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.)

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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.

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.

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.