Seven Things...

...you didn't know about me.

Today I'm linking up with one of my favorite bloggers, JD from Honest Mom, who was sweet enough to invite all of us non-BlogHer attendee losers to link up with her fun idea of getting to know each other. 

I'm going to share seven things you didn't know about me, which may be hard because I'm kind of an open book.  So here goes:

1.  I am the youngest of three.  My older brother and sister's names are Barbie and Ken.  It's true, swearsies.  I am not clever enough to make that up.  When I was younger, all of their friends called me Skipper.  :/
2. I am a very loyal person.  It's a great quality when we're talking about other people, but when it comes to stores and brands, it's kind of silly.  And when it applies to, oh, say a hairdresser who hasn't given me a decent haircut in years, it can actually be a bit detrimental and stubborn.  I blame it on the fact that my birthday is in May, so I fall under the sign of the Bull.
3. I played soccer for over ten years, and I was actually pretty good.  You'd think I'd be a better runner and not complain about it so much, but soccer is really about sprinting, then jogging, then walking, then sprinting, and walking and jogging, which is really what I do anyway when I say I "run."
4. That said, I have two huge regrets about high school.  I hated high school.  They definitely were not the best years of my life.  I wish I would have tried harder during varsity soccer try-outs.  Looking back at the girls who made the team, I know I still wouldn't have made it, but at least I could say I gave it my all.  My other regret is that I didn't take journalism (read why in my very first post).  Then maybe I wouldn't be 42 and trying to finally do what I've always wanted to do.
5. I have horrible self-esteem, which is no surprise to anyone who has been reading my blog for a while.  Just as well as I can write about having good self-esteem, I can fake my way into having it at times.  I think it comes off to some people as being snobby when it's actually just a defense mechanism.
6. I am absolutely terrified of heights.  I can't even stand next to the railing at the mall.  I got stuck on top of a pyramid in Mexico on my honeymoon because I was too scared to descend the narrow steps down to the ground.
7. My bucket list includes hiking to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, spending the night, and hiking out the next day (yeah, I know what I said in #6), going on a safari in Africa in honor of Joey who loved animals, and having a romantic second honeymoon in Greece (no climbing anything included).  I also, of course, want to publish a book.

Wow, I did it!

My 100th post is coming up, and I hear it's blogger tradition to write a post with 100 things about yourself.

One of the things is bound to be that I'm a cheater because I'll likely use these seven as well.



If you're new to my blog, welcome!!  Read some of my favorite posts to learn more about me and my story.  Hope to see you again.

Your Kid's Behavior Makes Me Like You a Little Less

source

The other day we went to the pool for the first time in a long time.  The triple digit heat has finally broken here in the Midwest, and I forced the boys to return to the pool.

Slim was floating lazily around the pool in a floaty, Knox and Lil' C were - shockingly - playing together with squirty kick board things, and Baby E was happily splashing in the shallow end by the stairs.

The pool was uncrowded, and I was actually enjoying myself.

Until...that kid came by.  We all know the one.  The kid whose parent is MIA.  The kid whose parent did not bring him any toys, so he bugs you to play with the toys you hauled to the pool for your kids.  The kid who has no one to play with, so he bugs you and your kids.  The kid who splashes you and your baby and thinks it's funny.

Yeah, that one.

A while earlier, Lil' C had bonked this kid on the head with his kick board.  It was an accident, but still, I sought out his mother to make sure he was okay.

"Oh, he's fine," she assured me. "It gets him back for what he does to his brother," she laughed and gestured toward a toddler in a stroller.

I smiled and walked away thinking, this is a mom I could be friends with.

But later, as her kid continually splashed my kids, squirted them in the face, took their toys, and teased them, she was nowhere to be found.

Meanwhile, I was jumping down my kids' backs with every little move they made.

"Knox, stop squirting him!"

"Lil' C, talk nicely to him!"

And disciplining the kid himself.

"Please let my son have his kick board back."

My fury boiled at this mom who, it turns out, was sitting in the shade while her toddler was strapped in his stroller.  Awake.

