Tag: mothering

Code Red

The school had had an active shooter practice drill a couple of weeks ago. My daughter was in class, but students were working in groups and didn’t hear the announcement that it was just a drill. She thought it was real and texted me. She was upset the rest of the day. We talked about it, let her vent. She took a bath, got a good night’s sleep. We carried on as we do.

I remember watching the coverage of Columbine as it was happening. Kids just a few years younger than myself crying, streaming out of the school. I watched the screen, horrified. How can this be real? How is this happening?

24 years later, I get the text that we all dread as parents. “Mom. School is in lockdown. I don’t think it’s a drill this time.” After a few minutes, I get the text from the district that the school is in lockdown, police are on site and we are not to come to the school.

I went to the school.

I didn’t care. And neither did 50-60 other parents. We parked away from the school, out of the way of police, of course, but there is no way I’m NOT coming to the school to get my kids if need be. After the police had cleared the campus an hour and a half later, parents were allowed on campus to get their kids if needed. There was a call that was taken seriously, but later turned out to be a prank that set this whole thing in motion. My daughter called me, and through her tears said she wanted to stay at school to be with her friends and finish the day. I don’t know if that was the right thing. Maybe I should have taken her and her brother out for the rest of the day. I let her take the lead and told her she knew herself and how she felt and that if that’s what she wanted to do, that was fine. I went to sit in my car for a minute to calm down.

I’m so sick of this.

I’m sick of teachers having to comfort kids, protecting their students with their own life, all while teaching the subjects they are passionate about and getting underpaid for the privilege of doing so.

It is madness. How is this normal?!

Tonight we ordered take out and ate dinner. Hannah and I went on a lovely evening hike afterward. We left our phones at home and climbed a couple of hills overlooking the valley where we live. A hike doesn’t fix the big stuff in days like today, but it felt good to get fresh air, get some elevation, say some gratitude prayers and clear our minds. Hannah wanted to go a little further and have some solo time, so I waited below and saw her tiny silhouette on top of the ridge with both hands raised. I mirrored her, raising my arms up in a V, witnessing her summit. She made her way back down and we walked home. Tomorrow counselors will be available, as will therapy dogs. Ironically the dogs were supposed to be on campus today, but of course had to be rescheduled. They will likely be well loved tomorrow.

I write when I have things that need to come out of me. Hannah sings to the ocean or to the mountains. She whacks golf balls. We both like to hike. She also writes. She penned a heartbreaking poem tonight and asked me to share it. It’s called Code Red.

Code Red
We all feel dread
Barricade the door
And secure the floor

Drill or no?
We feel so low
Hide behind a table
But it doesn’t feel stable

My tears keep flowing
Can’t stop sobbing
Can we keep going?
Wait and wait behind the desk
It all just feels like such a mess

15 minutes now
Teachers say it’s okay!
But we know the truth.
Although we are the youth,
We know.
It doesn’t take a sleuth
Or even just a clue
To know that this isn’t a drill.

I hug my friends and cry,
It feels like we’re about to die.
And in this moment I am just helpless
All I can do is wait.

It’s been 30 minutes now.
Feels like a million.
My tears continue flowing and there is no stop to them.
Nothing to do but hide,
Nothing to do but cry.

Cannot leave
Just can’t breathe
All I wanna do is grieve

It’s been 45.
At least we’re still alive!
Stay quiet
Cannot make a riot

Hoping that my friends will be okay
Texting them to see what they say
I hate today.

Breathe in and out.
Without a doubt
It was just a hoax
Someone who has jokes

One long hour.
Just so sour.
Everyone was okay.
At least they said
because of this code red.

Living through a nightmare
Like all my bad dreams
All of these streams of tears.
Gleams of hope
But still no joke

Feel like I’m going to explode,
Just a load of bull
Because of a 911 call.
And in this world
I feel so small.

Hannah S.

