Remember when we were kids and we liked to throw parties at our parent's homes when they were out of town? Remember when the cops were called and we scattered like seeds in the wind? Remember when I never got caught drinking and made it out of high school with out having to sit in the back of a Sheriff Deputy's patrol car? Well, my daughter can't say that.
My daughter is a liar; She's a damn good liar. She is a better liar than I was at her age. She's so good that she convinced me that the crap coming out of her mouth was the truth. And if you can't tell, I'm pissed.
I'm pissed because I have given her every opportunity to have a different relationship with me than I had with my own mother-- A relationship built upon honest communication and openness. Now it looks like we have to have the same relationship that I had with my mother. And having been through that type of relationship once already, I can tell you that this isn't going to be fun.
Within the last 5 months she has consistently done things to make me question her thinking, and those things have tested my nerves. I mean really, four minor car accidents and a ticket for failing to stop at a stop sign have altered my mood just a bit. One weekend she walked into the house and I KNEW she was hungover. She's been a pain in the ass to her sisters and a little bit bitchy with me. Catching her drinking in the bath tub was almost the catalyst of me epically losing my shit with her. But I remained calm and asked her if there was anything she wanted to talk about. I've openly asked her questions and assured her that I would not be mad if she told me the truth. But she made the choice to keep silent.
I sincerely thought the loss of her friend would catapult her back to the girl she once was. I know now that girl is gone forever. Haven is never going to be that girl again.
I remember when I lost myself as a girl; I still am sad about that lost soul I was at 17. I've never seen that Leslie again, the innocence I once held inside of me. I watched her disappear like water droplets on a very hot day. Now, I watch as Haven does the same, and it is the most heart breaking thing I've ever seen.
But because I know that loss, that doesn't mean that I am going to let what she chooses to do to herself slide in the least. I'm still her parent. I'm the only parent she has.
I always told Haven that if she got caught drinking at a party to call someone else to come bail her out. Never in a million years did I think she would get in this type of trouble. Never in a million years did I think she would call the guy I just started dating. He brought her home to me at 4:45 in the morning. She was very drunk.
Haven threw a rockin' party at her Grandmother's house while my mother was away on vacation. This party was so awesome the cops were called three different times. This party was so flipping wonderful, my daughter was put into handcuffs and thrown in the back of a patrol car.
It was not until the next afternoon that I discovered the distruction she had done to her Grandmother's home. My mother's home smells like beer, urine and sex. In total, Haven and my boyfriend picked up 8 trash bags of beer cans, liquor bottles, jello shot containers and 3 used condoms. When I arrived at my Mother's home after working all day, I seriously wanted to cry. I wanted to cry for my mother, and anyone who knows me knows that that relationship isn't the best even in good times.
It was not easy for me to make that phone call to tell my mother what my daughter had done to her home. The call did not end well for either one of us. We both cried.
Then I looked at my daughter and I became so enraged that I screamed at her to call all of her friends and tell them to get their faces in front of me, like now. I gave them two choices: Face me, or I was going to let my mother unleash a load of crazy the likes they've never seen before. Some kids showed up, but not all. Some of those friends were genuinely sorry and promised to help Haven come up with the money to clean my mother's home and carpets. Haven found out who her friends were.
Seriously, some of these kids (apparently mine included) need a huge wake-up call. I don't exactly know what that wake-up call might be. You would think a dead friend and being handcuffed in the back of a patrol car would be it, but you never know with these kids. I guess I didn't finally wake up until I gave birth to Haven. I hope it doesn't take that for her to find herself again.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Monday, September 24, 2012
The Wine is Mine
There is nothing quite like my life. I am grateful for it, but sometimes in certain circumstances I wonder if God uses my life for comedic relief.
Case in point:
I wonder if he sits back and watches how hard I work to put a roof over my children's head. I wonder if he sees my struggle and is thoughtful of my breaking point.
God, if you are unaware, I am getting close. This isn't a warning. I know you will be there to carry me until I am able to recover from the million and a half things that are thrown my way. I promise to get up as fast as I can.
Other than my children, there is nothing in my life that I do for myself. From the moment I wake up, I run. Literally run. Everybody has to get up, get dressed, be fed. Everyone goes in a million different directions. I get everyone off to school and then make the haul to my work. That haul is 55 miles one way.
I work very hard at work. I put my head down and make things happen; I do not take a lunch break; I give them 100% while I am there. I go to work when I am sick; I go to work when I have been up all night with children. I have a good work ethic and I model that for my children every day.
After work, I drive another 55 miles to pick every one up. I do this to keep my children in the schools that they want to attend. All three are happy and I would never make them unhappy because it was inconvenient for me. But, it really is inconvenient for me.
When we get home, I cook dinner, clean up, put children in bath tubs, and then to sleep. I am passed out dead by 7:30. I do all of this by myself, with no help from any one. I am not complaining, I know a lot of people have to do this alone.
But, all of this on top of paying the bills (or figuring out how to pay them), keeping the house clean, the 10 loads of laundry I do every week, family drama, work drama, and trying to make time for my two best friends, well, it can be a bit overwhelming.
One evening, I realized that I had not had an opportunity to see or speak with Haven very much. I heard the bath tub running and thought I would pop in just to check in with her. My current job has limited my ability to connect very well with her.
As I walked toward her room I thought about what I would ask her. It had felt like weeks since I had heard anything new with her. School had just began and I thought that might be a good place to start.
Through her bathroom door, I heard soft music playing; She probably never heard me come in. When I pulled back the shower curtain, I found that my daughter was very relaxed, soaking in the tub, listening to soft music, and drinking a glass of wine.
She looked at me with guilty eyes and said, "I've had a bad day."
I just stood there.
Can you imagine what went through my mind? No, I imagine you cannot.
What are you? 40? Seriously Haven?! And when do we drink just because we've had a bad day? If that were the case, I would be loaded 24/7. And wine? Really?? You should be pouring water in the Vodka bottle at your age, not drinking wine. Who are you?
I then told her to pour the wine out.
Aside from being pissed that she was drinking, I have to admit that I was a little jealous. I mean, I can't tell you the last time I was able to sit in a bathtub with a glass of wine; I can't even tell you the last time I was in a bathroom by myself.
Yes I can, it was in 1995 BEFORE SHE WAS BORN.
We talked about it at length, but I don't know if I can trust her now that she's doing these things while I am in the house. My mind races and creates what she might be doing when I am not in the house, and now I have to apply that same method of thinking while I am actually there. It is just another thing I have to do. Add it to the list, by all means.
This situation has really irritated me. I really thought that it was understood that the flipping wine was mine. It might just be Arbor Mist, but it's mine.
And I think it is completely reasonable for her to take showers from now on until I get the opportunity to soak in the tub.
Case in point:
I wonder if he sits back and watches how hard I work to put a roof over my children's head. I wonder if he sees my struggle and is thoughtful of my breaking point.
God, if you are unaware, I am getting close. This isn't a warning. I know you will be there to carry me until I am able to recover from the million and a half things that are thrown my way. I promise to get up as fast as I can.
Other than my children, there is nothing in my life that I do for myself. From the moment I wake up, I run. Literally run. Everybody has to get up, get dressed, be fed. Everyone goes in a million different directions. I get everyone off to school and then make the haul to my work. That haul is 55 miles one way.
I work very hard at work. I put my head down and make things happen; I do not take a lunch break; I give them 100% while I am there. I go to work when I am sick; I go to work when I have been up all night with children. I have a good work ethic and I model that for my children every day.
After work, I drive another 55 miles to pick every one up. I do this to keep my children in the schools that they want to attend. All three are happy and I would never make them unhappy because it was inconvenient for me. But, it really is inconvenient for me.
When we get home, I cook dinner, clean up, put children in bath tubs, and then to sleep. I am passed out dead by 7:30. I do all of this by myself, with no help from any one. I am not complaining, I know a lot of people have to do this alone.
But, all of this on top of paying the bills (or figuring out how to pay them), keeping the house clean, the 10 loads of laundry I do every week, family drama, work drama, and trying to make time for my two best friends, well, it can be a bit overwhelming.
One evening, I realized that I had not had an opportunity to see or speak with Haven very much. I heard the bath tub running and thought I would pop in just to check in with her. My current job has limited my ability to connect very well with her.
As I walked toward her room I thought about what I would ask her. It had felt like weeks since I had heard anything new with her. School had just began and I thought that might be a good place to start.
Through her bathroom door, I heard soft music playing; She probably never heard me come in. When I pulled back the shower curtain, I found that my daughter was very relaxed, soaking in the tub, listening to soft music, and drinking a glass of wine.
She looked at me with guilty eyes and said, "I've had a bad day."
I just stood there.
Can you imagine what went through my mind? No, I imagine you cannot.
What are you? 40? Seriously Haven?! And when do we drink just because we've had a bad day? If that were the case, I would be loaded 24/7. And wine? Really?? You should be pouring water in the Vodka bottle at your age, not drinking wine. Who are you?
I then told her to pour the wine out.
Aside from being pissed that she was drinking, I have to admit that I was a little jealous. I mean, I can't tell you the last time I was able to sit in a bathtub with a glass of wine; I can't even tell you the last time I was in a bathroom by myself.
Yes I can, it was in 1995 BEFORE SHE WAS BORN.
We talked about it at length, but I don't know if I can trust her now that she's doing these things while I am in the house. My mind races and creates what she might be doing when I am not in the house, and now I have to apply that same method of thinking while I am actually there. It is just another thing I have to do. Add it to the list, by all means.
This situation has really irritated me. I really thought that it was understood that the flipping wine was mine. It might just be Arbor Mist, but it's mine.
And I think it is completely reasonable for her to take showers from now on until I get the opportunity to soak in the tub.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
There is No Forever
Thank God Summer is over.
This summer has seen many changes in our home, and some of them have not been fun. I will say, for the most part, that Haven has taken these changes in stride. All of these changes have been an opportunity for her to grow.
In June, Haven passed her driving test (with a 94), and set out to navigate he northern hemisphere of our great city. She drove to friend's homes, to the movies, volunteered to run errands for me, and even went to the grocery store. I kept thinking to myself what a relief it was to have another driver in the household. By the end of June, she was driving her sisters to and from school without incident.
However, by August, Haven's driving history was not so pristine. She had a minor accident on the way to practice one morning, and then three days later, she got her first moving violation. It was a rough week.
She did not like my reaction to both of these events. I spazzed out a lot. This reaction was mirrored by my sister who selflessly gave Haven a car.
I'm not really sure why she took issue with our responses to these two infractions--maybe it was because she scored a 94 on her driving test--maybe because she views them as accidents and thinks that they will never happen again...I don't know. I really don't know what she's thinking.
What I do know is is that she is my precious daughter and that I don't want her to die (or kill anyone else). I swear to you every time that child pulls out of the driveway I send up a prayer that she returns to me safely. I ask God to watch over her, to protect her, to keep her from harm's way and to facilitate good choices through her. I don't mean to be ridiculous, but I became very religious when Haven began driving.
Up until this point I felt like I could control any ominous outside forces that came her way. I feel I've done a pretty good job of protecting her and keeping her from harm thus far. It has been incredibly hard to watch her drive away from me. Now it is up to God.
I say this because on this day, the day we were to be in court for her failure to stop at a stop sign, Haven lost one of her friends in an early morning car accident.
This all just became very real for Haven.
She was pretty shaken up when she met me at the courthouse. I hugged her, listened to her tell me about her friend, and watched her cry. It is not an easy thing watching your child overcome with grief. I watched her inwardly and outwardly process the loss.
I can't help but think about what that boy's mother must be going through. I know she herself must have sent up the very same prayers that I do every day; Every mother does when her child gets behind the wheel.
After Haven saw the Judge, and as we were walking outside to our respective cars, I asked Haven if she knew now why I have been so worried. She looked at me with the saddest eyes and said, "Yes." I don't think I've seen eyes that sad since my father died.
When we were young, we conducted ourselves as if we were unbreakable. Every teenager thinks they will live forever.
This has been a terrible way for her to learn that there is no forever.
This summer has seen many changes in our home, and some of them have not been fun. I will say, for the most part, that Haven has taken these changes in stride. All of these changes have been an opportunity for her to grow.