I didn't get it.  It made me mad.  It irritated me.  It definitely made me rethink a budding friendship with her.

But, in the spirit of understanding other moms and ending the Mommy Wars and all that, I decided to just let it go and enjoy my boys and our time at the pool.

Friday night, we invited some friends and their kids to the pool with us.  And again, I sat in judgement of people's kids.

In particular was a little girl with a huge squirt gun who was getting every adult wet.  After being talked to several times by her mother, the gun was taken away, and I thought, Finally!

It was only upon observation that I realized that my kid was being that kid.  Two of them were, in fact!

Lil' C had found the ginormous squirt gun, had taken it without asking, and was joyously getting everyone wet in and out of the pool.  Slim was joining him in a water gun fight that had him squirting other kids in the face.

And as I opened my mouth to discipline them, I wondered how many other parents were judging me because of my kids' behavior.

I truly believe that a child's behavior is about 5% in born and 95% how they are raised.  Children learn and mimic their parents' words, actions, attitudes, feelings and moods.  I see it all of the time in my own children.

Hubby and I yell a lot, unfortunately, so the boys yell a lot.  We are impatient and tired.  Our attention is all over the place.  Our children's behavior reflects this. 

When we are calm and loving and give them attention and patience, their attitudes and behavior reflect this.

A perfect example is how they all treat Baby E.  I hear them say things to him in the same gentle and loving tone that I use.

Hubby and I have a tendency to be impatient and frustrated by Slim's ADHD behaviors, and that is reflected in how we talk to him.  It is also reflected in how the other boys talk to him.

So, to me, a child's behavior is a double-edged sword that leaves me wondering, how much of this kid's brattiness is due to his parents, and how much is just his true personality?

Maybe a child's natural personality is to be bold or shy, brazen or anxious.  But how does the parent nurture that and react to that?

Every child throws tantrums, but how patient is his parent and how well does she redirect the behavior?

You would think I'd have learned not to throw stones, because my glass house contains more than a crack or two.

So, I promise not to judge you for your kid's behavior, if you don't judge me for my kid's.  Deal?


What's your take on nature versus nurture?  How much of a child's personality has to do with his parents?

A Random Reminder

I usually go to the free yoga class on Tuesday mornings by our club's pool because it makes me so happy.  But yesterday, I thought I would get in some cardio since I had only done so about once in the past week.

I headed out to a local trail for a run/walk.

I always say "run slash walk," complete with air quotes because I'm not really a great runner.  I try, I really do, but the truth is, I just don't like it that much.

Especially not in the 90+ degree heat.  But, I wanted to get out of the house, and I really like this particular trail, so I set out.

I didn't run very far.  I've been having a problem with shin splints (I heard it is from my shoes?), and I just simply did not have very much energy. 

So, I walked.

And I stopped at a bench and did some toning.

And when I was ready, I started to walk back the way I came.

The part of the trail near where I had parked my car was at the top of a hill, and I was huffing and puffing, and my heart was pounding.  I stopped to lean against a fence to catch my breath, and then began the negative self-talk.

I'm so fat and out of shape.

I'm so old and weak.

What's wrong with me? 

I'll never be a runner.

I started off again to walk the last few yards to my car.  That's when I saw this:

It says, "Congrats for getting excersize (sic)."

and this a few steps later:

"Smile"

And I did smile all the way back to my car.

What a great reminder, put there by some random person, that at least I was doing something good for myself and of that I should be proud.

The handwriting tells me that it was probably written by a young girl.  Maybe she wrote it for her mom who has been trying to get in shape.  Or maybe she's just a sweet, happy, positive person.  Whoever she is, I envision that she has a wonderful role model of positivity.

Someone unlike me.  I'm sure there is a reason I never had any little girls.

Some days I'm harder on myself than others.  On these particularly hard days, it's nice to have a random reminder to be a little kinder to myself.

It Can Happen Anywhere

I usually don't jump on current events.  I think the news media over plays every major story to death, to the point where Americans are either paranoid or apathetic.  However today I want to talk about the horrible movie theater shooting that happened in Aurora, Colorado. 

