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.

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.

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!

   

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.

   

The Blame Game

      Haven finally got a response from her father, and it was lacking to say the least. She's hurt and it is a hurt that I do not think she will ever get over. I watched her read his response as she sat under an oak tree in our backyard. I saw her shoulders slump. She folded up the letter, stood up, and walked towards me. Due to her age, I am not ever sure of what she's needing from a mother, but I was prepared to give her whatever I could. She walked passed me, slapped the letter in her hand and said, “This is crap.”

I figured it would be.

      She did not want me to read his response, and I respected that. However, an internal, maternal rage burned within me and had the man been in my physical presence, I believe he would have received the ass kicking of his life. The shoulder slump alone ignited my bodily response. But because he wasn't, I hid my anger and waited for an opportunity to speak with Haven about what she was feeling.

Some humans shouldn't be allowed to reproduce or have equipment that allows them to do so.

      It was days before she shared his response with me. It was every thing I expected from him. He blamed me...fine. He blamed my parents...fine. He blamed Haven...NOT FINE.

      I did not comment on the letter with out solicitation because I did not want to make the situation worse for her. But, as she read it aloud, I saw a very mature, young lady emerge. She told me all of the reasons why she did not agree with his version of events, and did so without any emotion. She did not exhibit the normal teenage reaction filled with tears and strife. I was proud and scared all at the same time.

      Usually, when I am able to speak without emotion after someone hurts me, that is an indication that someone is about to really wish they were never born. Maybe Haven hasn't been genetically disposed to this phenomenon-- and it is a phenomenon for anyone who has been witness to my absolute calmness when I am completely enraged. I've been waiting for Haven to have some sort of reaction, but hasn't as of yet. She's always been the best of me, anyway.

      This letter got me thinking about my response as a mother.  It's also made me think of fantastic scenarios of what I would like to do to him. Her father does not know this, but I have found that I can shape shift into the nastiest broad on the planet. There is an unwritten rule that every mother has: DO NOT HURT MY KID no matter their age. Any mother will agree with this, and a lot of fathers, too. Maybe he does not realize the lengths I will go to protect my children. 

Here are some other rules for absent parents to follow:

1. Be a grown up. If you are an adult and blame a child, you should be sent straight to an electric chair. There is no amount of rehabilitation that will make you see that you are the adult and children are innocent.
2. If you are going to be absent from your child's life, do not blame the parent that stayed to do both of your jobs. You will never win this argument. EVER.
3. If you are absent and your child reaches out to you, for the love of GOD, put your self last for once. All you need to do is say, “I'm sorry,” no matter what happened between the adults.
4. If you sign away all parental rights to your child, do not assume that you will be invited to life changing events. If your child invites you and wants you there, that is one thing, but if they do not, please do not convince yourself that you have any right to show up unannounced.
5. If you are absent for the majority of a child's life, saying, “I love you,” will fall short and on deaf ears. Don't get mad at the child when it does. Children take offense to absences of choice.
6. No matter the circumstance, take responsibility for your decisions. They were yours.
7. Blaming others when you have a perfectly good opportunity to correct wrongdoings only shows how weak you are.
8. When your child grants you time with them, do not pawn them off on others because you are uncomfortable with the fact that you do not really know your own child. That is your fault, not theirs.
9. Revisionist history will not make the situation better. Just own up to what you did.
   
   
   10.) Make sure you thank the other parent for raising your child. They changed the diapers, held hair while your child vomited, stayed up nights to work on school projects, worked countless jobs to provide for them, held their hand during doctor's appointments and when their favorite pet died. They were there for every success and failure your child has ever had, and did so because that's what parents do.

      And know this, if you ever send my child a letter again stating that she was in the wrong, you will elicit a response from me that will scare terrorists. 

The Drunkest Girl in Four States

     It has recently come to my attention that Haven is hanging out with Seniors.  When I was a Senior, I wouldn't have been caught dead with a Sophomore.  I am perplexed by the attraction this group of Seniors has with my daughter.  I've met some in the group, but I still err on the side of caution no matter how nice these girls seem to be.

     Last night we had a conversation about photographic proof that Haven has been in the same vicinity of alcohol. I liked beer at an early age. I mean, hello?  Have you ever met me?  I still like beer today, but it makes me fat and that is something I am working very hard not to be.  However, there is no photographic record of me enjoying it at the age of 15.  I simply asked Haven about it and she told me the truth.  If it were the other way around, and my Mother had asked me, I would have LIED.  Haven did not and I find I have a great respect for her.

     So, if she's going to be around it, and even drink it, I felt she needed some tangible advice.  I did not give her permission to go out and drink.  I put alcohol consumption into perspective for her and I hope she listens.

