with mother's and babies. I am always in awe. Some babies come into the world and it's like they already know what to do. They emerge from the womb and breathe and feed and do all the things right away. For other children, it's not that easy. Some struggle. Some are born and need help breathing. Others struggle to find the breast. For many reasons- because they had a long, rough journey into the world, because they are early or just because that is just the way it is sometimes. Occasionally, I get paged to see a mother and baby fresh from the womb.

Every time I feel strange about it, like I am some kind of intruder of this sacred moment. Usually it's a baby that is struggling - brand new to the earth, on his mother's chest, amniotic fluid still bubbling from the mouth, squawking like a tiny bird, searching. I smile to myself, Sweet child, your life is not even hard yet. As I general rule, I don't like to touch brand new babies if I don't have to. I ask their mother's to talk to them.

It's interesting because most of the time they will say the baby's name and "it's okay" in a soft almost-whisper. I watch as they reach up and graze their hands over the baby- gentle and intentional. Most of the time, their cries stop for a moment when they hear their mother's voice and they will open their eyes. In this world where everything is new, and their bodies are having to adjust to the world, it is their mother's voices that are familiar. Then they latch- after a short time or a long while- and the mothers exhale and gaze down at this life that they made. I speak quietly and sneak out of the room, giving them back this sacred moment that I have intruded on.

Every new mother thinks her baby is the best one, and she's right. They always remark about how strong their babies are- how they briefly hold their head up and how they clasp their fists around their parent's fingers. All babies do this but I just smile and agree. "Look how smart and strong she is." It's not a lie. Babies are much smarter than we give them credit for. They know what they like, and they like their mothers.

Sometimes I'll come across a baby who has been fed and changed and is still crying and the minute I hand them to their mothers they stop crying. It's like instant gratification. My children were this way too. My husband was always jealous of my ability to get the children to be calm simply by holding them close.

People often remark that I must love my job- because it's babies! There is so much joy with babies. Yes, my work has been joyful but it's not always. Sometimes babies are born sick, or drug addicted and sometimes babies die.

I'll never forget a young lady that I came across almost 10 years ago. It was 3 days before Christmas and she was my last appointment of the day. We were running behind and I was tired. There were some last minute holiday "things" to do and I felt terribly guilty about picking my kids up from aftercare after 5 pm. She sat down and I had some equipment to give her and had to ask her some questions. I asked her about her baby. She was younger than me but it was her third child, but first girl. The baby needed life saving surgery but she was too premature to survive the surgery. "She's going to die," she told me, with tears in her eyes. Those words seemed to echo off the walls and I will remember them as long as I live.

There was a mother who lost a baby, whose house I visited to pick up her equipment. She invited me in. She brought me to the nursery and showed me the empty crib. She had this book that had the baby's footprints and a wisp of hair and pictures. She sobbed and she hugged me. I was a stranger to her, but I let her. It didn't seem strange to me. Sometimes we just need another human to hold on to and in that moment she did. Over the years, I've worked with so many women who have lost babies. And I still pray for them.

Life and death- they are the universal things. The things we ALL must do. We must be born and we must die. While I have spent most of my time working with mothers and babies, I also worked for hospice for a time. I spent my days with the elderly and the dying.

I would visit nursing homes and doctor's offices. I loved those patients as much as mothers and babies. In different ways, of course. There was an old man at one of the nursing homes who would always ask me to marry him. "I have a pension, you know." I would tell him I was married and he would say, "You are?" like he was surprised. Every week he would think he was meeting me for the first time and every week he asked me to marry him. He provided comedy in my days.

I would always visit my patients in the nursing home and the hospitals. Their stories fascinated me. There was the blind woman in her 90s who could remember the details of her life perfectly, who wept when she spoke of her mother who'd passed many years before, I wiped the tears from her face. There was the old man who spoke of death fondly, so that he could be reunited with his wife- the love of his wife. The woman in her 50's who was dying of cancer and was tired of fighting but her husband wasn't ready.

I got a call once to see a lady who had declined very rapidly. When I arrived I spoke with the nurse and went in to see her. The room was dim and she was staring out into space- talking to someone who was not there, I couldn't understand what she was saying. I knew it wouldn't be long. Dying people often see "ghosts". Some will say that it's just a hallucination but I don't think it is. I think those that come before us, usher us back home. They've actually done studies about this phenomenon and do you know who people are most likely to see? Their deceased mothers. I kind of like that idea - that our mother's transition us into the world and out of it.