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Milestones and Mermaids

Hannah eyeing the pregnant lady in the lounge chair, we made our way over to a shaded table to plunk down our towels and kick off flip flops for an afternoon poolside. The kids love the pool. Without fail they inquire the precise time we will be going to swim each morning. Kids off and splashing I sit down and smile at the lady and preemptively apologize for my daughter’s obsessive staring. She laughed and we chatted for a bit.

Of course hindsight is always 20/20, but time has a way of warp-speeding when viewed through a rear view mirror. It sure doesn’t seem like it’s been a decade since I was first pregnant myself. But here I sit with an almost 8 and 10 year old, chatting with a young mom.

There have been some big milestones in our world. These self-proclaimed big kids are riding bikes to the nearby playground, exploring our new place – stepping into their first bits of independence. I remember wondering about my then-infant and toddler when my sister and her daughters came to visit us in Hawaii. It seemed like so long until I would be able to just enjoy our time swimming instead of worrying and being on patrol, ensuring safety. I remember marveling at moms who sat poolside looking at their phones while their kids played and swam, part of me loving playing in the water, part of me longing for the day when they would find friends and play on their own.

That’s motherhood in a nutshell, I suppose – being divided. Not only daily working ourselves out of a job to grow independent and hopefully productive adult humans, but also wondering what the next step will look like, while simultaneously reminiscing about previous phases.

Flash forward to our time in Texas where they both had swim lessons and became comfortable in the water. Playing in the waves on South Padre Island still made me nervous, yet they had no fear, jumping and giggling as waves crashed and tried to knock them over.

Here I sit today, book in hand, sipping on an iced coffee (because I have waded through cardboard seas to rescue my coffeemaker from an ocean of chaos) .

Yet another little step, them in the pool making friends, practicing tricks and flips and jumps. My mermaid and merman happy to swim and soak in all of summer in our new home.

“Mom?” Hannah asks, as we gather up our stuff to leave when the need for food overpowers the need to be submerged.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Will you swim with us tomorrow? I love swimming and meeting friends, but tomorrow I’d like to swim with you, like we did in Texas.”

“Sure thing Hannah,” I say smiling.

I think we’re going to like it here.

Independence

School’s back in session, the sun is shining, and I have time! Time to read, write and play with my 3 dog babes! School started this week and it is the first year that our minions are riding the bus.

Facebook abounds with mothers (and mockers) with tears in their eyes sending off precious bundles that just yesterday were babes. I particularly like this one:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/embed/video/1322461.html

I like it because it pretty accurately depicts how most of us felt and or now feel.

Standing at the bus stop the first morning this year, I got the familiar catch in my throat. It was nothing like that first day, the first year, the oldest kid – I remember feeling pretty nervous, sad, and anxious for him to get home. I just wanted to know that he was okay, that it was a good day. I called to them both, “Have a great day!” with camera positioned and ready to snap a quick ‘getting-on-the-bus’ picture. This is what I got:

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1st Day of 1st and 2nd Grade!

There were no tearful last-minute run back and hug mom moments, not even a goodbye! They didn’t even turn back around! And you know what? I was actually pretty glad. I’m glad because I’m so happy they are confidently heading into school and excited for their days. This phase is pretty awesome. Because really, isn’t that what mothering is all about? We work each day to slowly work ourselves out of a job – so they are independent, functional adult human beings who are capable of going after life.

Day 2 of school and we miss the bus.

So much for having my “mom shit” together.

We flip a u-turn and head to the other bus stop and wait. The bus arrives and another dad comes running down the street, flush-faced daughter in tow, backpack swinging wildly as she races to keep up with her dad. I ask the driver to wait for one more. The kids all get on and the dad and I share a knowing smile.

“Nothing like starting your day with an adrenaline rush!”

I agree and laugh. “Almost better than coffee! Here’s to another great school year!” I raise my coffee cup to him and head off back home. I walk the dogs, I pick up the house. I do some doggie school homework. I do some writing. I look at my watch and realize I have about 10 minutes until I need to head down to the bus stop and pick up the kids. I get into what I’m doing. I look back at the clock and realize I’m 5 minutes late.