Just like everyone else, I am stuck between a mixture of "What-the-hell" disbelief and anger that it happened again.  Because it has happened before.  Maybe not this exact thing - in a movie theater - but terrible things like this.

More than the disbelief, I am feeling anger.  Anger that we can't even go about our own lives, take our children to a movie, without the fear of some psycho happening upon us.

And for me, it brings back some scary memories.

On December 5, 2007, I was setting out for the afternoon to finish my Christmas shopping.  Lil' C was eight weeks old, and I had a new babysitter, so he was coming with me.  I had been gone all morning for some reason, and Joey, who was just shy of his fourth birthday, insisted on coming with me.  I reluctantly relented, telling him in no uncertain terms that we weren't going to dilly-dally.  I was going to "get stuff done."

We went to Westroads Mall here in Omaha, and as I had a quick purchase to make at the Clinique counter, we entered through Von Maur, an upscale department store.

Joey asked if we could go to the third floor, where the children's department was located, because he knew a Thomas the Train play set resided there.  I thought about it for a split second, but said no, reminding him that I was going to get all my errands done.

We had just walked out to the mall, when we heard three distinct bangs.  They registered in my mind, but when Joey asked what it was, I dismissed it as construction in the mall.  We stepped into a shoe store directly outside Von Maur and began looking at shoes.

Suddenly, two women ran in, saying in panicked voices that someone was shooting a gun.

I have to admit, I rolled my eyes, and thought, this is Nebraska.  That doesn't happen here.

Just then, I heard about six or seven louder and more distinct bangs, and more people began running into the shoe store.  The young girl working the counter quickly closed the gate to the entrance of the store and ordered people into the stock room.

I can't believe it is happening here, I thought.  I pushed Joey toward the stream of people heading to the back room, "You go, Joey, you just go!  You follow those people!"  And I struggled to get the stroller turned around, almost tipping it over.

A group of terrified moms and children were crammed into a corner behind some boxes, and I tried to squeeze Joey and Lil' C back there, but there was no room.  I instructed Joey to stand behind a sock rack and stay put, feeling almost certain one of the gunmen (I feared there were multiple shooters) would burst through the door.

I loudly prayed several Hail Mary's and made phone calls to Hubby, my dad, and the babysitter, none of whom knew anything about what was going on and were confused by my calls.

We hid in the back room for what seemed like an eternity, not having any clue what was going on - I didn't even know at that point where the shooting had originated.

What we didn't know was that the shooter, a teenage boy, already lay dead by his own hand.

A member of the SWAT team finally retrieved us from the back room and told us they were relocating us to the JC Penney at the end of the mall.  I stayed glued to my spot, terrified to move.  Even though he said it was okay, how did they know there weren't more shooters waiting to pick us off as we walked like ducks down the mall corridor?

A woman who had been separated from her family offered to carry Joey for me, but I refused.  I cradled him tightly and wrapped my coat around him, as if it would render him invisible from attack.  The officer walked with the four of us, holding his rifle and scanning the hall.  Tears streamed down my face the whole walk.  I was shaking and I could barely breathe.

Thankfully, Lil' C slept the entire three hours of our ordeal.

Once inside Penney's, we were all lined up to be interview by a member of the Omaha Police Department.  Joey had to go potty, and the only person we could ask was a huge hulking SWAT team member with ammo strapped to his chest in an X like something out of a Rambo movie.  It was just too real, too scary, until he opened his mouth, and the sweetest teddy bear voice came out of it.

"I'll show you where the bathroom is, Buddy," and it put me at ease.  My reflection in the bathroom mirror revealed just what I had been through.  My face was pale with mascara streaks, and I was sweaty because I had left my winter coat on the whole time.

When it was my turn to be interviewed, the officer asked for my name, age, address and phone number and my location in the mall at the time of the shooting.  The he asked me if I had heard or seen anything other than people running and yelling.  I said no, and they let me go.

I later learned that anyone who said they heard gunshots was asked to stay and answer more questions.  I hadn't said I'd heard gunshots because I thought that was pretty obvious.