In June, Haven passed her driving test (with a 94), and set out to navigate he northern hemisphere of our great city. She drove to friend's homes, to the movies, volunteered to run errands for me, and even went to the grocery store. I kept thinking to myself what a relief it was to have another driver in the household. By the end of June, she was driving her sisters to and from school without incident.
However, by August, Haven's driving history was not so pristine. She had a minor accident on the way to practice one morning, and then three days later, she got her first moving violation. It was a rough week.
She did not like my reaction to both of these events. I spazzed out a lot. This reaction was mirrored by my sister who selflessly gave Haven a car.
I'm not really sure why she took issue with our responses to these two infractions--maybe it was because she scored a 94 on her driving test--maybe because she views them as accidents and thinks that they will never happen again...I don't know. I really don't know what she's thinking.
What I do know is is that she is my precious daughter and that I don't want her to die (or kill anyone else). I swear to you every time that child pulls out of the driveway I send up a prayer that she returns to me safely. I ask God to watch over her, to protect her, to keep her from harm's way and to facilitate good choices through her. I don't mean to be ridiculous, but I became very religious when Haven began driving.
Up until this point I felt like I could control any ominous outside forces that came her way. I feel I've done a pretty good job of protecting her and keeping her from harm thus far. It has been incredibly hard to watch her drive away from me. Now it is up to God.
I say this because on this day, the day we were to be in court for her failure to stop at a stop sign, Haven lost one of her friends in an early morning car accident.
This all just became very real for Haven.
She was pretty shaken up when she met me at the courthouse. I hugged her, listened to her tell me about her friend, and watched her cry. It is not an easy thing watching your child overcome with grief. I watched her inwardly and outwardly process the loss.
I can't help but think about what that boy's mother must be going through. I know she herself must have sent up the very same prayers that I do every day; Every mother does when her child gets behind the wheel.
After Haven saw the Judge, and as we were walking outside to our respective cars, I asked Haven if she knew now why I have been so worried. She looked at me with the saddest eyes and said, "Yes." I don't think I've seen eyes that sad since my father died.
When we were young, we conducted ourselves as if we were unbreakable. Every teenager thinks they will live forever.
This has been a terrible way for her to learn that there is no forever.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
The Terrible Sixteens
This is not an embellishment; It literally happened overnight.
And, in all honesty, it is my fault because I wished for it. I spoke the words out loud, and BAM, it happened.
A reader complimented me on my blog and what a wonderful person Haven is, and I joked back with her that I felt like my blog might be boring because all I seem to do is tell everyone how special she is. I wondered aloud when the difficult issues were coming because at the very least, my blog would be more entertaining.
What in the holy hell did I say that for? And Jesus, if you are reading this, I am eternally sorry and would like to retract my statement about blog entertainment. I really don't care if my readers laugh or not. Please restore my Haven back into the girl she was nights ago and I will never be ungrateful again.
That's how that works, right?
UGH!
I suppose you, dear reader, would like the specifics about what happened. I suppose I will tell you.
Picture your child during the terrible two's (I don't care what others say, girls go through it at age three, but picture it nonetheless.) Now multiply that time of growth, development and exertion of independence by let's say, FOUR MILLION. It is absolutely laughable that people tell you to fear your child at age two. THOSE people are obviously out of touch with reality; Sixteen is MUCH harder than three.
The long and short of it is that I said no to Haven when she asked to do something after being gone all weekend. I rarely say no to Haven, and expected a little back talk from her because that is what she does when I say no.
I said no for many reasons and those reasons angered her. They angered her a little more than they should have, and that in turn was the gateway for mouthiness and being disrespectful. And the mouthier and more disrespectful she became, the angrier I got. The incident became cyclical until we were inches from each others faces.
My mom slapped me across the face a couple of times when I was growing up. I swore when I had children that I would NEVER slap them on the face; I find that that type of discipline degrading and unnecessary. But, in that minute, when Haven and I were inches apart, I wanted to slap her in the mouth so hard. I wanted to knock every one of her $6,000 teeth down the back of her throat.
Haven even dared me to do it.
Now, before you all go calling Child Protective Services on me, please know that I did not hit her. I really wanted to, though.
Before we got to this point, believe me, I tried using every other tactic I had in my "Mother Bag of Justice." Nothing worked. When I grounded her, she said, "Whatever." When I told her to give me her phone, she told me, "No." NO! Things escalated pretty fast, but I did use everything that has previously worked to wrangle her back into conformity. Nothing worked. I realized I had a serious problem when Haven left the house after I told her not to.
I sat there in that empty house in shock. What had just happened to us? This cannot possibly be what we are turning into. I went from sobbing uncontrollably to burning rage. I pictured what Haven was telling her friends:
"My Mom is such a bitch!"
Oh Haven, you have no idea. Just ask anyone! Bitch does not even begin to describe me. That does not hurt my feelings in the least. You can call me a bitch as much as you want. It's okay.
"I HATE my MOM!"
Haven, please don't hate me. I don't say no to you because I want to be all mighty on the top of some disciplinary hill. I say no because you still have to be part of our family. You have to be present in our family. You don't just get to be gone all of the time, running around God knows where in a bikini. You get to participate in the mundane activities of family life. Just pretend to like it. It works out that much better in the long run.
Whatever Haven was saying and feeling is also valid. I am sure she was just as upset as I. This was a terrible experience for both of us.
When she returned, and after more arguing, we reached a punishment that I was comfortable with.
Since that day, there have been many other incidents of Haven trying to exert her independence from me. I am well aware that she is going to push the boundaries as much as she can to get her way. My concern is that if the things in my "Mother Bag of Justice" do not work, what is a single mother to do? It's not like I can threaten, "Just wait until your Father gets home!" like other Mothers get to do.
I need to get creative. I need to think of other ways to get her attention. I need to fill my bag up with some new tricks. I'll let you know what I come up with.
Until then, I will be in survival mode. I survived the terrible threes; I am sure I will survive this.
And, in all honesty, it is my fault because I wished for it. I spoke the words out loud, and BAM, it happened.
A reader complimented me on my blog and what a wonderful person Haven is, and I joked back with her that I felt like my blog might be boring because all I seem to do is tell everyone how special she is. I wondered aloud when the difficult issues were coming because at the very least, my blog would be more entertaining.
What in the holy hell did I say that for? And Jesus, if you are reading this, I am eternally sorry and would like to retract my statement about blog entertainment. I really don't care if my readers laugh or not. Please restore my Haven back into the girl she was nights ago and I will never be ungrateful again.
That's how that works, right?
UGH!
I suppose you, dear reader, would like the specifics about what happened. I suppose I will tell you.
Picture your child during the terrible two's (I don't care what others say, girls go through it at age three, but picture it nonetheless.) Now multiply that time of growth, development and exertion of independence by let's say, FOUR MILLION. It is absolutely laughable that people tell you to fear your child at age two. THOSE people are obviously out of touch with reality; Sixteen is MUCH harder than three.
The long and short of it is that I said no to Haven when she asked to do something after being gone all weekend. I rarely say no to Haven, and expected a little back talk from her because that is what she does when I say no.
I said no for many reasons and those reasons angered her. They angered her a little more than they should have, and that in turn was the gateway for mouthiness and being disrespectful. And the mouthier and more disrespectful she became, the angrier I got. The incident became cyclical until we were inches from each others faces.
My mom slapped me across the face a couple of times when I was growing up. I swore when I had children that I would NEVER slap them on the face; I find that that type of discipline degrading and unnecessary. But, in that minute, when Haven and I were inches apart, I wanted to slap her in the mouth so hard. I wanted to knock every one of her $6,000 teeth down the back of her throat.
Haven even dared me to do it.
Now, before you all go calling Child Protective Services on me, please know that I did not hit her. I really wanted to, though.
Before we got to this point, believe me, I tried using every other tactic I had in my "Mother Bag of Justice." Nothing worked. When I grounded her, she said, "Whatever." When I told her to give me her phone, she told me, "No." NO! Things escalated pretty fast, but I did use everything that has previously worked to wrangle her back into conformity. Nothing worked. I realized I had a serious problem when Haven left the house after I told her not to.
I sat there in that empty house in shock. What had just happened to us? This cannot possibly be what we are turning into. I went from sobbing uncontrollably to burning rage. I pictured what Haven was telling her friends:
"My Mom is such a bitch!"
Oh Haven, you have no idea. Just ask anyone! Bitch does not even begin to describe me. That does not hurt my feelings in the least. You can call me a bitch as much as you want. It's okay.
"I HATE my MOM!"
Haven, please don't hate me. I don't say no to you because I want to be all mighty on the top of some disciplinary hill. I say no because you still have to be part of our family. You have to be present in our family. You don't just get to be gone all of the time, running around God knows where in a bikini. You get to participate in the mundane activities of family life. Just pretend to like it. It works out that much better in the long run.
Whatever Haven was saying and feeling is also valid. I am sure she was just as upset as I. This was a terrible experience for both of us.
When she returned, and after more arguing, we reached a punishment that I was comfortable with.
Since that day, there have been many other incidents of Haven trying to exert her independence from me. I am well aware that she is going to push the boundaries as much as she can to get her way. My concern is that if the things in my "Mother Bag of Justice" do not work, what is a single mother to do? It's not like I can threaten, "Just wait until your Father gets home!" like other Mothers get to do.
I need to get creative. I need to think of other ways to get her attention. I need to fill my bag up with some new tricks. I'll let you know what I come up with.
Until then, I will be in survival mode. I survived the terrible threes; I am sure I will survive this.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
The Situation with J.R. Ewing
I love that Haven knows that she can tell me anything. I love that Haven knows that I will not judge the information she gives me. I love that we have a great relationship. I love that Haven comes to me instead of soliciting the advice of her friends.
In theory, this arrangement is ideal because I know what is going on with her and that is of utmost importance when raising a teenager. However, because she can tell me anything, I find that I know WAY more than any mother need know. There are times when I wish I didn't know everything.
Lord knows I never told my mother anything, and that is because she would be pissed off and bring the wrath of God down upon me. She was scary.
I made a vow when I found out that I was pregnant with Haven that I would want to know what was going on with her when she became a teenager, and told myself that I would be even more understanding when it came time to deal with the hard stuff: You know, sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll. I vowed that I would not approach those issues like an After School Special or a 7th grade sex-education video. I think I have done a pretty good job of giving Haven information that she can use to make wise decisions. Maybe I should have had access to some of her friends...
Virginity is a big concern for me. It was not easy to have a child at a young age and I'll pretty much do anything to prevent my daughter from following in my footsteps. Do not get me wrong, I love my life, but it was challenging for me. All a parent wants for her child is for them to have an easier life.
But knowing about what some of her friends do with others is a double edged sword. On one hand, I am glad that she is divulging all of the threesomes, alcohol fueled parties, and pregnancy scares, but there is another part of me that flirts on the edge of vomiting after these conversations. My Mom doesn't know how lucky she was. Seriously.
The information Haven gives me about her friends has made me rethink how I felt about myself in high school. I'm not trying to rewrite history by any means, but if I had known that girls (and boys) would be doing this stuff 16 years later (Please use your imagination. It really is worse than threesomes and pregnancy scares.), I wouldn't have been so hard on myself.
And really kids, just because there is a line in a movie about gang bangs, doesn't mean you all need to run trains on one another.
I just don't get when things changed from merely having sex in high school to hanging naked from the ceiling. Don't they know that is what college is for? Why are they trying to rush these things?
I've had conversations with other mother's and they blame this evolution on reality television. I guess I can agree with that. I somehow managed to make my high school experience come straight out of an episode of Dallas; Why wouldn't they model their behavior after the residents of Jersey Shore?
I do want Haven to keep talking to me, but I really need there to be a preventative way for me not to become physically ill when she does. I want there to be a way for me to look at her friends without the urge to say, "I know what you've done." I need there to be a device I can install onto Haven's person that will alert me as to when another human being is trying to get into her "business".
The end.
In theory, this arrangement is ideal because I know what is going on with her and that is of utmost importance when raising a teenager. However, because she can tell me anything, I find that I know WAY more than any mother need know. There are times when I wish I didn't know everything.
Lord knows I never told my mother anything, and that is because she would be pissed off and bring the wrath of God down upon me. She was scary.
I made a vow when I found out that I was pregnant with Haven that I would want to know what was going on with her when she became a teenager, and told myself that I would be even more understanding when it came time to deal with the hard stuff: You know, sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll. I vowed that I would not approach those issues like an After School Special or a 7th grade sex-education video. I think I have done a pretty good job of giving Haven information that she can use to make wise decisions. Maybe I should have had access to some of her friends...