So I sat down next to this woman, she continued to talk to whoever it was in the corner and I told her that her children were on their way. Then I just sat there for a while and waited and was present with her. She was dead before the sun came up the next day.

My favorite was a little old lady who was sassy as could be. Whenever I came to the nursing home, I'd sit with her for a short time. She was grumpy (rightfully so). They'd have old country music playing from the radio and I'd bring a cup of water with a straw to her lips. Sometimes she's snap at me- especially if I asked too many questions. "Are you tired? Do you want me to leave?" I'd ask. No matter how she was feeling, she always said "no." I was so fond of her. As the weeks passed, I watched her get weaker and weaker. Towards the end, she would just sleep a lot but I would come sit with her anyway. I didn't often cry but I did cry when she died.

Families gathered, they cried together, they forgot past indiscretions, they shared memories. And sometimes when I was present with them, I felt like an intruder of a sacred moment.

When I worked at hospice, people often asked if it made me sad, or scared. Quite the contrary. The dying taught me so much about living. I am very intentional with my time, as much as possible I try to do things that bring me joy, to enjoy the little things in life, to celebrate good times and accept the things that I cannot change. I will not put up with people who are reckless with my feelings. I am ALIVE. It has made me a better mother, wife and human being in general.

In my career I have witnessed so much joy and so much suffering. I have interacted with people who live in abject poverty, who have experienced real loss. I have worked with people who live impossible lives. And I was supposed to be "helping" them but really it is the other way around.

I carry these lessons around with me, I remember their stories and their voices. I have learned so much from them.

And while past few weeks have certainly not be ideal, life is like that sometimes. The children are growing and thriving and we are in a good place. We are blessed.

Eighth Grade

Last week I saw a trailer for Eighth Grade. Because I have 2 daughters between 8th Grade, it piqued my interest. My husband and I made plans to take the girls this past Saturday. My youngest got invited to go rollerskating with her girlfriend, however, so we went without her. She has the tendency to be anti-social so whenever she is interested in hanging out with other kids her age we're like:
                     

So my husband and I took our oldest who was so excited. "I love when I get you guys all to myself!" hahaha. Our youngest is the same way. They both love one-on-one time.

We got some popcorn and Twizzlers and sat down to watch the movie. It follows an 8th grade girl in a week of her life and highlights her struggles and the interactions with her peers and father. Having been an 8th grade girl and having parented an 8th grade girl, this movie hit me right in the feels. The whole movie I was like:
                        
Man, being a young teenager is HARD and holy crap, parenting a young teenager is SOOOOOO HARD. Talk about being emotionally raw.

After the movie I asked my daughter if she felt like it was an accurate representation of what it was like to be in 8th grade. "Totally but I feel like that was like my 7th grade year. Eighth grade was better for me." She's right. She had a better year this year - I wasn't sure ANY of us were going to survive her 7th grade year. I shudder just thinking about it. I have PTSD.

For myself personally, 8th grade was the WORST year. BY FAR. In our school district, elementary school was K5-7, then high school was 8-9 and senior high school was 10-12. So, I started a new school in 8th grade. It felt more like a prison then a school, the walls were grey and there was 4 times the number of kids that had come from local feeder schools.

I remember feeling like I was the biggest loser ever. I hated everything. Everything was all wrong. I had all the wrong clothes, I got braces that year and my mouth full of metal did not boost my self-esteem. I remember feeling like I was stupid. I had to try SO HARD in school and everyone else seemed to get good grades effortlessly. I felt like I had no real talents and I thought I was so socially awkward. Why did I have to be so weird? Why couldn't I just be normal like everyone else?

In homeroom they would pass out lunch tickets to the kids who got free and reduced lunch and I remember being MORTIFIED that everyone knew I got reduced lunch. When you are in elementary school, every one is too busy picking their nose to notice but not in 8th grade. I loved boys that would't even look at me. I'd sit and scribble their names on my notebooks and daydream about kissing them in the stairwell. I hated my parents. I thought they were terrible people and I was pretty sure they didn't love me at all. I was so uncomfortable in my own skin.

I desperately wanted bigger boobs. So BAD. I would pray to God at night, "Dear God. If you could just help me out and make my boobs grow, I would like-REALLY appreciate it." hahahaha. I think I asked my mom for a padded bra and she shot me down. *KNIFE IN THE HEART*

My classmates were different all of a sudden. Kids that I'd gone to school with for years were suddenly like strangers to me. Everything became weirdly sexual. I didn't feel like I fit in with anyone. I felt alone in the world.