1.)  DO NOT be the drunkest girl in FOUR states.  Nobody likes a sloppy drunk.  Nobody wants to take care of a sloppy drunk.  People will write on your forehead with a permanent marker once you pass out.  You will wake up with no clothes on.  Your "virtue" will be stolen.  People will talk about you and not in a nice way.  You will come home pregnant and not know how you got that way.  Boys will like you better, but only because you are sloppy and agree to run around naked in front of them.

2.)  DO NOT be a HOOKER.  Alcohol impairs judgement.  Believe me.  It explains about 97% of the men I've dated.  Don't talk yourself into thinking that people are good, because most are not.  There is a difference between chemistry and alcohol induced attraction.  Wait until the next day to determine if chemistry is still there without the aid of Captain Morgan.  I promise you will ask yourself what you were thinking. 

3.)  If you're gonna drink, DO NOT throw up in your friend's CAR.  Seriously, friends don't like that.

4.)  DO NOT get into a car with anyone who has been DRINKING and DO NOT try to DRIVE A CAR if you have been.  I will kill you.  You will wish for death if you do this.  If you do, and you die, I will wither away to nothing because I am nothing without you.

5.)  IF YOU GET CAUGHT, I am NOT going to bail you out.  I never got a MIP and neither should you.  If you get busted at a party, you better call a bank for a loan because I am not going to spend money on you because you were a dumbass.  You want to go to a major university?  Good luck.  It most likely will not happen if you have a MIP on your record.

6.)  The HANGOVER isn't worth it.  I will clang pots together over your head if I even suspect that you are.  I will make you do hard labor out in the hot sun and laugh when you dry heave.  I won't tell you to replace the sugar you lost the night before to help you feel better.

7.)  DO NOT try to beat people up when you have been drinking.  You will look like a fool.  You will fall and injure yourself.  I've seen plenty of friends try to attempt this and they ended up looking like idiots.

8.)  DO NOT attempt doing things you normally do not already do, like fix an electrical problem, or attempt a round-off back handspring.  I'm sure you don't want to be a paraplegic, so just stop while you're ahead. 

9.)  IF you drink, DO NOT let that be the opportunity to tell someone off.  You will go too far and say things you regret.  Words hurt more than a punch to the face.  Words cannot be taken back.

10.)  DO NOT get crazy ideas into your head.  For example, it is a bad idea to run off and get married to someone you don't know.  It is also a bad idea to be drunk and get a tattoo.  That crap does not wash off.  Neither one.

Dramanation

     Well, well, well.  Haven doesn't like me.  I've been anticipating this, and I am ready.  I am prepared for all of the verbal assaults and wordless daggers she is going to throw at me.  She's 15, and is gearing up for the war that all mothers and daughters wage during the teenage years.  I was an excellent warrior by the age of 17, and I expect Haven to be much nastier than I ever was.  That's not to say that she will be, I am just going to expect the worst.

     Haven told me this morning that whether or not I was a good person "was debatable."  Awesome.  I do not think that a 15 year old can quantify as to what is good or not.  Clothes, maybe, but character, I think not.  Science shows that their frontal lobes, which determine judgement and impulsivity, are still developing.  Haven has absolutely no idea what she is talking about.

     She is angry with me because she believes I side with her younger siblings more than I do her.  This is completely false.  The other children are corrected, if not more so, because they are learning "sister" boundaries and want to cross them at every opportunity.  Haven is only corrected if she uses a smart mouth or if she is being unkind, and she's rarely unkind.  She does, however, have a smart mouth. 

     Recently, Haven told me that she hates me for the first time.  Talk about a knee-dropping, breath-taking revelation that I certainly could have gone my whole life without hearing.  When she said the words, it felt as if my insides were exposed to outside elements.  It hurt.  But, my reaction was completely different than the way I was feeling inside.  While this is still confusing to me, I think I participated in the very first skirmish of our war.  I got lippy. 

     Maybe it was wrong to react to her words, but I did.  I wasn't ugly in my response, but I did go down a list of all the things I do for her, which was completely unnecessary because she had already stopped listening to me.  I knew she wasn't listening, and I continued on with my rant anyway.  Of course she only heard the one semi-negative thing on the list, and exploded in a deafening shrieking that made the whole communication a waste and unresolvable.

 
    It is my sincere hope that I no longer participate in exchanges that will not be beneficial to either of us.  I am going to try like hell to not engage her in battles that cannot be won by either party.  It is a super sad feeling for a mother to hear words like "hate" and "annoying."  I know it is equally as sad for a teenager to hear words like "lazy" and "disrespectful."  I am going to try something new with her, like ignore the words and make every attempt to empathize with her development.

     If it does come down to hand-to-hand combat, I am confident she will completely kick my ass.