Virginity is a big concern for me. It was not easy to have a child at a young age and I'll pretty much do anything to prevent my daughter from following in my footsteps. Do not get me wrong, I love my life, but it was challenging for me. All a parent wants for her child is for them to have an easier life.
But knowing about what some of her friends do with others is a double edged sword. On one hand, I am glad that she is divulging all of the threesomes, alcohol fueled parties, and pregnancy scares, but there is another part of me that flirts on the edge of vomiting after these conversations. My Mom doesn't know how lucky she was. Seriously.
The information Haven gives me about her friends has made me rethink how I felt about myself in high school. I'm not trying to rewrite history by any means, but if I had known that girls (and boys) would be doing this stuff 16 years later (Please use your imagination. It really is worse than threesomes and pregnancy scares.), I wouldn't have been so hard on myself.
And really kids, just because there is a line in a movie about gang bangs, doesn't mean you all need to run trains on one another.
I just don't get when things changed from merely having sex in high school to hanging naked from the ceiling. Don't they know that is what college is for? Why are they trying to rush these things?
I've had conversations with other mother's and they blame this evolution on reality television. I guess I can agree with that. I somehow managed to make my high school experience come straight out of an episode of Dallas; Why wouldn't they model their behavior after the residents of Jersey Shore?
I do want Haven to keep talking to me, but I really need there to be a preventative way for me not to become physically ill when she does. I want there to be a way for me to look at her friends without the urge to say, "I know what you've done." I need there to be a device I can install onto Haven's person that will alert me as to when another human being is trying to get into her "business".
The end.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
The Essence of Haven
In late April, Haven traveled to New York City (or "You Nork City" as she called it as a young child) to be a Rapporteur of The Human Rights Council for the Montessori Model United Nations.
Haven attended Montessori school from the time she was two years old until she entered the sixth grade. I truly believe that foundation of her educational background within the Montessori curriculum played an important part of who Haven is today. Montessori and her teachers have shown Haven compassion for her environment, a love of learning, and the ability to overcome obstacles.
Haven was diagnosed with dyslexia in the second grade. She struggled immensely for many years to be able to form words, numbers, and to be able to read. Through therapy and with the help of her caring and very patient teachers, Haven was able to approach the disability with grace and determination. She would not have been able to conquer dyslexia or continue her love of learning if it were not for her teachers. I love each of those women as if they were family and will forever be grateful to them for what they have done for my child.
The first time Haven traveled to New York to participate in the Montessori Model United Nations was in 2007. She, along with her fifth grade class, sat on many boards while representing the United Kingdom. She, along with her team members, drafted many resolutions and presented them to the Model UN Governing Council.
I was floored with her work on the resolution of the proliferation of nuclear arms in North Korea. Tell me, please, what 11 year old is or has ever been concerned about nuclear arms or human rights atrocities? A smart one for sure.
Mine.
That experience changed how Haven viewed herself. She saw that her struggle with her learning disability was insignificant in relation to what other people, and especially children, of other countries have to endure. She came home from that trip and told me, "Mom, I am so lucky I live here." And I replied back, "No Haven, you are lucky to have been born a girl in the United States of America. Other girls are not so lucky."
Haven has gone back to the Montessori Model UN many times since then and has continued to educate herself on human rights and armament issues that plague our world. If it were not for the experiences afforded to her through her Montessori school, she may have been a child that gave no thought to others out of her immediate vicinity.
This year, she was asked to become a Rapporteur. A Rapporteur is a member of the dias, a group of people who are in charge of a committee. This was a great honor for Haven, and her duties included keeping the speaker's list and taking the roll call. They have asked her to return next year and she will be given greater responsibilities. She is looking forward to it.
Tomorrow, my Haven turns sixteen years old. This beautiful child has impacted, shaped, and changed every person she has ever encountered. I am amazed at the person of action she has already become during her short time on Earth. I am convinced that her next sixteen years will be even more impactful.
The essence of Haven is this:
There are those that idly sit back and let the world determine their worth, and then there is Haven.
There are those who are defined by what happens to them, and then there is Haven.
There are those who watch wrongdoings from a distance and do not involve themselves, and then there is Haven.
There are those who want to create change but do not feel their voice strong enough to be heard, and then there is Haven.
There are those who are unable to speak for themselves, and then there is Haven.
There are those who do not care, and then there is Haven.
I named her Haven because I knew that she would be my safe place. Little did I know that she would be a safe place for others.
Happy birthday, darling.
Haven attended Montessori school from the time she was two years old until she entered the sixth grade. I truly believe that foundation of her educational background within the Montessori curriculum played an important part of who Haven is today. Montessori and her teachers have shown Haven compassion for her environment, a love of learning, and the ability to overcome obstacles.
Haven was diagnosed with dyslexia in the second grade. She struggled immensely for many years to be able to form words, numbers, and to be able to read. Through therapy and with the help of her caring and very patient teachers, Haven was able to approach the disability with grace and determination. She would not have been able to conquer dyslexia or continue her love of learning if it were not for her teachers. I love each of those women as if they were family and will forever be grateful to them for what they have done for my child.
The first time Haven traveled to New York to participate in the Montessori Model United Nations was in 2007. She, along with her fifth grade class, sat on many boards while representing the United Kingdom. She, along with her team members, drafted many resolutions and presented them to the Model UN Governing Council.
I was floored with her work on the resolution of the proliferation of nuclear arms in North Korea. Tell me, please, what 11 year old is or has ever been concerned about nuclear arms or human rights atrocities? A smart one for sure.
Mine.
That experience changed how Haven viewed herself. She saw that her struggle with her learning disability was insignificant in relation to what other people, and especially children, of other countries have to endure. She came home from that trip and told me, "Mom, I am so lucky I live here." And I replied back, "No Haven, you are lucky to have been born a girl in the United States of America. Other girls are not so lucky."
Haven has gone back to the Montessori Model UN many times since then and has continued to educate herself on human rights and armament issues that plague our world. If it were not for the experiences afforded to her through her Montessori school, she may have been a child that gave no thought to others out of her immediate vicinity.
This year, she was asked to become a Rapporteur. A Rapporteur is a member of the dias, a group of people who are in charge of a committee. This was a great honor for Haven, and her duties included keeping the speaker's list and taking the roll call. They have asked her to return next year and she will be given greater responsibilities. She is looking forward to it.
Tomorrow, my Haven turns sixteen years old. This beautiful child has impacted, shaped, and changed every person she has ever encountered. I am amazed at the person of action she has already become during her short time on Earth. I am convinced that her next sixteen years will be even more impactful.
The essence of Haven is this:
There are those that idly sit back and let the world determine their worth, and then there is Haven.
There are those who are defined by what happens to them, and then there is Haven.
There are those who watch wrongdoings from a distance and do not involve themselves, and then there is Haven.
There are those who want to create change but do not feel their voice strong enough to be heard, and then there is Haven.
There are those who are unable to speak for themselves, and then there is Haven.
There are those who do not care, and then there is Haven.
I named her Haven because I knew that she would be my safe place. Little did I know that she would be a safe place for others.
Happy birthday, darling.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Sexy Cars and Teenagers
Something happens to me when people drive recklessly around me when I have my children in the car. It gets my internal and external dialogue talking at the same time, and my blood pressure soars to high heaven. If the other driver is particularly reckless, these two dialogues merge into one profanity laden banter that scares even me. I blame it on the high blood pressure. But, it is even worse when the other driver is a teenager, especially so if the other driver is a teenage boy.
At the beginning of this school year I told you my feelings about children driving better cars than most adults I know. It is just not right, in my opinion, especially in a recession. These kids have not worked a day in their lives for vehicles of this caliber, and are rewarded with such in order for their parents to keep up with appearances. It brings about a bravado that would not be present had these parents gifted, say a Hyundai. Giving a child a $50,000 car permits them to behave as if money is no object and it is reflected in their driving, especially with boys. That's the truth-- plain and simple. It irks me when I see a seventeen year old driving the same car my friend drives. My friend is a mid-level OFFICER in the military, not a seventeen year old athlete. Good LORD! There is something wrong with this picture.
Today on the way to drop Haven off at her high school and as I crossed the intersection of Affluent and More Affluent, some little kid in a BRAND NEW BMW got so close to my back bumper that it got my internal dialogue whispering. It said, "Hey Buddy, you are a bit close, back off a little."
He didn't and got even closer to my car.
The conversation in my head was now at an audibly loud level. Outwardly I said, "What is this kid doing?" Internally I said, "Alright asshole, if you want to wreck your sexy, black car, I'm all for it." I did not act on that, however, as my children were with me.
The ironic thing about this incident was that the other lane was open. He could have just gone around me. He could have sped past me and called me old for going the speed limit. He could have given me the bird and called it a day.
But, he didn't.
I knew what was about to happen. I knew that my two dialogues would merge into one. I knew that I would have to talk to my children after it was all said and done about appropriate driving behavior. I knew I would have to apologize to my 4 year old for using the F-word. A lot.
The teenager angrily pulled up next to me and then swerved into my lane, pushing me almost onto the sidewalk, while honking wildly.
Really? You are a teenage road rager? Nice.
MY INTERNAL DIALOGUE: You piece of shit, you are so lucky you did not hit my car with my children in it! If you had hit my car, you'd better hope that you were injured. After checking to see if my children were okay, I would have pulled you out of that $60,000 car and kicked the shit out of you until every entitled bone in your body was broken or until the police came to pull me off of you. And then I would kick the shit out of your parents. I would beat the ever-loving-shit out of your parents right in front of you! (This goes on and on, but with a lot more profanity. You get the picture.)
(And don't act like you don't candidly talk to yourself about what happens to your children either. Don't act like you don't fantasize about what you would do if someone hurt them.)
MY EXTERNAL DIALOGUE: This is not for public consumption. I used the F-word and had crazy eyes. I talked about his mother. I almost put my middle finger through the rolled-up window.
(I felt passionately about getting my point across.)
Then the teenager darted across three lanes of traffic, two of which were on-coming, and disappeared into a neighborhood.
Obviously, this was not my finest moment, but in my defense I was scared. He came that close to hitting us and he could have flipped my car. My kids could have been hurt! I am not going to apologize for what I inwardly or outwardly say when it comes to my kids. What I said to this kid was appropriate and warranted and I would say it all again in the same situation, but maybe with more of a Christan undertone. I don't know; Hindsight is 20/20.
What I do know is that in less than 11 days my daughter will be turning 16 and driving herself to school without me. She will be thrown into the bravado mix and I am worried for her safety. What if some teenage driver does this to her? What if her reflexes are not as good as mine and she actually gets into a wreck? Do you know what I would do if she were injured? Killed? I can't even think about it.
The most positive thing I can take away from this incident was Haven's reaction. She gasped when he swerved at us and her brown eyes became mostly white. She asked what was wrong with him. Hopefully she will take something away from this experience, and I hope that it is not my colorful language...
Surely she will not be as aggressive as these other drivers in her 1997 model truck. Surely she will be more respectful of others around her. If I hear any differently there will be hell to pay.
At the beginning of this school year I told you my feelings about children driving better cars than most adults I know. It is just not right, in my opinion, especially in a recession. These kids have not worked a day in their lives for vehicles of this caliber, and are rewarded with such in order for their parents to keep up with appearances. It brings about a bravado that would not be present had these parents gifted, say a Hyundai. Giving a child a $50,000 car permits them to behave as if money is no object and it is reflected in their driving, especially with boys. That's the truth-- plain and simple. It irks me when I see a seventeen year old driving the same car my friend drives. My friend is a mid-level OFFICER in the military, not a seventeen year old athlete. Good LORD! There is something wrong with this picture.
Today on the way to drop Haven off at her high school and as I crossed the intersection of Affluent and More Affluent, some little kid in a BRAND NEW BMW got so close to my back bumper that it got my internal dialogue whispering. It said, "Hey Buddy, you are a bit close, back off a little."
He didn't and got even closer to my car.
The conversation in my head was now at an audibly loud level. Outwardly I said, "What is this kid doing?" Internally I said, "Alright asshole, if you want to wreck your sexy, black car, I'm all for it." I did not act on that, however, as my children were with me.