Multiple times a week, I would cry in school. Always between lunch and choir. I remember holding it in all day and then after lunch, I would climb the stairs and walk straight to the school psychologist's office (did he have open office hours?) and I would collapse in a chair and I would ugly cry. I remember the 4 walls of his closet-like office so vividly, I spent so much time there. Like, I would cry so hard it raked my body. Rivers and rivers of tears and then I would vomit all my my problems to him, he would give me a pep-talk about how to make it through the day, and then would write me a pass to choir. Bless that man - I think about him often. He must have worried about me like crazy.

If only things could be different. I fantasized about a different life. I'd come into school with a $40 Delia's dress or a pair of JNCO jeans and platform sneakers. I'd be wearing my padded bra and body glitter. I'd have perfect make-up - metallic eyeshadow, Bonnebell lip gloss, and a choker. I'd smell like Clinque Happy and cucumber melon lotion from Bath and Bodyworks. I wouldn't have to study and I'd still get straight A's. The boy I liked would take notice and he would kiss me in the back stairwell and I'd get invited to all the parties because everyone would think I was the coolest. They wouldn't think I was weird.

But I wasn't that girl. I was just a metal-mouthed, flat-chested girl in Value City jeans, holding a reduced lunch ticket with a B- in Pre-Algebra, who was awkward and just trying to get through the day without slitting my wrists.

Interestingly, I have a scrapbook that I made in 8th grade. I discovered it in my father's garage a few years ago and it is a glimpse into my life at that time.

I saved some of my reduced lunch tickets. I'm telling you- they made an impact on me.

There is a decoupaged notebook page. Courtney Love, Beck, Alanis, Daria- doesn't get more 90's than this.

There were pictures that I drew:

This is a picture I drew of myself with some skinny-ass 90's eyebrows

And this duck with sexy eyes

And this picture of a teacher that I hated. Proof that indeed, all 8th graders are assholes. 

There are letters from friends, and some suggestive ones from boys. *Whoa*

There is an earring that I loved:

Clippings that I found amusing:

Quotes that I found relevant to my 8th grade self:

Then there are some things that make me sad. Like this comic strip I saved:

And this card from my mother who obviously knew I was struggling:

It was funny when I rediscovered this book when I was 28 or 29. Because I had all these terrible memories from that time but it was really all in my head. I was a pretty girl, I was smart, I had talents, I had friends, my parents did actually love me. I was definitely weird but not in a bad way. In a way that made me funny and interesting. 

THAT is the hardest part about kids this age. As adults we can see the beauty and the talent and potential in them but THEY can't always see it. 

I really feel bad for the kids today because the technology makes things worse. How hard it is to see pictures on social media of parties that you're not invited to, or pictures of your crush someone else, or being anonymously bullied or the pressure to look like a Snapchat filter in real life. It's a lot of pressure. 

I wish I had answers about how to make this time easier. Lots of praying and just moving forward. Time and experience are the only cures for adolescence. 

Our household will do eighth grade all over again in just a year...and we'll get through it again. We'll bask in all of it's beautiful awkwardness. 

Kids are Assholes Sometimes

                                
Having kids is hard. It's hard when they are younger. They throw tantrums, they get angry, sometimes they say "I hate you!" When my girls were younger, they didn't say that too often but they would get an occasional one out at me. But when they get older- man, they can say things that sting.

Generally my oldest is very sweet. My youngest is the one with the mouth but she has gotten so much better. She is mostly sweet too now. Thank the Lord- it's been touch and go the past 2 years.

Last week, I dropped my youngest off at gymnastics and then went to the grocery store with my oldest. She was pleasant, we laughed, we generally had a good time. On the ride home we were talking and I attempted to give her advice about something. I obviously touched a nerve because a switch flipped in her and she said, "I don't need a lecture from you. I hope you cry yourself to sleep."
                                         
I hope you cry yourself to sleep. What kind of f*cked up thing is that to say to someone? Because I tried to give you a lecture? Oh hell no. She will not talk to me like that. Imma show her. My inner voice is kind of ghetto. I was prepared to say some real mean shit to her. Like, MEAN.

Then, the logical voice in my head stopped me. Why? Why would I do that? Am I really willing to destroy my 14 year old to prove a point? Do I really think it's okay to hurt her feelings bad because she hurt mine? I'm a grown ass woman, with a pretty thick skin and a pretty okay self-esteem. My teenage daughter is not there yet. Is this who I am as a person? No. Not it's not.