As I walked back to our car pushing the stroller and leading Joey by the hand, a reporter tried to take my picture.  "Please don't, " I said, and thankfully, he backed off.

That night at home, all I wanted to do was watch mindless t.v. (remember that short-lived show Dirty, Sexy Money?), but our local news stations kept playing the story over and over.

As details of that afternoon emerged, the timeline, the fact that the shooting occurred on the third floor, I thought how close we had come to being in the middle of it.  The time that Hawkins had entered Von Maur the first time was just two minutes ahead of when we had arrived.  What if he never left the building and had started shooting sooner?  What if I had said yes to Joey and gone to the third floor?  What if we were in the elevator with him at the same time?

And a chilling image haunts me to this day.  An image of a young man wearing military-style clothing who walked past us as we entered the store.  I believe it was Hawkins going back outside before re-entering the second time.  I think we walked right by him.

Almost five years later, I still get panic attacks every now and then.  I remember once having to leave the gym because my hair was standing on end, and I began to panic as I saw only one way out of the room that I was in.  When I walk by a kid at the mall wearing a long coat with his hands in his pockets, I get chills.  And even now, recalling this as I'm writing at the coffee house, I'm looking up every time someone walks in the door.

I've only been back to Von Maur maybe three times since that fateful day.  And each time I've stopped in front of the plaque that bears the names of the eight victims of that day.

Here in Omaha, when something bad happens - a shooting, carjacking, violent robbery - most people are not surprised when these events occur in "certain" neighborhoods.  But when they occur in other neighborhoods, people are shocked.

The truth is it can happen anywhere.  And it does.  Horrible, unspeakable violence can and does happen everywhere - in all neighborhoods, in every country, in any situation.

Inevitably, terrorism occurs in this world, cars crash, people get shot, cancer is incurable, and freak accidents happen.  But we can't be afraid to live our lives, and we certainly can't teach our children to live in fear.  That would be letting the psychos win. People flew on planes as soon as they could after 9/11 and shoppers finished their Christmas lists at Von Maur as soon as the store re-opened.

After the shooting, people decorated the doors of Von Maur with
handmade snowflakes bearing messages of love, support,
and hope.

I wish we lived in a world where everyone was happy and stable and understanding and loving.  But that's not ever to be.  All we can do is our best to spread love and happiness and hope, not only to our loved ones, but to strangers and those who need it the most.

My heart goes out to anyone who has ever been directly involved in a horrific tragedy, as my story pales in comparison to those.  And to those who have lost someone to violence or freak circumstance, my mama heart just breaks.  One of the things I feel thankful for about Joey's death is that at least I knew it was coming, and I knew how it would come.

I know I can't keep the ones I love from leaving me someday, but I pray with all I have, that this senseless violence will stop.



Have you ever experienced anything like this?  Do you ever fear freak accidents or violence?

To Cut or Not to Cut

The two women who were supposed to be stocking the shelves at Target were cooing over my baby instead.

"Oh, look at her, she's so cute."

"She's playing peek-a-boo with us."

"You're such a sweet little girl."

"Are you a shy little girl?"

I didn't say anything; instead I watched as my older boys scanned the Lego aisle searching for new Ninjago sets.

"How old is she?"  One of the women finally addressed me.

"Actually, he's a boy, and he's almost 13 months."

"Oh!" and they giggled a bit.

That's when I launched into my explanation about Baby E's darling head of curls.  The curls that have grown in so beautifully.  The curls that I refuse to cut.

The curls that make Hubby roll his eyes and strangers think E is a girl.

Look at that hair!  So soft and perfect
and lovely and...girlie?

Actually, I don't think it's just the hair.  He has these gorgeous long eyelashes, too, and this sweet dainty smile that have been making people think he is a girl for a quite a long time.

Does this look like a girl?  He's dressed in
brown and green, for Pete's sake!

Of course, since he got both the eyelashes and the hair from Hubby (short stubby eyelashes here and straight hair - why do guys have all the luck??), and Hubby is traumatized by the fact that his own mother kept his hair long and curly until he was about three or four, he keeps insisting I cut it.