The ironic thing about this incident was that the other lane was open. He could have just gone around me. He could have sped past me and called me old for going the speed limit. He could have given me the bird and called it a day.
But, he didn't.
I knew what was about to happen. I knew that my two dialogues would merge into one. I knew that I would have to talk to my children after it was all said and done about appropriate driving behavior. I knew I would have to apologize to my 4 year old for using the F-word. A lot.
The teenager angrily pulled up next to me and then swerved into my lane, pushing me almost onto the sidewalk, while honking wildly.
Really? You are a teenage road rager? Nice.
MY INTERNAL DIALOGUE: You piece of shit, you are so lucky you did not hit my car with my children in it! If you had hit my car, you'd better hope that you were injured. After checking to see if my children were okay, I would have pulled you out of that $60,000 car and kicked the shit out of you until every entitled bone in your body was broken or until the police came to pull me off of you. And then I would kick the shit out of your parents. I would beat the ever-loving-shit out of your parents right in front of you! (This goes on and on, but with a lot more profanity. You get the picture.)
(And don't act like you don't candidly talk to yourself about what happens to your children either. Don't act like you don't fantasize about what you would do if someone hurt them.)
MY EXTERNAL DIALOGUE: This is not for public consumption. I used the F-word and had crazy eyes. I talked about his mother. I almost put my middle finger through the rolled-up window.
(I felt passionately about getting my point across.)
Then the teenager darted across three lanes of traffic, two of which were on-coming, and disappeared into a neighborhood.
Obviously, this was not my finest moment, but in my defense I was scared. He came that close to hitting us and he could have flipped my car. My kids could have been hurt! I am not going to apologize for what I inwardly or outwardly say when it comes to my kids. What I said to this kid was appropriate and warranted and I would say it all again in the same situation, but maybe with more of a Christan undertone. I don't know; Hindsight is 20/20.
What I do know is that in less than 11 days my daughter will be turning 16 and driving herself to school without me. She will be thrown into the bravado mix and I am worried for her safety. What if some teenage driver does this to her? What if her reflexes are not as good as mine and she actually gets into a wreck? Do you know what I would do if she were injured? Killed? I can't even think about it.
The most positive thing I can take away from this incident was Haven's reaction. She gasped when he swerved at us and her brown eyes became mostly white. She asked what was wrong with him. Hopefully she will take something away from this experience, and I hope that it is not my colorful language...
Surely she will not be as aggressive as these other drivers in her 1997 model truck. Surely she will be more respectful of others around her. If I hear any differently there will be hell to pay.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Every 28 Days
Periods.
Teenage girls and periods.
Teenage girls, periods, and a mother's involvement.
Alright, stop:
If you are one of those man-boys that cannot handle the fact that a woman has a period, I insist you stop reading this right this second. If you are one of "those" guys that believes or says this: "If it bleeds for seven days and doesn't die," click the tiny X on the top of your screen. If you fall under one of these two categories and continue to read this, and then decide to comment on this subject, I will be happy to stick my size 8 foot up your ass until you need a tampon. Got it?
Okay.
My sweet Haven has joined the ranks and has been a member of menstruating women everywhere for a couple of years now. When she came to me that day with a wad of toilet paper and asked, "What is this?!" I cried. I hugged her and welcomed her to the club. She groaned. I took her out to dinner because it was the least that I could do.
The way that situation played out was to be expected. As a mother of a girl, you will spend countless hours trying to figure out the perfect words to welcome and convince your child that menstruation is a wonderful occurrence and the entrance into womanhood. I had this speech perfected by the time she started, and was ready and waiting for the day when I could tell her how wonderful this development was and how happy I was for her.
But, we all know differently, don't we?
What I should have said to that fresh faced little angel of mine was, "I am so sorry. Just 30 more years and then it will be over. Come on, I'll treat you to some greasy Mexican food and a stick of butter. Don't forget to order salt with your salt."
I wished my mother had said that to me, but my mother was out of town the day I started my period. Uncomfortable does not even begin to describe the conversation that I had to have with my father when I found that there was nothing in the house to help me.
The conversation went like this:
Me: Um, Dad? Um, I have a problem, and um.... (blink, blink, blink, tears.)
Dad: What is it? What happened?
Me: Um, well, um... (blink, blink, blink.)
Dad: OH! OH GOD! What do you need?
Me: I have no idea.
Dad: I'll be right back.
And then he tore out of the house and returned with everything that Kotex, Tampax, and Massengil, yes Massengil, ever made.
(God bless him. I am sure this instance ranked right up there with many other embarrassments that he had to endure being the father of three girls. I am sure he thought all the way to the store and back about what he might say to me when he returned. But, when he did, he just hugged me and handed me all seven grocery bags. When my mother returned, she looked through the grocery bags and we both laughed. I miss that man terribly.)
----------------------------------------------XXXXXXXXXXXX------------------------------------------------
Every month I get at least one text message from Haven requesting reinforcements.
After so many of these messages, I have become desensitized. Maybe I am a bad mother.
I am not a mother of a boy, so I can only assume what the most dangerous thing you could possibly walk into is for you, but as a mother of a girl, I know what that is:
A crying, inconsolable, zit infested girl, sitting on the couch eating ice cream with a heating pad, watching some Nicholas Sparks movie. (That was the best run-on sentence ever!)
(By the way, why does Mr. Sparks continue to write books that are then turned into mega-movies about wonderfully complex people that I would love to know? Jesus Christ, man, do you think you could write about something other than topics that make me do the ugly cry and wish for the love of my life? Thank you in advance.)
The best advice my mother ever gave me in regards to menstruation was this: Take two Advil and chug a beer. I can't wait until Haven is old enough to legally drink. I'll be passing along the advice.
Teenage girls and periods.
Teenage girls, periods, and a mother's involvement.
Alright, stop:
If you are one of those man-boys that cannot handle the fact that a woman has a period, I insist you stop reading this right this second. If you are one of "those" guys that believes or says this: "If it bleeds for seven days and doesn't die," click the tiny X on the top of your screen. If you fall under one of these two categories and continue to read this, and then decide to comment on this subject, I will be happy to stick my size 8 foot up your ass until you need a tampon. Got it?
Okay.
My sweet Haven has joined the ranks and has been a member of menstruating women everywhere for a couple of years now. When she came to me that day with a wad of toilet paper and asked, "What is this?!" I cried. I hugged her and welcomed her to the club. She groaned. I took her out to dinner because it was the least that I could do.
The way that situation played out was to be expected. As a mother of a girl, you will spend countless hours trying to figure out the perfect words to welcome and convince your child that menstruation is a wonderful occurrence and the entrance into womanhood. I had this speech perfected by the time she started, and was ready and waiting for the day when I could tell her how wonderful this development was and how happy I was for her.
But, we all know differently, don't we?
What I should have said to that fresh faced little angel of mine was, "I am so sorry. Just 30 more years and then it will be over. Come on, I'll treat you to some greasy Mexican food and a stick of butter. Don't forget to order salt with your salt."
I wished my mother had said that to me, but my mother was out of town the day I started my period. Uncomfortable does not even begin to describe the conversation that I had to have with my father when I found that there was nothing in the house to help me.
The conversation went like this:
Me: Um, Dad? Um, I have a problem, and um.... (blink, blink, blink, tears.)
Dad: What is it? What happened?
Me: Um, well, um... (blink, blink, blink.)
Dad: OH! OH GOD! What do you need?
Me: I have no idea.
Dad: I'll be right back.
And then he tore out of the house and returned with everything that Kotex, Tampax, and Massengil, yes Massengil, ever made.
(God bless him. I am sure this instance ranked right up there with many other embarrassments that he had to endure being the father of three girls. I am sure he thought all the way to the store and back about what he might say to me when he returned. But, when he did, he just hugged me and handed me all seven grocery bags. When my mother returned, she looked through the grocery bags and we both laughed. I miss that man terribly.)
----------------------------------------------XXXXXXXXXXXX------------------------------------------------
Every month I get at least one text message from Haven requesting reinforcements.
After so many of these messages, I have become desensitized. Maybe I am a bad mother.
I am not a mother of a boy, so I can only assume what the most dangerous thing you could possibly walk into is for you, but as a mother of a girl, I know what that is:
A crying, inconsolable, zit infested girl, sitting on the couch eating ice cream with a heating pad, watching some Nicholas Sparks movie. (That was the best run-on sentence ever!)
(By the way, why does Mr. Sparks continue to write books that are then turned into mega-movies about wonderfully complex people that I would love to know? Jesus Christ, man, do you think you could write about something other than topics that make me do the ugly cry and wish for the love of my life? Thank you in advance.)
The best advice my mother ever gave me in regards to menstruation was this: Take two Advil and chug a beer. I can't wait until Haven is old enough to legally drink. I'll be passing along the advice.
Monday, April 9, 2012
A Picture is Worth Seven Words
My mother always told me that I would be paid back for all of the trouble I caused her while I was a teenager. I have to say, I laughed at her and most certainly did not believe her. I chastised her into arguments and stated that if I were to be paid back, what had she done to deserve me? I still wonder what she did as a teenager to suffer the likes of me. She's not as forthcoming about her childhood.
The one aspect of Haven that is kryptonite to me is her beauty, not only of her soul, but of her physical being. The kid is breathtaking inside and out. Sure, she's mouthy and likes to test the boundaries, but those issues are easy for me to deal with. I was a master at mouthiness and boundary testing. She doesn't get much past me.
Her beauty has the potential to hurt me because it can lead to other complexities, like exploration. Haven and I have had THE talk, and not my mother's version either. (My Mom told me that I would be grounded if I ever had sex. I was always grounded anyway, so I went ahead and took the plunge.) My talk with my daughter went a little more in depth than a potential grounding and hope it prevents her from diving right on in.
I've explained the mechanics of sex, the serious implications of sex, and have shown her pictures of genitals afflicted with sexually transmitted disease; I've talked to her about alcohol in relation to sex, I've told her that boys do not wash their hands, and have stressed to her that there is no need to participate in three-somes. (If you don't believe me, please read this blog in it's entirety.) When she leaves our house, the last thing I say to her is, "Please don't smoke, drink, or hump any boys." Her friends giggle when they hear me say this, but I mean it. I mean it to the moon and back.
The other night we were watching a movie and she asked me a question about the love scene that was playing out on the screen. She asked me if it was awkward to have sex for the first time. I was puzzled when she asked the question because I wasn't entirely sure if she was asking because of the movie or because she really wanted to know. And if it was the latter, WHY did she want to know? Fear paralyzed me. I answered the question but did not ask mine. I probably should have.
Every time she walks past me, I swear to God she gets prettier, and I know other people see it, too. Her inner beauty is just as pronounced.
For example: She sent me this picture via text message Saturday night:
I audibly gasped when I looked at the picture. It took a while for me to take this picture in. Then the thoughts started flowing:
Look at that hair! Oh my goodness, I wish I had that hair! I am glad it is covering her chest. That is good. Look how tall that boy is! He better not be looking down her dress. It certainly would not be hard for him to do. God, she really takes after me. I love a tall man. How tall is he anyway? 7 feet? Good lord, Haven looks like a little person standing next to him. She would have to climb him like a tree to reach his face. I wonder if she can smell his sweat? I hope he's not sweating on her dress. Dress? She was definitely not wearing that dress when she left the house! What the crap? She was wearing shorts when she left the house. I wonder who gave her that dress? Could the dress she borrowed have been a little longer? Longer is better. I am going to have to talk to her friends about loaning her clothes. And the zipper down the front? Now that's just asking for trouble! Aww, that smile. I love that smile. Man, her Grandmother spent a fortune on her teeth! I wish she could see her right at this moment. She looks so happy. She looks very happy. That pleases me. Crap, look at her legs! She has perfect legs. She needs to cover those legs. Gosh, she looks so cute in those boots! Why is she holding on to him so tightly? Let go! Look at him holding her. His other hand should be in his pocket! Please put your other hand in your pocket. Why do you have to be so cute? God!
Here was my response:
As her 16th birthday approaches, I am fully aware that this next year may bring about some changes, that as a mother, I am not ready for. As a former teenager, I know that the experience (whatever the experience might be) will be an important part of who she will become.
I just wish she wasn't so darn beautiful. I would not be opposed to her dealing with a bit of acne. I wouldn't be opposed to anything that made her a little less appealing to every one. I wouldn't be opposed to her having an awful natural body odor. I wouldn't be opposed to all of these things happening at once.