In the space of 30 seconds, I panic slightly and ask myself rapid-fire: “Do they know how to get home? Will they look for traffic? What if someone grabs them? Will the bus driver not let them off if I’m not standing there? Where will I go to pick them up? Didn’t someone say there are convicted felons registered here? What if they fell asleep on the bus again and the driver forgets it’s their stop and what ifwhatifwhatifwhatif…….”

Breathe. I hastily dash out the door and make it to the end of our block. I see their little heads bobbing as they walk proudly in a single file line on the narrow part of our road that has no side walks. They make it to the corner. They both stop, they look for traffic. The cars wave them across and they make their way to me on the sidewalk. I grin and Hannah swaggers up, chest puffed out, “MOM! WE WALKED HOME BY OURSELVES! I’m SUCH a BIG first grader!”

“Mom, I had us walk single file like you do when there is no sidewalk,” Jake reports, in his usual just-the-facts-ma’am style.

Then they both beg me to stay home the next day so they could walk ALL the way home by themselves. I exhale. I make no mention of the fact that I was late, or having a slight heart attack; that this was all part of my master-mom-plan to give them a little more independence. I take another deep breath.

‘NO!’ I wanted to scream. ‘You were JUST MY BABIES IN DIAPERS yesterday! What are you thinking? Are you crazy? NO you cannot walk 2 blocks by yourself! Someone will call CPS because I’m a neglectful mother!’

But I say none of that. I shut up my helicopter-mom alter ego and simply say, “Perhaps I can just meet you on our corner for now. Then see how it goes.” They think that’s a brilliant plan. While we are eager for growth and responsibility, perhaps just for a bit they can move into independence with baby steps. At least for their mom’s sake.

 

I’m Sorry – A Letter to My Kids

I’m sorry. I’m truly very sorry.

I have gotten plenty of things wrong in your short lives, and there will be plenty more I will likely handle badly. This one is going to hurt.

I’m taking away your screens.

Permanently.

I know. I’ve threatened before when you couldn’t keep yourself together when I’ve said, “Times up!” Then I gave in, or we went on a long drive,  I “just needed a minute to myself” or any number of other excuses. I was lazy, and I’m sorry for that. It was far easier to hand you a tablet and let you play so I could get some work done, or to have quiet, or both. But I’ve done you a HUGE disservice. You see, you do not know how to be bored. You don’t know how to wait. You do not know how to let me have an adult conversation without interrupting.

None of that is your fault. It’s mine. I’m the parent and I should’ve done better. Technology is a WONDERFUL thing – and for some families it totally works and it’s awesome. For us, however, I will be a far better parent to you both and you will be better mannered, more functional adults if we leave the tablet behind.

I had it confused for a bit. I struggled with finding a balance  – many times – since these tablets were purchased. As you’ve grown, and your friends have them, it’s just become more and more of an issue of an inability to self regulate. You are both on the verge of needing computers for school work (you’ll use mine for a while). These toys are simply not necessary. I kept thinking that if I had it to do all over again, there are two things I would never have purchased: the dang Elf on the Shelf and the iPads. (Don’t get me started on the holiday tradition of hiding the elf in a new place every morning in addition to the already busy season!)

If I wouldn’t do it again though, why do we still have them? Honestly? Because it’s easier then going through what we are now. The transition to life without video games is not for the weak! I know this will be hard, for ALL of us, but here are a few things I know you will gain in the long run – and the end game is what I have to keep in mind because that’s my job.

*Better manners, fewer meltdowns and tantrums.

*The ability to be bored, and be okay with it.

*Long drives where you actually LOOK at the world around you. (Even if it’s south Texas and flat!)

*More outside time – especially as we move into fall and winter! Nature is a MUST – for all of us.

*More games, relearning co-operation and give and take. You know these things, you have the skills, but we are going to get better with fewer meltdowns.

*Better sleep. Science has proven this repeatedly. Less screen time, especially close to bedtime, equals more restful sleep. More restful sleep means more functional during the day and better prepared for learning and growing.

*More Creativity! You are both inventive and incredibly creative when forced to be. You make up games and play so well together. The whininess subsides, you handle life better.