We remember every shitty thing our parents say to us. It's true. We may not remember the context or the situation but when your parents say mean and hurtful things, it cuts to the core. Forever. I try to remember that as often as possible when I am angry at the kids. I'm not always successful but I try to be intentional as much as possible.

So, I took a deep breath and I didn't say the mean thing that I was going to say in the heat of the moment. Not because she didn't deserve it, but because I believe that giving grace is not a sign of weakness but a sign of strength. I was too angry to talk to her so I said nothing the whole ride home. She looked out the window.

When we got home, I avoided her for a while. She came downstairs and tried to talk to me like everything was fine. I was short with her.
"Are you mad at me?" she asked.
"Yes. You told me that you hope I cry myself to sleep."
She cut me off, "But you were trying to lecture me."
"Your behavior is not okay. You hurt my feelings and I am so disappointed."

That's when she started crying. The worst thing for her is knowing you are disappointed. You can ground her or take her phone and she's like whatever but if you tell her you are disappointed, she gets so upset. Not my youngest. If you tell my youngest that you're disappointed in her behavior, she'll be like:
                 
Long story short, my oldest apologized and we had a nice long talk and we went on with life. She hasn't been mean since. A few salty moments but nothing out of the ordinary.

I have learned through the years that often, my children act like jerks or are mean when something is going on with them. I don't believe that they act like assholes just because. I think that the kids deeply desire to be on good terms with us, they want us to be proud of them and love them no matter what.

They get to a certain age where their emotions are so HEAVY, sometimes life is very hard, it is a confusing time and instead of verbalizing that it comes out in eye rolling, and attitudes, and sometimes telling your mom that you hope she cries herself to sleep at night. They project their feelings onto us and it's really hard to not take it personally. But you it tells you a lot about what's going on with them.

Adolescents are like babies in some ways. Baby's are non-verbal but attentive mothers learn their cries. The hunger cry is different than the tired cry, which is different than the bored cry and the hurt cry. Learning your adolescent's moods is a lot like learning your babies crying. They can tell you when they are struggling with something without saying anything at all.

Sometimes I would pick my daughter up from gymnastics and ask her about practice. Some days she would scowl at me and say, "You ask so many questions. You are the most annoying person on the planet." That means she had a rough time at practice and is frustrated with something. So often I'd say, "If you don't want to talk about practice that's okay. I'm here when you are ready." Sometimes she rolls her eyes and stuffs her earbuds in her ears but sometimes she'd take a deep breath tell me about her frustrations.

My oldest would come home from school and I'd ask about her day and she'd roll her eyes and say, "Leave me alone. I don't want to talk to you," and storm up to her room. I'd go upstairs and say through the door, "It sounds like you had a rough day at school. I'll be downstairs with a snack, if you want to talk."

Usually,I'd hear steps on the stairs a few minutes later and she'd been standing in front of me with tears in her eyes. "I had a hard day."

They think I have some kind of psychic ability...like, how do you know?

But our house is a mostly harmonious one for that reason. When the kids act like that I could say (or want to say), "You need to stop being a little bitch, you're grounded for a week" But why make life harder than it already is?

I get a lot of flack for being like this. Maybe I do need to be a little more tough on them, maybe they won't respect me, maybe I'm doing things all wrong and I'm a terrible mother....but this is the only way I know how to be. Time will tell, I guess.

Sometimes the kids say mean things without realizing it. Like the other day when I was sitting on the could next to my 12 year old and she patted me on the chest right below my shoulder and declared,
"Mom! Where are your boobs?!?!"
"Ummmm......lower than that."
"Why are they in the middle of your body?"
"I don't know- gravity?"
She made an icky face and said, "That's disgusting!"
                                            
Sometimes they tell me that I'm "old" or "cringy" or "cray cray." I will only accept the "cray cray" as truth. I think they secretly think I'm the coolest, but like I said, sometimes adolescents are not always good at verbalizing their feelings. ;)

My Big One

                             
My oldest daughter will be 14 in two days. The children know the stories of how I found out I was pregnant with them, and they love to hear the stories about the day they were born. The story goes, that with my oldest , I was 19, I didn't find out until I was almost 10 weeks pregnant (because I was in denial), and that when I found out- I cried. Sobbed.

A few years ago, my daughter was in trouble for something- I don't even remember what. She was really worked up and she blurted out, "You didn't even want me. That's why you cried when you found out you were having me!" Kids really hold shit like that against you.
                                                
Is that really what she thought? I tried to explain it to her in a way that she could understand but I don't know if she could really comprehend it. I didn't cry because of her, I cried because of ME. I had this real fear that I would be a terrible mother. I cried because I knew this child deserved better than me. I had a lot of baggage. Not a small, rolling suitcase. We're talking a Louis Vouitton trunk, 3 large suitcases, a carry on AND a tote bag. I wanted this child to have a beautiful life and I was unsure that I could give that to her.