The one aspect of Haven that is kryptonite to me is her beauty, not only of her soul, but of her physical being. The kid is breathtaking inside and out. Sure, she's mouthy and likes to test the boundaries, but those issues are easy for me to deal with. I was a master at mouthiness and boundary testing. She doesn't get much past me.
Her beauty has the potential to hurt me because it can lead to other complexities, like exploration. Haven and I have had THE talk, and not my mother's version either. (My Mom told me that I would be grounded if I ever had sex. I was always grounded anyway, so I went ahead and took the plunge.) My talk with my daughter went a little more in depth than a potential grounding and hope it prevents her from diving right on in.
I've explained the mechanics of sex, the serious implications of sex, and have shown her pictures of genitals afflicted with sexually transmitted disease; I've talked to her about alcohol in relation to sex, I've told her that boys do not wash their hands, and have stressed to her that there is no need to participate in three-somes. (If you don't believe me, please read this blog in it's entirety.) When she leaves our house, the last thing I say to her is, "Please don't smoke, drink, or hump any boys." Her friends giggle when they hear me say this, but I mean it. I mean it to the moon and back.
The other night we were watching a movie and she asked me a question about the love scene that was playing out on the screen. She asked me if it was awkward to have sex for the first time. I was puzzled when she asked the question because I wasn't entirely sure if she was asking because of the movie or because she really wanted to know. And if it was the latter, WHY did she want to know? Fear paralyzed me. I answered the question but did not ask mine. I probably should have.
Every time she walks past me, I swear to God she gets prettier, and I know other people see it, too. Her inner beauty is just as pronounced.
For example: She sent me this picture via text message Saturday night:
I audibly gasped when I looked at the picture. It took a while for me to take this picture in. Then the thoughts started flowing:
Look at that hair! Oh my goodness, I wish I had that hair! I am glad it is covering her chest. That is good. Look how tall that boy is! He better not be looking down her dress. It certainly would not be hard for him to do. God, she really takes after me. I love a tall man. How tall is he anyway? 7 feet? Good lord, Haven looks like a little person standing next to him. She would have to climb him like a tree to reach his face. I wonder if she can smell his sweat? I hope he's not sweating on her dress. Dress? She was definitely not wearing that dress when she left the house! What the crap? She was wearing shorts when she left the house. I wonder who gave her that dress? Could the dress she borrowed have been a little longer? Longer is better. I am going to have to talk to her friends about loaning her clothes. And the zipper down the front? Now that's just asking for trouble! Aww, that smile. I love that smile. Man, her Grandmother spent a fortune on her teeth! I wish she could see her right at this moment. She looks so happy. She looks very happy. That pleases me. Crap, look at her legs! She has perfect legs. She needs to cover those legs. Gosh, she looks so cute in those boots! Why is she holding on to him so tightly? Let go! Look at him holding her. His other hand should be in his pocket! Please put your other hand in your pocket. Why do you have to be so cute? God!
Here was my response:
As her 16th birthday approaches, I am fully aware that this next year may bring about some changes, that as a mother, I am not ready for. As a former teenager, I know that the experience (whatever the experience might be) will be an important part of who she will become.
I just wish she wasn't so darn beautiful. I would not be opposed to her dealing with a bit of acne. I wouldn't be opposed to anything that made her a little less appealing to every one. I wouldn't be opposed to her having an awful natural body odor. I wouldn't be opposed to all of these things happening at once.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Legends and Fairytales
I have a story to tell about a young girl. She is strong, determined, and a brave warrior. These qualities have not been lost to her despite a generation separating her from her ancestry. This girl makes her mother very proud. She is a descendent of the Cherokee Nation, as am I, but she is a better representation of those people. I am weak and broken compared to her.
Last Friday, I picked Haven and her friend up from school. I talked on the phone the entire way home about the inconsequential happenings in our lives. I pulled into the driveway and stopped the car. I got off the phone with my friend. The girls sluggishly got out of the car and collected their belongings. That is when the nightmare began. That's when I saw a dead baby rabbit in the mouth of the dog next door.
Let me back up. You need to know about the situation next door, the neighbor next door. Our neighbor is the type of man that has no regard for the lives of the animals he keeps, and he has a lot of animals. At last count, he had twelve dogs. He doesn't feed or shelter these animals. He keeps them outside during winter months and does not provide elements of warmth for them. In the heat of the summer, the dogs rarely have water. They all drink from our pool. They seek shade in our back yard. When they get so skinny we can see their ribs and hearts pounding, my family feeds them. It is not our responsibility to do so, but we have taken it upon ourselves not to contribute to their suffering, and these dogs are in fact suffering. We've called the Sherriff's Office, we've taken some of the dogs to the humane society, only to be turned away because some of the dogs looked like they had mange. We've talked to said neighbor about caring for his animals and keeping them out of our yard. Nothing has worked. He simply does not care. A few months ago, one of his dogs got into one of my neighbor's pins and killed his baby goat and several chickens. This man's lack of responsibility is destroying private property, and he doesn't give a thought to it.
This all came to a head last Friday. Dead bunnies all over my yard will do that to a person. Let's forget about the dead bunnies for a second and focus on the living bunnies that I saw snatched up by one ravenous dog. My knees almost buckled. I began to shake and scream. I dropped to my knees and prayed for a quick death for the bunny. I saw the mother rabbit take off after the dog, and felt a great respect for her. I would have done the same thing, without regard to my own life. I do not think the love or protection of a child makes a difference when it comes to animals or humans. We all want to protect our children, and would die doing so.
At this point, Haven, who had been out of view behind the house, came out of no-where and began chasing the dog. I watched her dart between the trees and cactus with little effort. She ran faster than I've ever seen a human run before. I am dead serious. We go to track meets every weekend, and while those runners who participate in the meets are fast, they are not Haven fast.
We live on five and a half acres of land. She stalked that dog until she caught up to him and knocked the rabbit out of it's mouth. She did all of this without thought to her own personal safety. That dog could have turned on her in a heartbeat. She picked up the bunny to find that it was still alive. She ran back up the winding hill that leads to our home and brought me the bunny. She did this just in time to see the next potential victim. While her friend was running interference between the bunny and the dogs, Haven tried to catch the rabbit. These bunnies were newly born, but knew they were in a dangerous situation. They feared for their lives. The bunny darted past Haven and ran head on into a large boulder that sits beside our pool. The collision stunned the bunny, and in an effort to save itself, it jumped into the pool. Haven jumped in after it and carried it to safety.
We scanned the yard, but did not see any movement. Once we got both survivors into a cardboard box, Haven said, "I'm going to kill those dogs." The look on her face said that I should believe her. There was much discussion about what needed to happen, and we all came to the conclusion that no matter how much we would like to kill the dogs, we couldn't. However, the desire to severely wound my neighbor still resides within me.
Look, I know the dogs were hungry and saw an opportunity to eat. I can't fault them. I know that this is the circle of life, but I do not want to be a part of it. My neighbor has the opportunity to shield me from this and he has chosen not to. Now it is affecting my children. Haven is one thing because she can defend herself, but I cannot let my two youngest children go outside to play in good conscience with hungry dogs lurking in the shadows. It's not going to happen. However, I am not going to let some ignorant asshole neighbor keep those children from having a childhood.
We decided that we should tie the dogs to the neighbor's front door. While Haven was doing this, the neighbor pulled up. Here is how the conversation went:
Neighbor: (sounding concerned) What happened?
Haven: Your dogs killed a bunch of animals in our backyard.
Neighbor: Were they your animals?
Haven: Yes, they were in my backyard.
Neighbor: But were they wild animals?
Haven: What difference does that make? There are dead animals all over my backyard and my mother is having an anxiety attack, so no, it does not make a difference.
Neighbor: What do you want me to do?
Haven: Really? I want you to lock your dogs up and not let them come in our backyard. They are YOUR dogs. YOU take care of them!
He told her that he would. But, he's told us that all too many times before.
Late that night, Haven took the bunnies back to their nest in hopes that the mother would come back for them. If you know any differently, you best not tell me. I couldn't take knowing that we sent them back out there to die.
The next afternoon, the dogs were back in our yard. I snapped. I called the neighbor and told him that he best get his dogs off of our property. He assured me that the problem was being taken care of. I asked him how so, and he told me that he was giving all of the dogs away to a humane society. I thought, "Good, at least there they will be fed properly." But I will also believe it when I see it, too. That man is a liar in addition to not having any regard for the quality of life for his animals. I gave him my thoughts on the situation and thanked him for getting rid of the dogs. But still, in my heart, I hate this man and will never feel neighborly toward him. Ever.
My daughter on the other hand, well, she is something special. She is fast and kindhearted. She jumped into action with primal intuition, all while I watched with awe. She did things when I could not. She was brave.
And here is where the story ends:
As I watched the young girl run through the wooded landscape, I had a vision. The vision was of my Great-Grandmother, Little Red Deer, the daughter of a chief in the Cherokee Nation, a woman buried in a full head dress, a protector of spirits. She looked like my daughter. I believe she would have been proud to call her Granddaughter.
Last Friday, I picked Haven and her friend up from school. I talked on the phone the entire way home about the inconsequential happenings in our lives. I pulled into the driveway and stopped the car. I got off the phone with my friend. The girls sluggishly got out of the car and collected their belongings. That is when the nightmare began. That's when I saw a dead baby rabbit in the mouth of the dog next door.
Let me back up. You need to know about the situation next door, the neighbor next door. Our neighbor is the type of man that has no regard for the lives of the animals he keeps, and he has a lot of animals. At last count, he had twelve dogs. He doesn't feed or shelter these animals. He keeps them outside during winter months and does not provide elements of warmth for them. In the heat of the summer, the dogs rarely have water. They all drink from our pool. They seek shade in our back yard. When they get so skinny we can see their ribs and hearts pounding, my family feeds them. It is not our responsibility to do so, but we have taken it upon ourselves not to contribute to their suffering, and these dogs are in fact suffering. We've called the Sherriff's Office, we've taken some of the dogs to the humane society, only to be turned away because some of the dogs looked like they had mange. We've talked to said neighbor about caring for his animals and keeping them out of our yard. Nothing has worked. He simply does not care. A few months ago, one of his dogs got into one of my neighbor's pins and killed his baby goat and several chickens. This man's lack of responsibility is destroying private property, and he doesn't give a thought to it.
This all came to a head last Friday. Dead bunnies all over my yard will do that to a person. Let's forget about the dead bunnies for a second and focus on the living bunnies that I saw snatched up by one ravenous dog. My knees almost buckled. I began to shake and scream. I dropped to my knees and prayed for a quick death for the bunny. I saw the mother rabbit take off after the dog, and felt a great respect for her. I would have done the same thing, without regard to my own life. I do not think the love or protection of a child makes a difference when it comes to animals or humans. We all want to protect our children, and would die doing so.
At this point, Haven, who had been out of view behind the house, came out of no-where and began chasing the dog. I watched her dart between the trees and cactus with little effort. She ran faster than I've ever seen a human run before. I am dead serious. We go to track meets every weekend, and while those runners who participate in the meets are fast, they are not Haven fast.
We live on five and a half acres of land. She stalked that dog until she caught up to him and knocked the rabbit out of it's mouth. She did all of this without thought to her own personal safety. That dog could have turned on her in a heartbeat. She picked up the bunny to find that it was still alive. She ran back up the winding hill that leads to our home and brought me the bunny. She did this just in time to see the next potential victim. While her friend was running interference between the bunny and the dogs, Haven tried to catch the rabbit. These bunnies were newly born, but knew they were in a dangerous situation. They feared for their lives. The bunny darted past Haven and ran head on into a large boulder that sits beside our pool. The collision stunned the bunny, and in an effort to save itself, it jumped into the pool. Haven jumped in after it and carried it to safety.
We scanned the yard, but did not see any movement. Once we got both survivors into a cardboard box, Haven said, "I'm going to kill those dogs." The look on her face said that I should believe her. There was much discussion about what needed to happen, and we all came to the conclusion that no matter how much we would like to kill the dogs, we couldn't. However, the desire to severely wound my neighbor still resides within me.