*Better parents. Nope – you don’t get to trade us in, but  I will be a far more creative parent when my go-to bargaining chip is not the iPad. I’m tired of it, and if you are honest with yourselves, I think you are, too.

There are many more benefits in the long run, some that I’ve noticed even in this first day screen-less. It will be bumpy, to be sure.

I’m also sure that this is the exact right thing for our family. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. My dream for you; to be creative, insightful, helpful, kind, co-operative, self-sufficient and well-adjusted adults, simply won’t happen with your face stuck to a screen. It just won’t.

I love you too much to let that happen.

Boredom

Oh Summer.

With the conclusion of the school year, the reduction of my gym hours, the kids and I are experiencing the sudden loss of structure. I’m actually enjoying it, and for the most part, they are, too. There is a common theme that has arisen as of late, however – a whole 14 days into the break – boredom.

The dreaded summer “b” word.

Last week, my sweet son whined to me, “I’m bored. I have nothing to do. And I’ve used up my iPad time.” (Yes, that’s limited!) Somewhere along the way, I was dubbed the activities director. Sadly, this is a job I do not want, nor did I apply for.

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“Why don’t you use that big beautiful brain of yours to figure out how not to be bored,” I replied.

Eye-rolling (brain searching) commenced and a few mutterings. I choked on the suggestions of 500 things he could do that were sitting on the tip of my tongue ready to spew all over. I waited. About 2 minutes later (felt like 30) he drug out the sidewalk chalk. Little sister joined him.

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And 45 minutes later, they were still super involved in their hopscotch project. No whining. No bickering. Just 45 minutes of bliss.

Later, I was sent this article (thanks Angie!) that confirmed what I’m figuring out: Boredom is the birthplace of creativity. (Yay research for backing me up!) I also keep seeing articles about “How to give your kids a 1980s/1970s type of summer” complete with exploration, being bored, taking the days as they come. I LOVE this! I sure as heck don’t want to be the family chauffeur. I don’t think spending my summer in the car sounds like fun. I cannot be the activities director. I will not (nor can we afford) week after week of camps all summer long. (We are doing 1!) We are taking this one summer day at a time.

It WILL be full of swimming, bike riding, yummy lunches they help make (hello, cooking camp in our own kitchen!), but none of the hyper-organized structure. More of the “What are you up for today?” and less ticking off a must-do list that leaves us all harried and cranky. I am so looking forward to this!

But, in the event the dreaded B-word rears it’s ugly head, I’m now prepared!

Sidewalk chalk.jpg

What about you? How are you spending the summer months?

 

Happy Birthday Jacob! 

My kid is 7 today. My “On this day” Facebook feed is me every year exclaiming how “I can’t believe he’s ___ years old already!” Time is such a fluid concept both rocketing so fast and crawling by simultaneously.

7 years ago I became a mother. Parenthood changes us, beeaks us open to a different version of ourselves. It’s hard to imagine life before these little people, these ones we feel like we’ve known all our lives the minute we meet them. I remember thinking, “Oh! There you are. I’ve been looking for you and didn’t even realize I was searching.”

7 years. I’m going to blink and it will be 7 more. For now, I’m going to revel in this day.

Happy 7th birthday Jacob!

  

  

Mermaids

Sitting on the shore at the Ko’olina lagoons four years ago, my sister and her daughters jumped right in splashing and playing like three long haired mermaids. They were out visiting and I so enjoyed a peek into the future of what life looked like with kids slightly older than my own.

How I marveled at the thought of my then 3 and 1 year old swimming solo. Would I ever get to the point where going to the beach wouldn’t be work? Or a whole lot of sitting on the shore ensuring they had their floaties on and not going out too far? When would the enjoyment of just playing in the water with the kids take over the watching and the worry?