My husband was fantastic. He held on to me and over and over again was like, "It's going to be fine, you're going to do great, it's going to be okay." He saw things in me that I couldn't. He always had.

The day she was born was so surreal. They gave me horrible medicine that made me loopy, it was an out of body experience almost. After the drugs wore off and I felt like a normal human being, they handed her to me and it was like the weight of the world was on my shoulders. From that moment on, I ALWAYS thought of myself second. I was in love with her.

We lived in Texas, we had no friends and family. My daughter was born on Monday and my husband went back to work on Thursday, the day after we got home from the hospital. It was TRULY just the two of us. She was a velcro baby. She was not content unless she was in my arms. I didn't mind really. I accepted it. We pulled our glider into the living room and for the first 8 weeks of her life, all I did was eat, sleep and feed the baby.

I sat in the rocker and watched every bit of the Athens Summer Olympics that year. We nursed and rocked, nursed and rocked, nursed and rocked.

In life, we were doing okay for a 20 and 21 year old. We had an apartment in Dallas, we had a car, we were financially independent but we weren't going where we wanted to go. We were living paycheck to paycheck. My husband came home when she was a few weeks old and waved the white flag. "You know, I can probably get on with the Department of Defense. The pay would be better, I'd get paid time off, it would be easier for you to finish school....." He loved Dallas, he dreamed of living in the big city but we had a baby now.

So he made a few phone calls, and that November we were making the move back to Oklahoma. We got approved for a small mortgage and brought a small, brick rancher on the edge of town. It was a little house- but it was OURS. It had a big fenced in back yard and was perfect for our little family. I took off college for a year and was home with her and we lived off my husband's modest income. There wasn't luxuries but we had a bills paid and just a little bit left over to do some fun things or go out to eat every once in a while. I went back to school part time at night after she turned one. It took me 5 years to get my Bachelor's degree instead of 4.

It was just the 2 of us in that Oklahoma house for two years. She was my little buddy. We'd play in the backyard and blow bubbles, we went to story time at the library, we would go to the park. She loved to slide down the sliding board, and watch the prairie dogs popping in and out of holes along the perimeter. We played blocks and watched Dora and the Wiggles. We spent every day together and it was the happiest time of my life.

I was enough for her. More than enough. I was home to her. And I needed her as much as she needed me. This big-eyed, whispy- haired child who grew to look more and more like me everyday, she was my heart, my soul, my every inspiration. By the time her sister came along, I was calm. I knew that I would love this baby too and that I wasn't, in fact, a terrible mother like I'd once feared.

She brought to our life so many gifts. She inspired us to be better people, to reach higher, to work harder, to build a better life for ourselves. Becoming a mother healed me in so many ways. My children have taught me so much.

Now, my girl is turning 14. She's officially taller than me. She's so talented and so beautiful. Next month she'll start high school. She's a old soul. She wakes up early- even in the summer. She comes bounding down the stairs between 8:30-9:00 am, in athletic shorts and a tee shirt, her hair pulled up in a ponytail. "I'm going for a run!" She runs a mile in the morning, then comes home and fixes herself breakfast. Then she takes a shower, straightens her room, does laundry, then lunch, then she plays her flute for 2 hours. In the afternoon she watches Youtube, or campaigns for me to buy her something (Mom, so Hollister is having a sale), we have dinner as a family and then she spends the evening on her phone. Although, if my husband and I sneak out on the back porch to sit by the fire and have a drink, she always finds us and hangs out.

I've been teaching her how to drive a LITTLE bit. In an empty parking lot by the house. She'll get her permit next year. She talks excitedly about the future. About Governor's School, and college. She's coming into her own and she's mostly happy, I think. I could not ask for more for her. In spite of all my fears, I know that we have given her a beautiful life.

She's becoming more independent but she is still my velcro baby. She always wants me to be close by, she'll hug me in front of her friends, she texts me all the time when she's not with me, she sends me random memes. We are close to each other.

These 14 years have passed by in a flash- she grew up and I grew up too. And still, we have a ways to go. It wasn't my plan to start a family so early in life, but it was Gods plan and I trust that. He knew what He was doing. He gave me a gift and I am so grateful for that.

Happy 14th Birthday to my first baby!