Look, I know the dogs were hungry and saw an opportunity to eat. I can't fault them. I know that this is the circle of life, but I do not want to be a part of it. My neighbor has the opportunity to shield me from this and he has chosen not to. Now it is affecting my children. Haven is one thing because she can defend herself, but I cannot let my two youngest children go outside to play in good conscience with hungry dogs lurking in the shadows. It's not going to happen. However, I am not going to let some ignorant asshole neighbor keep those children from having a childhood.
We decided that we should tie the dogs to the neighbor's front door. While Haven was doing this, the neighbor pulled up. Here is how the conversation went:
Neighbor: (sounding concerned) What happened?
Haven: Your dogs killed a bunch of animals in our backyard.
Neighbor: Were they your animals?
Haven: Yes, they were in my backyard.
Neighbor: But were they wild animals?
Haven: What difference does that make? There are dead animals all over my backyard and my mother is having an anxiety attack, so no, it does not make a difference.
Neighbor: What do you want me to do?
Haven: Really? I want you to lock your dogs up and not let them come in our backyard. They are YOUR dogs. YOU take care of them!
He told her that he would. But, he's told us that all too many times before.
Late that night, Haven took the bunnies back to their nest in hopes that the mother would come back for them. If you know any differently, you best not tell me. I couldn't take knowing that we sent them back out there to die.
The next afternoon, the dogs were back in our yard. I snapped. I called the neighbor and told him that he best get his dogs off of our property. He assured me that the problem was being taken care of. I asked him how so, and he told me that he was giving all of the dogs away to a humane society. I thought, "Good, at least there they will be fed properly." But I will also believe it when I see it, too. That man is a liar in addition to not having any regard for the quality of life for his animals. I gave him my thoughts on the situation and thanked him for getting rid of the dogs. But still, in my heart, I hate this man and will never feel neighborly toward him. Ever.
My daughter on the other hand, well, she is something special. She is fast and kindhearted. She jumped into action with primal intuition, all while I watched with awe. She did things when I could not. She was brave.
And here is where the story ends:
As I watched the young girl run through the wooded landscape, I had a vision. The vision was of my Great-Grandmother, Little Red Deer, the daughter of a chief in the Cherokee Nation, a woman buried in a full head dress, a protector of spirits. She looked like my daughter. I believe she would have been proud to call her Granddaughter.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Dear Haven,
I've seen shades of myself at 17 in Haven's attitude lately. This does not necessarily scare me, but it does worry me as to what is REALLY going on with her. She's been snapping and saying, "Whatever," a lot. She sighs loudly and her eyes are usually rolled in the back of her head. She mumbles a lot under her breath.
Having once been a teenager, I have accepted that she might resort to this type of behavior. Whatever her reasons, I know that she is not happy but may not feel like she can adequately communicate as to why she's irritated. She may even believe that I would not understand if she tried to talk to me about her reasoning.
However, I was a moody teenager that was angry about a lot of things that I could not control. Many incidents happened during my raising that shaped my confusion and suppressed my ability to responsibly word what I was feeling. My expressed thoughts came out as, "I hate you all," and I meant it, for there was no other venue for me to state my resentment. I took every offense against me (and others) to heart and had trouble letting go or forgiving. Who I was is not who Haven is or who she will become. She's one of the most forgiving and gracious people I've ever known.
I can only speculate at this point as to what is going on with her:
Maybe she is under a lot of pressure at school. I know Chemistry and Geometry have been an issue for her. I will tell her this: You have six more years, baby. SIX. That is not a lot. You will love college! You will take classes that actually pertain to who you are and who you want to be. You will grow in ways that you never thought imaginable. You will come home and debate your learning and I will respect your views. Chemistry and Geometry are not the 'be all' and 'end all' of education, but you can get through these courses. Just remember: "C's and D's equal degrees," and as long as you get one, we are good.
Maybe she is not happy with track, although I do not know why; she actually placed at last weekend's meet. To that I would say, "Keep going girl!" There are not a lot of pole vaulters out there, and you've chosen a sport that challenges you weekly. I have never been more proud of the fact that you are an individual who works tirelessly to perfect your skills. It takes more than sheer determination to soar through the air the way you do. I am in awe each time I see you run towards that mat. Who cares if someone does better than you? I don't. Anything you decide to set your mind to makes me proud. So get your pole up and run, Haven. Eight feet or 12 in a half, it doesn't matter to me. YOU matter to me.
Maybe she's mad because I told her no when she asked to go some place the other day. To that, I say to her, "Some times I have to say no." Haven, you go and go and go and go until you are knocked down by a virus. Trust me when I say it is better to stay home one night and rest. Your body will thank you. Sleep and rest are very important. There will come a time (maybe when you are a mother yourself) when you will not be able to get the required rest you need. Cherish your down time. (And stop rolling your eyes. I know what I'm talking about.)
Maybe she has some feelings about the letter she received from her father a week ago. To that, I say, "I am glad he is coming around." I know how important father's are to young women. There is a part of me that is incredibly apprehensive about this development, but please do not fault me for this; I am your mother and want to protect you. Your relationship with your father should not and will not be based on my feelings about him. Daddy's are important, and if you want yours in your life I will not get in the way. I want to tell you that I think you are strong for attempting to have a relationship with him. I am incredibly proud of you for your ability to forgive, especially at your age.
Maybe everything I've ever put her through as a young mother is finally coming to fruition. I would deserve it to say the least, and would not defend myself with supported arguments about the hardships I had to endure being a teenage parent. If that is what this is, then I guess it is fair to say that I was not the best parent at 19 years old. I am at 35. Haven, you and I have grown in ways that other Mothers and daughters do not. I tried to find my way in the world while you went along for the ride. I made mistakes at 22 years old that I would not make today. I cannot tell you how extraordinarily strange it was to have a nine year old when I was 28. You have seen a lot of the world and not of the tourist variety. Our journey together, while not perfect, is ours and I can accept that you might have some resentment toward me. All I ask is for you to "get it out," so to speak, even if it can only come out as, "I hate you."
Whatever it is, don't hold it in. By doing so, you send poison into your heart that will only breed prejudice and hate. Those things are very hard to overcome--harder than the issue you are struggling with.
I want you to know that I am here to listen. I am here for you. I want you to know that we, you and I, do not have to do the normal, typical mother daughter thing of being put out with one another because we are not the normal mother/daughter type. We can make our own way, just like we have all along. I'll even let you take the lead.
But, you must know by now that I am coming along for the ride.
Having once been a teenager, I have accepted that she might resort to this type of behavior. Whatever her reasons, I know that she is not happy but may not feel like she can adequately communicate as to why she's irritated. She may even believe that I would not understand if she tried to talk to me about her reasoning.
However, I was a moody teenager that was angry about a lot of things that I could not control. Many incidents happened during my raising that shaped my confusion and suppressed my ability to responsibly word what I was feeling. My expressed thoughts came out as, "I hate you all," and I meant it, for there was no other venue for me to state my resentment. I took every offense against me (and others) to heart and had trouble letting go or forgiving. Who I was is not who Haven is or who she will become. She's one of the most forgiving and gracious people I've ever known.
I can only speculate at this point as to what is going on with her:
Maybe she is under a lot of pressure at school. I know Chemistry and Geometry have been an issue for her. I will tell her this: You have six more years, baby. SIX. That is not a lot. You will love college! You will take classes that actually pertain to who you are and who you want to be. You will grow in ways that you never thought imaginable. You will come home and debate your learning and I will respect your views. Chemistry and Geometry are not the 'be all' and 'end all' of education, but you can get through these courses. Just remember: "C's and D's equal degrees," and as long as you get one, we are good.
Maybe she is not happy with track, although I do not know why; she actually placed at last weekend's meet. To that I would say, "Keep going girl!" There are not a lot of pole vaulters out there, and you've chosen a sport that challenges you weekly. I have never been more proud of the fact that you are an individual who works tirelessly to perfect your skills. It takes more than sheer determination to soar through the air the way you do. I am in awe each time I see you run towards that mat. Who cares if someone does better than you? I don't. Anything you decide to set your mind to makes me proud. So get your pole up and run, Haven. Eight feet or 12 in a half, it doesn't matter to me. YOU matter to me.
Maybe she's mad because I told her no when she asked to go some place the other day. To that, I say to her, "Some times I have to say no." Haven, you go and go and go and go until you are knocked down by a virus. Trust me when I say it is better to stay home one night and rest. Your body will thank you. Sleep and rest are very important. There will come a time (maybe when you are a mother yourself) when you will not be able to get the required rest you need. Cherish your down time. (And stop rolling your eyes. I know what I'm talking about.)
Maybe she has some feelings about the letter she received from her father a week ago. To that, I say, "I am glad he is coming around." I know how important father's are to young women. There is a part of me that is incredibly apprehensive about this development, but please do not fault me for this; I am your mother and want to protect you. Your relationship with your father should not and will not be based on my feelings about him. Daddy's are important, and if you want yours in your life I will not get in the way. I want to tell you that I think you are strong for attempting to have a relationship with him. I am incredibly proud of you for your ability to forgive, especially at your age.
Maybe everything I've ever put her through as a young mother is finally coming to fruition. I would deserve it to say the least, and would not defend myself with supported arguments about the hardships I had to endure being a teenage parent. If that is what this is, then I guess it is fair to say that I was not the best parent at 19 years old. I am at 35. Haven, you and I have grown in ways that other Mothers and daughters do not. I tried to find my way in the world while you went along for the ride. I made mistakes at 22 years old that I would not make today. I cannot tell you how extraordinarily strange it was to have a nine year old when I was 28. You have seen a lot of the world and not of the tourist variety. Our journey together, while not perfect, is ours and I can accept that you might have some resentment toward me. All I ask is for you to "get it out," so to speak, even if it can only come out as, "I hate you."
Whatever it is, don't hold it in. By doing so, you send poison into your heart that will only breed prejudice and hate. Those things are very hard to overcome--harder than the issue you are struggling with.
I want you to know that I am here to listen. I am here for you. I want you to know that we, you and I, do not have to do the normal, typical mother daughter thing of being put out with one another because we are not the normal mother/daughter type. We can make our own way, just like we have all along. I'll even let you take the lead.
But, you must know by now that I am coming along for the ride.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Light A Fire Under It
Have you ever noticed just how slow teenagers walk? My daughter just might put that entire population to shame.
I swear to you she practices slowing the speed of her walk every time I am near her. I don't get it. Isn't she on the track team? Shouldn't she be at best, speedy? There are times when this does not bother me, but other times, I want to zip myself out of my skin and light myself on fire. (Not really, but really.)
I do not know if words can adequately express just how slow she walks, but here is my humble attempt:
SHE'S REALLY SLOW.
She's a girl, so I will honestly not complain about the amount of time she spends in the shower, the bathroom, how long it takes her to put her make-up on, or the amount of time it takes her to dry and straighten her six feet of hair every morning. All of those things listed above are necessary and require a little time and effort.
But, I am going to suggest she walk to places like -- to and from the car -- at a faster rate of speed. If she would just accelerate her walking, my life would be exponentially improved and she would not have to see me turn on MOM MODE: CRAZY.
I know she doesn't walk this slow on purpose. I've considered she may be daydreaming, and if she is, I would not want to stifle whatever fantasy is going on in her head. I would, however, like for her to daydream at a faster pace, and get her little butt to the car so that we may get her to school and social events on time.
Or maybe I could figure out a way for this not to bother me, which is likely not to happen.
I've tried counting to 10, working on being patient, and telling myself that I am not the only parent dealing with this, but my dang internal dialogue will not SHUT UP.
It says things like:
"Hurry up, Haven!"
"Come on, Haven!"
"Walk a little faster, Haven." and,
"OH MY GOD HAVEN IF YOU DO NOT HURRY UP, I AM GOING TO LOSE MY MIND AND THEN EVERYONE IS GOING TO EXPERIENCE CRAZY LESLIE, SO WALK A LITTLE FASTER AND GET IN THE EVER-LOVIN' CAR FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS GOOD AND HOLY."
Ugh. Once she's in the car, I spend the remainder of the drive trying not to think about how slowly she is going to walk away from my car. Some college or hospital somewhere has to have studied teenagers at length. They must know the cause for this. I did not walk this slow as a teenager -- I'm sure I was 'slowish' but not this slow. I don't know, my Mother may disagree.
In any case, I will continue to pray for a happy teenager, with faster walking.