The minions have been enjoying their summer break, the pool, the warm weather, the pool, riding bikes, skating and did I mention, the pool?! Last summer, they were timid and didn’t want to get their faces wet. We did swim lessons, and they made some progress. But this year, Jake asked what it would take to get to go down the slide at the deep end of the pool. Nothing like a little motivation, right? They don’t allow floaties and was told he would have to pass a swim test.

f=”https://curlymamaof2.files.wordpress.com/2015/07/img_9708-1.jpg”> The slide![/capt
And so he did! He splashes down that slide without plugging his nose. He doesn’t wig out when water gets on his face. He plunges in over and over and paddles his way to the side to do it again. And again. And again. We’ve gone to our local water park (with HUGE waterslides) and the kids have a blast! Hannah and I put on our goggles and make silly faces under the water, blowing bubbles, and playing underwater chase. She goes down a smaller slide and tries to splash me as much as she can as she lands with a wide-grinned goggle face.

I get to relax. I get to enjoy them. I conquer my fear of heights and climb those stairs so I can go down the slides, too! The camera sits in the towel bag. My hair gets messed up. We all have goggle rimmed tan lines around our eyes. We get exercise and we sleep soundly with the sun-kissed contentment of a summer thoroughly enjoyed.

This is our mermaid time. And I’m loving it!

I’m the mom

I’m the mom whose garage constantly looks like it vomited a Toys R Us into the driveway.

I’m the mom whose children pick out their own clothes. (Therefore ensuring that they never match.)

I’m the mom who is passionate about fitness, so yeah, I DO wear yoga pants. A lot.

I’m the mom that goes to Target alone to sip coffee and shop. Yes, I do in fact feel like it’s a mini-vacation.

I’m the mom who loves fiercely. Who will look at my kids and get choked up thinking about what amazing people they are becoming. And what a privilege it is to witness.

I’m the mom who sometimes gets lost in the to do list of laundry, dishes, and dinner, but eventually I find my way back.

I’m the mom who is becoming ever-more comfortable with the realization that I’ve never been, nor will I ever be, one of those women who “has it all together”. I tripped and rolled my ankle this morning walking from my front door to my car door. It’s a distance of about 4 feet.

I’m the mom whose role is ever changing as the kids reach different stages of independence.

I’m the mom who chokes back tears as he walks into the big school on his first day of kindergarten.

I’m the mom who still sits and waits because she’s just not ready to let go of my hand yet.

I’m the mom.

I’m their mom.

Forever.

Preschooler Stream of Conciousness

In our daily routine, my daughter and I play family. A lot. Everyday. Pretty much it’s the only thing she wants to play. If I have other things to do, it becomes ‘Doing-The-Dishes-Family’ or ‘Laundry-Folding-Family’. It’s fun for her as she loves to role-play, specifically when she gets to be in charge. Go figure.

This afternoon we were in the middle of ‘Church-Family’ when she decided that she was going to play our pastor from our church in Oak Harbor. “Let me go get my Bible!” she announced suddenly. With her Bible storybook in hand, she bounds back into the “church school”, aka my bedroom, to read me a story.

What ensued can only be described as a hilarious stream of consciousness.

“Hello class. (speaking to me and the dog) I’m Pastor Spencer. I’m going to read you a story today. This is church school. We learn about God here. And we go to school. ” (Her last preschool was at our church.)

“Let me see, where was I?” she asks as she flips through the glossy pages and rearranges the ribbon bookmark. “Oh! Yes! Chapter Oregano.” (Wait, wha–? Right! We’ve been cooking a lot lately.)

“God was on a ship. With Flamingos. They are pink which is my favorite color. And a snake. The snake wasn’t pink. And it ate a bunch of animals. Then they went to find a rainbow.” Turning the page she exclaims, “Yay! They found the rainbow!” Now breaking into song she sings, “Red-orange-yellow-green-and-blue-and-don’t-forget-purple-too!”

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“Then the pirates came and cleaned the ship. They were pirates on the ship, then they became human. God was there, too, but he fell out of the boat.”  The dog decides at that point to get up and lay back down in a more comfortable position. “Buck, you aren’t listening. You get a color change – you are on yellow!” (Her school has a behavior color change system; Green=good, Yellow=warning, Orange=Time Out, Red=Principal referral.) “No, Buck. This isn’t the time to play fetch!”