I swear to you she practices slowing the speed of her walk every time I am near her. I don't get it. Isn't she on the track team? Shouldn't she be at best, speedy? There are times when this does not bother me, but other times, I want to zip myself out of my skin and light myself on fire. (Not really, but really.)
I do not know if words can adequately express just how slow she walks, but here is my humble attempt:
SHE'S REALLY SLOW.
She's a girl, so I will honestly not complain about the amount of time she spends in the shower, the bathroom, how long it takes her to put her make-up on, or the amount of time it takes her to dry and straighten her six feet of hair every morning. All of those things listed above are necessary and require a little time and effort.
But, I am going to suggest she walk to places like -- to and from the car -- at a faster rate of speed. If she would just accelerate her walking, my life would be exponentially improved and she would not have to see me turn on MOM MODE: CRAZY.
I know she doesn't walk this slow on purpose. I've considered she may be daydreaming, and if she is, I would not want to stifle whatever fantasy is going on in her head. I would, however, like for her to daydream at a faster pace, and get her little butt to the car so that we may get her to school and social events on time.
Or maybe I could figure out a way for this not to bother me, which is likely not to happen.
I've tried counting to 10, working on being patient, and telling myself that I am not the only parent dealing with this, but my dang internal dialogue will not SHUT UP.
It says things like:
"Hurry up, Haven!"
"Come on, Haven!"
"Walk a little faster, Haven." and,
"OH MY GOD HAVEN IF YOU DO NOT HURRY UP, I AM GOING TO LOSE MY MIND AND THEN EVERYONE IS GOING TO EXPERIENCE CRAZY LESLIE, SO WALK A LITTLE FASTER AND GET IN THE EVER-LOVIN' CAR FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS GOOD AND HOLY."
Ugh. Once she's in the car, I spend the remainder of the drive trying not to think about how slowly she is going to walk away from my car. Some college or hospital somewhere has to have studied teenagers at length. They must know the cause for this. I did not walk this slow as a teenager -- I'm sure I was 'slowish' but not this slow. I don't know, my Mother may disagree.
In any case, I will continue to pray for a happy teenager, with faster walking.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Ozzy and Me
Addiction is a terrible thing.
Many years ago, Haven had to live through a lesson on drugs and substance abuse. We had just moved into our first brand new home and I allowed Haven to have a television in her room.
One Saturday afternoon, I walked into her room to find her watching 'The Osborne's,' a reality television show about Ozzy Osborne and his family. As I went to the television to turn it off, Haven asked me a question, and I had to think for a second about how I could use the answer as a lesson.
If you've watched the show, you would know that more often than not, Mr. Osborne was not very easy to understand. He mumbled incoherently and made no sense. I think that was all part of the allure of his show; to see how incredibly messed up he was. I can only imagine what a 9 year old thought.
I sat down on Haven's bed, and told her that should she ever decide to do drugs that she might end up just like him, minus the millions of dollars and mansion. Haven asked very good questions and I tried to answer them to the best of my ability. Haven finally said, "I feel bad for his family."
Haven has had some experience with substance abuse. I nearly drank myself to death after my father died. Those are six months that I can never give back to my daughter, and live every day trying to make it up to her. It was an enormous failing on my part as a mother, whether grief was to blame or not. She did not just lose my father, I was lost to her for an entire six months and am lucky that no camera crew was able to document my actions.
I got better after my father came to me in a dream. Maybe it was my sub-conscious telling me that I knew right from wrong, but I would like to believe that my father really did sit on the edge of my bed and tell me to "get better or die." I had an entire conversation with him that night. He told me that he knew that I was sad, but that he was gone, and that it was my job to care for Haven the way she deserved. He said that Haven needed me and to start acting like the person he raised. He would not hear any of my excuses. I woke up the next morning and began to deal with his death.
A year later as I sat on my daughter's bed discussing Ozzy Osborne, I apologized to Haven. Now that she is half way through her high school experience, I often ask her what she remembers about me and Ozzy. She laughs when it comes to Ozzy; she hugs me when it comes to me. Children are incredibly forgiving.
I know that Haven may chose to experiment, but I honestly think she will make good decisions based on some of the things she has seen during her lifetime. I cringe when I see celebrities struggle with addictions, and the media glorifying them in a way in order to make money. They have families that suffer through the addiction right along with the celebrity. My Haven suffered right along with me.
I hope that she will not judge me by what I've done in the past, but by who I am today.
Many years ago, Haven had to live through a lesson on drugs and substance abuse. We had just moved into our first brand new home and I allowed Haven to have a television in her room.
One Saturday afternoon, I walked into her room to find her watching 'The Osborne's,' a reality television show about Ozzy Osborne and his family. As I went to the television to turn it off, Haven asked me a question, and I had to think for a second about how I could use the answer as a lesson.
If you've watched the show, you would know that more often than not, Mr. Osborne was not very easy to understand. He mumbled incoherently and made no sense. I think that was all part of the allure of his show; to see how incredibly messed up he was. I can only imagine what a 9 year old thought.
I sat down on Haven's bed, and told her that should she ever decide to do drugs that she might end up just like him, minus the millions of dollars and mansion. Haven asked very good questions and I tried to answer them to the best of my ability. Haven finally said, "I feel bad for his family."
Haven has had some experience with substance abuse. I nearly drank myself to death after my father died. Those are six months that I can never give back to my daughter, and live every day trying to make it up to her. It was an enormous failing on my part as a mother, whether grief was to blame or not. She did not just lose my father, I was lost to her for an entire six months and am lucky that no camera crew was able to document my actions.
I got better after my father came to me in a dream. Maybe it was my sub-conscious telling me that I knew right from wrong, but I would like to believe that my father really did sit on the edge of my bed and tell me to "get better or die." I had an entire conversation with him that night. He told me that he knew that I was sad, but that he was gone, and that it was my job to care for Haven the way she deserved. He said that Haven needed me and to start acting like the person he raised. He would not hear any of my excuses. I woke up the next morning and began to deal with his death.
A year later as I sat on my daughter's bed discussing Ozzy Osborne, I apologized to Haven. Now that she is half way through her high school experience, I often ask her what she remembers about me and Ozzy. She laughs when it comes to Ozzy; she hugs me when it comes to me. Children are incredibly forgiving.
I know that Haven may chose to experiment, but I honestly think she will make good decisions based on some of the things she has seen during her lifetime. I cringe when I see celebrities struggle with addictions, and the media glorifying them in a way in order to make money. They have families that suffer through the addiction right along with the celebrity. My Haven suffered right along with me.
I hope that she will not judge me by what I've done in the past, but by who I am today.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
I, I, I, I Work Out
I absolutely never thought I would get to the point to where my daughter found my dancing embarrassing. I am a young mother and I've prided myself in keeping up with the latest dance moves and such. I have done this because Haven, the girls, and I hold "Dance Party USA" frequently in our living room. "Dance Party USA" is a virtual dance move free-for-all, and if you ever have the opportunity to join us, you should. It's a lot of fun.
Last night, we had a small, impromptu DP, and all was going well until LMFAO entered the picture. I hate those boys.
I hate them because in my daughter's eyes, they have turned me into something creepy and disturbing. Mind you, I do not generally try to embarrass myself in front of her by doing the dance moves that came straight out of my generation. I do not do the running man or the rump-shaker even though I am an expert at both. I do not engage in the tootsie roll or the Macarena because those dances are stupid, and didn't like them when they were popular. I stay current.
Last night, my daughters eyes and facial expressions told a different story. It was a super sad moment for me. I remember the way my Dad used to dance. He really had the "I won't keep rhythm" finger shake down. My Mom used to do this incredibly uncomfortable head bop thing that used to make me cringe. THEY were embarrassing, but I thought that was because they were so much older than me and no where near my generation. I am only 19 years older than Haven, and feel I should still be able to keep up.
I have considered several scenarios in regards to this mishap. Perhaps I was having an off night. Perhaps these LMFAO boys created the most ridiculous dance on the planet, and no normal person would look good dancing to their music. Perhaps, I have indeed become my parents. I don't know, but I am going to go with the second scenario.
In any case, I am sure the next time we have "Dance Party USA" I will become a wallflower and wait for her to ask me to dance.
Last night, we had a small, impromptu DP, and all was going well until LMFAO entered the picture. I hate those boys.
Last night, my daughters eyes and facial expressions told a different story. It was a super sad moment for me. I remember the way my Dad used to dance. He really had the "I won't keep rhythm" finger shake down. My Mom used to do this incredibly uncomfortable head bop thing that used to make me cringe. THEY were embarrassing, but I thought that was because they were so much older than me and no where near my generation. I am only 19 years older than Haven, and feel I should still be able to keep up.
I have considered several scenarios in regards to this mishap. Perhaps I was having an off night. Perhaps these LMFAO boys created the most ridiculous dance on the planet, and no normal person would look good dancing to their music. Perhaps, I have indeed become my parents. I don't know, but I am going to go with the second scenario.
In any case, I am sure the next time we have "Dance Party USA" I will become a wallflower and wait for her to ask me to dance.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
A Sunday Drive
I almost lost my life today. My sweet daughter will be getting her driver's license in less than three months and I am not quite sure the world is prepared for that. Please get prepared for that. Clearly, Haven needs more practice driving, but I am not sure my little ticker can handle the education aspect.
When we got into the car today, she did all of the right things: She put her seat belt on, checked her mirrors, adjusted all of the settings on the driver's seat, and we set out on our way to pole vault practice.
It is a hard thing trying to educate a teenage driver when you think you might die. Haven is either going way too slow or way too fast, and she does both of these things when she should be doing the opposite. When she is going too slow, I honestly do not mind all of the hand gestures we receive from passing vehicles, and we get a lot. I just wave back with one finger and gently remind her to keep up with traffic.
When she is going too fast, like when she fails to use her brake feet from an upcoming light, that is what I have a problem with. I yell and scream and generally make my blood pressure rise to the point that I should be hospitalized. Haven looks at me and retorts back with, "What's the problem?" like the problem isn't already evident. We don't need to use our vehicle as a projectile missile. We want to see Haven graduate from high school.
I also in no way want to make her feel like she is not a good driver, because eventually, she will be. I don't want to hurt her by getting down on my knees in the driveway and offering up a prayer for my life and others who will be on the road. She might not take too kindly to that.
I was not an amazing driver when I first began, but I understand now why my father held onto the "OH SHIT bars" for dear life. I seriously have a hand cramp from this day's excursion.
We will be practicing again, and soon, and I pray it will allow us to safely arrive to our final destination. I hope it will result in me telling Haven, "Good job." Right now, I need a drink.
When we got into the car today, she did all of the right things: She put her seat belt on, checked her mirrors, adjusted all of the settings on the driver's seat, and we set out on our way to pole vault practice.
It is a hard thing trying to educate a teenage driver when you think you might die. Haven is either going way too slow or way too fast, and she does both of these things when she should be doing the opposite. When she is going too slow, I honestly do not mind all of the hand gestures we receive from passing vehicles, and we get a lot. I just wave back with one finger and gently remind her to keep up with traffic.
When she is going too fast, like when she fails to use her brake feet from an upcoming light, that is what I have a problem with. I yell and scream and generally make my blood pressure rise to the point that I should be hospitalized. Haven looks at me and retorts back with, "What's the problem?" like the problem isn't already evident. We don't need to use our vehicle as a projectile missile. We want to see Haven graduate from high school.
I also in no way want to make her feel like she is not a good driver, because eventually, she will be. I don't want to hurt her by getting down on my knees in the driveway and offering up a prayer for my life and others who will be on the road. She might not take too kindly to that.
I was not an amazing driver when I first began, but I understand now why my father held onto the "OH SHIT bars" for dear life. I seriously have a hand cramp from this day's excursion.
We will be practicing again, and soon, and I pray it will allow us to safely arrive to our final destination. I hope it will result in me telling Haven, "Good job." Right now, I need a drink.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Curfewitis
I had to take a break from writing my book. I am writing a story about a prevalent problem and I think I've actually given the problem to myself. (Sorry if I am being cryptic, the finished product will be a surprise.)
I love how now, we all are able to self diagnose ourselves with debilitating syndromes straight from our television sets. Don't act like you've never done this. I once convinced myself that I had Social Anxiety Disorder.
Right.
Well, if you've ever met me, you would know that being social and in social situations has never been a problem for me. I kind of love being around people. Maybe that's why I have so many kids. That's something to think about, anyway.
A couple of weeks ago, Haven did not come home when she was supposed to, and missed her curfew by a couple of hours. I cannot tell you how angry and scared I was. I screamed at her on the phone and demanded that she get her blankety-blank ass home immediately! (I had another Joan Allen moment. At some point, I am going to need to meet Mrs. Allen, that is if I make it through high school.)
The next day, I expressed how frightened I was not knowing where Haven was. She told me that she felt like she had adequately explained what she was doing and why she did not make it home on time. I told her that if that were true, she should have only missed her curfew by an hour, not by two. Miscommunication or not, that child is everything to me, and it is my job as a mother to know where she is at all times. It is pretty clear that I do not know everything Haven does. Girls are sneaky. I was a sneaky girl once.
During my upbringing, I did not feel like my parents needed to know everything I was doing, because I was usually doing something that they would not approve of, like drinking and smoking (or in my case, doing both at the same time). I am sure Haven feels the same way. This is all a part of growing up, and whether or not I like this stage of child-rearing, it is going to happen, and it is coming at a fast pace.
A few days later, I found that her screen was off of her window. We live in a two story house, and Haven's room is located upstairs. I asked her why her screen was off and she told me it was so that she could go out to sit and think on the roof.
Right.
I am not one of those mothers who believes everything my child tells me. In fact, I am one of those mothers that embraces worst case scenarios, and reacts to them.
I told her that leaving the house via her window was not a smart idea. I told her if she was brave enough to sneak out of the house, while knowing how I would react, she should be brave enough do it by the front door. I told her she didn't need to break a leg to be defiant. Short of chaining her to her bed (which is against the law), I did not know what else to do. She swore to me that she has never sneaked out of the house before.
I don't know what to believe. It seems to me that mothering is getting harder as she ages.
Haven has a lot of freedoms, more than I ever had. More often than not, when she asks if she can do something, the answer is yes. She will be an adult in less than two and a half years, and it is my belief that these years are for me to show her how to function in the world once she is out of our home.
I've always told Haven that I would trust her until she showed me that she could not be trusted. I told her to be prepared for that day because I most definitely would pull her out of some house party in a disgusting pink robe with my hair in curlers. I don't actually own those items, but need to locate some fast!
I love how now, we all are able to self diagnose ourselves with debilitating syndromes straight from our television sets. Don't act like you've never done this. I once convinced myself that I had Social Anxiety Disorder.
Right.
Well, if you've ever met me, you would know that being social and in social situations has never been a problem for me. I kind of love being around people. Maybe that's why I have so many kids. That's something to think about, anyway.
A couple of weeks ago, Haven did not come home when she was supposed to, and missed her curfew by a couple of hours. I cannot tell you how angry and scared I was. I screamed at her on the phone and demanded that she get her blankety-blank ass home immediately! (I had another Joan Allen moment. At some point, I am going to need to meet Mrs. Allen, that is if I make it through high school.)
The next day, I expressed how frightened I was not knowing where Haven was. She told me that she felt like she had adequately explained what she was doing and why she did not make it home on time. I told her that if that were true, she should have only missed her curfew by an hour, not by two. Miscommunication or not, that child is everything to me, and it is my job as a mother to know where she is at all times. It is pretty clear that I do not know everything Haven does. Girls are sneaky. I was a sneaky girl once.
During my upbringing, I did not feel like my parents needed to know everything I was doing, because I was usually doing something that they would not approve of, like drinking and smoking (or in my case, doing both at the same time). I am sure Haven feels the same way. This is all a part of growing up, and whether or not I like this stage of child-rearing, it is going to happen, and it is coming at a fast pace.
A few days later, I found that her screen was off of her window. We live in a two story house, and Haven's room is located upstairs. I asked her why her screen was off and she told me it was so that she could go out to sit and think on the roof.
Right.
I am not one of those mothers who believes everything my child tells me. In fact, I am one of those mothers that embraces worst case scenarios, and reacts to them.
I told her that leaving the house via her window was not a smart idea. I told her if she was brave enough to sneak out of the house, while knowing how I would react, she should be brave enough do it by the front door. I told her she didn't need to break a leg to be defiant. Short of chaining her to her bed (which is against the law), I did not know what else to do. She swore to me that she has never sneaked out of the house before.
I don't know what to believe. It seems to me that mothering is getting harder as she ages.
Haven has a lot of freedoms, more than I ever had. More often than not, when she asks if she can do something, the answer is yes. She will be an adult in less than two and a half years, and it is my belief that these years are for me to show her how to function in the world once she is out of our home.
I've always told Haven that I would trust her until she showed me that she could not be trusted. I told her to be prepared for that day because I most definitely would pull her out of some house party in a disgusting pink robe with my hair in curlers. I don't actually own those items, but need to locate some fast!
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
The Resolution
Well, hello, 2012. I hope you are kind to me and my daughters. My resolution this year was not to make one. I never follow through even with good intentions. I've been pondering what Haven's resolutions might be--if she has any. I am sure one of them has to do with track. She is a pole-vaulter and is pretty dang good at it. I bet her resolution is to make it over 11 feet. She already has 10 feet in the bag. She will do it, too, because she is determined, strong, and much better at following her dreams than I am.
I can clearly remember every new year celebration of my time in high school, but cannot even begin to think of what I might have said my resolutions were. They may have been something like this:
"I promise not to give my Mom a hard time about anything."
"I vow to be nice to my boyfriend and sisters."
"I am going to keep my room clean and organized."
I probably never did any of those things.
Haven began this year very sick. She came down with a nasty case of strep throat that I hope she does not share with the rest of the family. I found her the other day helpless, weak, and laying on the shower floor. My mother-powered strength kicked in and I was able to help her up and get her back into bed. It was then that I realized that no matter how old she is, she still needs and wants me to be her mother--even if it only comes out when she is sick.
Last night she was finally able to join us at the dinner table for supper. Her color was awful and she was still as weak as a newly hatched bird, but she showed signs of life coming back into her. She asked her four year old sister if she was happy to be back in school after the long holiday break. I bet Haven would like to be back in school with all of her friends. She barely ate as it was hard for her to swallow.
Her little sister laughed hysterically when I said, "Poor Baby." I questioned her laugh. I told her that Haven was still my baby; she was my first baby. Revy said that she knew that Haven came out of my tummy first. Haven told her what she remembered about the day Revy was born. We all enjoyed reminiscing about their births.
I am not the type of woman who finds being pregnant a joyous occasion. My pregnancies are plagued with months of bed rest and hemorrhoids the size of large catfish. It freaks me out that my body can stretch and contort as big as it does. I don't like that a baby can kick you so hard that you pass unintentional gas in front of your neighbors.
None of my deliveries came without incident either. Haven was 11 days overdue and I was not pleased about her still residing within me. When I finally went into labor with her, I literally threatened to choke my father out and told my mother not to even think about fixing her hair. I screamed at them to get in the car and not to stop at any red lights. When we arrived at the hospital, I told the nurse that my name was, "Leslie Epidural Williams," and I wanted to know when I could get one. 30 hours and a 4th degree tear later, my first daughter was born, blue, with an umbilical cord wrapped tightly around her neck. The doctor worked to remove the cord and assisted her with her first breath of life.
My second daughter was a scheduled C-section. Scheduled. You would think by the word "scheduled," everyone including my ex-husband would be prepared. Nope. Thank goodness my mother had previously flown to Hawaii, where we were stationed, for the delivery. She really saved the day and I was grateful she was there. My husband broke his flip flop as we were about to go into the delivery room. No-one wears shoes in Hawaii if they don't have to, and flip flops are acceptable foot wear for a delivery room. I think that's gross, but whatever. His shoe broke and was not going to be allowed to attend the delivery. My mother, who had no clue where in the world she was, raced home and back to the hospital with a new pair of flip flops so that my husband could see his first child being born. My C-section was preformed without complication and I was equally pleased with the birth of my second daughter.
My third delivery can not be classified as typical. Anything that could go wrong, did. At barely 37 weeks my water broke. My husband and I were taken immediately back to the operating room and I was preped for my second C-section. I was given a spinal block and the surgery began. The doctors were shocked when I told them to get their hands out of me. I saw the surgeon and anesthesiologist exchange looks. I was administered more medication and they waited for it to take effect. Once again, they began to remove my third daughter from me. Once again, I told them that I could feel it. Other looks were exchanged and my husband was escorted out of the room. We both missed the birth of my third child. Later, I was told that my baby had issues breathing and had to be resuscitated.
None of that was fun. However, now that they are all here, I find that I have enjoyed every second of every minute that they have been on this Earth. I realized that from the minute that each of my children entered this world, I made the only resolution that I will ever keep: I vow to never leave you, I promise to always love you, I thank God every day that you are here, and I will always, ALWAYS do what I can for you.
I can clearly remember every new year celebration of my time in high school, but cannot even begin to think of what I might have said my resolutions were. They may have been something like this:
"I promise not to give my Mom a hard time about anything."
"I vow to be nice to my boyfriend and sisters."
"I am going to keep my room clean and organized."
I probably never did any of those things.
Haven began this year very sick. She came down with a nasty case of strep throat that I hope she does not share with the rest of the family. I found her the other day helpless, weak, and laying on the shower floor. My mother-powered strength kicked in and I was able to help her up and get her back into bed. It was then that I realized that no matter how old she is, she still needs and wants me to be her mother--even if it only comes out when she is sick.
Last night she was finally able to join us at the dinner table for supper. Her color was awful and she was still as weak as a newly hatched bird, but she showed signs of life coming back into her. She asked her four year old sister if she was happy to be back in school after the long holiday break. I bet Haven would like to be back in school with all of her friends. She barely ate as it was hard for her to swallow.
Her little sister laughed hysterically when I said, "Poor Baby." I questioned her laugh. I told her that Haven was still my baby; she was my first baby. Revy said that she knew that Haven came out of my tummy first. Haven told her what she remembered about the day Revy was born. We all enjoyed reminiscing about their births.
I am not the type of woman who finds being pregnant a joyous occasion. My pregnancies are plagued with months of bed rest and hemorrhoids the size of large catfish. It freaks me out that my body can stretch and contort as big as it does. I don't like that a baby can kick you so hard that you pass unintentional gas in front of your neighbors.
None of my deliveries came without incident either. Haven was 11 days overdue and I was not pleased about her still residing within me. When I finally went into labor with her, I literally threatened to choke my father out and told my mother not to even think about fixing her hair. I screamed at them to get in the car and not to stop at any red lights. When we arrived at the hospital, I told the nurse that my name was, "Leslie Epidural Williams," and I wanted to know when I could get one. 30 hours and a 4th degree tear later, my first daughter was born, blue, with an umbilical cord wrapped tightly around her neck. The doctor worked to remove the cord and assisted her with her first breath of life.
My second daughter was a scheduled C-section. Scheduled. You would think by the word "scheduled," everyone including my ex-husband would be prepared. Nope. Thank goodness my mother had previously flown to Hawaii, where we were stationed, for the delivery. She really saved the day and I was grateful she was there. My husband broke his flip flop as we were about to go into the delivery room. No-one wears shoes in Hawaii if they don't have to, and flip flops are acceptable foot wear for a delivery room. I think that's gross, but whatever. His shoe broke and was not going to be allowed to attend the delivery. My mother, who had no clue where in the world she was, raced home and back to the hospital with a new pair of flip flops so that my husband could see his first child being born. My C-section was preformed without complication and I was equally pleased with the birth of my second daughter.
My third delivery can not be classified as typical. Anything that could go wrong, did. At barely 37 weeks my water broke. My husband and I were taken immediately back to the operating room and I was preped for my second C-section. I was given a spinal block and the surgery began. The doctors were shocked when I told them to get their hands out of me. I saw the surgeon and anesthesiologist exchange looks. I was administered more medication and they waited for it to take effect. Once again, they began to remove my third daughter from me. Once again, I told them that I could feel it. Other looks were exchanged and my husband was escorted out of the room. We both missed the birth of my third child. Later, I was told that my baby had issues breathing and had to be resuscitated.
None of that was fun. However, now that they are all here, I find that I have enjoyed every second of every minute that they have been on this Earth. I realized that from the minute that each of my children entered this world, I made the only resolution that I will ever keep: I vow to never leave you, I promise to always love you, I thank God every day that you are here, and I will always, ALWAYS do what I can for you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)