“Now where was I again?”

This girl seriously cracks me up. She has a crazy imagination and will talk to herself and all her menagerie of characters for hours. More often than not, I can gather what she’s really saying and identify exactly where in real life she’s pulling it from. Today? I am sure that our pastor, as well as her previous preschool teachers, never talked about God falling out of the Ark, a snake eating people, or chapters of the Bible being labeled as spices.

I can’t wait to see what happens at church tomorrow!

I Had No Idea

As a kid, you must have imagined what it was like to be an adult. Now that you’re a grownup (or becoming one), how far off was your idea of adult life?

This prompt from a few weeks ago made me laugh out loud. My vision was WAY off! My son recently exclaimed that when he becomes a grown-up, he will do whatever he wants to do, (like play iPad all day, everyday)! Didn’t we all think that being an adult was going to be the best? That we would have freedom and no one would tell us what to eat, when to go to bed, make us do homework and chores? That is the irony, I suppose, that when we have freedom, we don’t necessarily recognize it for what it is because at every stage of life, we have our worries. We are in our “big time” right then. Only in hindsight can we fully understand how we grow over time. Only then can we fully comprehend what freedom really looks like.

Recently, I wrote about what I do all day as a stay-at-home-parent. I, in no way, pictured this sort of life as a kid. I planned to work. Kids weren’t really on the horizon. I’ve worked since I was about 14, so it was always just a given. I think as a kid, I figured I would have kids and family life, but I never really considered it. I never contemplated should I stay home or work. Growing up my own mom worked, and it just was the way it was.

There is a picture of me as a 4-year-old at my parents’ house. It’s of me with four band-aids on my knees with a microphone in my hand singing with headphones over my ears. Not only did I want to be a singer (which would never happen as anyone who has heard me sing will attest.) I was pretending to “fly” like Super Grover and “flew” down the driveway, thus sustaining my scraped-knee injuries. I literally thought I could fly, that I could be like Super Grover. I wanted to be an actress on a soap opera. I wanted to live in New York. I wanted to be a dancer. I wanted to be a linguist or an interpreter. I wanted to ride horses. I wanted to be a vet (until I accompanied my cat to her check up and discovered how temperatures are taken.) I changed vocational passions every week or two.

Flash forward to 37, two kids, a dog and a hubby and it is not at all what I would have thought my life would be like. When you have little-to-no life experience, you don’t know what’s out there. I had no idea I would marry a man in the military. I had no idea I would stay home full time to raise a family. I had no idea. About anything.

I had no idea that I would love my kids so fiercely. And be willing to fight for them like nothing else.

I had no idea that I could be so dang tired.

I had no idea that living in different places would grow me as a person, stretch my comfort zones, but most of all, lead me to all sorts of wonderful people I am lucky enough to call friends.

I had no idea that unloading the dishwasher, stepping on a misplaced Lego, or repeating myself fifty thousand times would make me want to tear my hair out.

I had no clue about noise. How much of it kids make, and how much I would bask in silence when it occurs.

I had no idea that having children would drastically change the way I saw my husband, how watching him become a parent with me would deepen our relationship in ways I couldn’t imagine.

I had no idea that I would fall in love with a dog. That I wouldn’t mind scooping poop.

I had no idea that I would actually hold out my hands to “catch” when my children show signs of vomiting. (And it wouldn’t make me sympathy-vomit.)

I had no idea how much I would value my alone time. Time to just think, pray, reflect and just be me, outside of my role in the family.

I had no idea how much I would come to crave really good chocolate. And wine.

I always thought of myself as a suburban girl, preferring a city with lots of things to do and places to go. I had no idea how much I would crave living in wide open spaces.

I had no idea that motherhood would be simultaneously the hardest, and best, thing I’ve ever done.

I just had no idea.

This life is not anything I could have dreamt, but in so many ways it’s more than I deserve, more than I could’ve asked for, and far richer than I could’ve imagined.

Perhaps my son is on to something. This being a grown-up thing is pretty darn cool.

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