But I loooove it!  And it's growing in so nicely.  Much better than the other boys.

Joey had nappy, curly hair when he was first born, but it all fell out around three months.  When it grew back it in, at best it was wavy, but all the curl was gone.

Slim didn't really have hair until he was over a year old.  By the time he was 17 months, he had beautiful curls on the sides of his head, but nothing on the top.



Slim and Joey at about 16 months.

It took Knox a long time to get hair.  And when it finally came in, it was straight and fine.  It's a beautiful color blond - women pay big bucks for his hair color - but straight as the day is long.  It was okay, though.  With no hair, his amazing blue eyes stood out even more.

Knox at about nine months.

And then there was the mess that was Lil' C's hair.  When it grew in, it was clear that it had a mind of its own.  He had a long piece that stuck straight up on top, a tight curl on the right side, and a shaggy straight mess on the left.  It was so ridiculous, I had to get it cut when he was about six and a half months old.

This picture doesn't even begin to

show how ridiculous his hair was.

 

So now, with E's hair growing in so - dare I say - pretty, I really don't want to cut it.  'Cause, you know, they look like such big boys with a haircut.  (This is when Hubby is yelling at his computer saying, "Yes, exactly!  Cut the damn hair already!")  And I know his curls won't come back because none of the other boys' did.

So what do you think?  Should I cut it or let it grow?  Or just get the sides and back trimmed?

Writing in Coffee Houses and Other Things That Make Me Happy

So, yesterday, the first day of Slim's five-afternoon camp, I wasn't able to sit at my favorite downtown coffee house and write.  Sad me.

Today, I was there all afternoon.  Happy me!  For some reason, it makes me feel like a real writer.  You know what I mean?

Here are other things that make this mama so happy:

1. Free yoga class every Tuesday morning by the pool.  Anything that begins with free and ends with by the pool has to be a winner!  I've recently discovered how wonderful yoga makes me feel - strong, calm, centered.  It just keeps getting better!

2. Riding in the front seat of the car during road trips. I know this sounds silly, but for the past year I have been riding in the middle seat of the van to attend to all of Baby E's needs.  Now that he's not such a baby anymore, I get to be in the front like an adult!  Yay!  Then I can talk and laugh with Hubby while the boys zone out on movies and video games.

3. This view:

Photo by Kathy Glow

which is why we take said road trips.

4.  This, too:

Photo by Kathy Glow

I love me some good wine, and it's even better lakeside.

5. Crazy moments like this:

and this:

Unfortunately, it's too rare that I get to really enjoy my children's glee.  Too often I'm telling them to "settle down" or "be quiet" or "stop making such a mess."  I need to just play along, laugh, and enjoy more.

6. My Kindle Fire.  I was one of those people who held out for a long time.  An avid reader since...forever, I was convinced I would miss the feel and smell of "real" books.  But I so don't!  It was a saving grace all those nights I was up nursing Baby E in his dimly lit room.  It kept me awake, and he couldn't reach back and tear the pages.  I can read during our road trips after the sun goes down.  I love that I can bookmark all the blogs I read, I can check e-mail, Facebook and Twitter, the boys and I can play games or watch movies- and all the cheap and free books!  Love, love, love!!

7&8. Date nights with Hubby and Girls' Nights Out.  Too few and far between, these nights always renew and energize me.  I get to dress up and hear Hubby tell me I look hot or hear one of the boys tell me I look pretty.  I get to feel like an adult who has adult relationships and who can talk about adult things.  Did I say I get to be an ADULT?

9. Reruns of Friends on Nick-at-Nite.  Best sitcom ever.  My nightly ritual includes sitting in the same chair with my laptop and some ice cream watching Friends.  I have most of the episodes memorized.  Here's a clip from one of my favorites.

10. Talking to my mom on the phone.  She just "gets" me, you know?

And a bonus make-me-happy moment:

11. When any of my boys want to sit on my lap.  They will all be too big for this someday, so it's so nice when they want to cuddle.



What about you?  What are the things that make you most happy?

Summer Camp: Hard on Mom

My boys had summer camp this week.  They have all gone to half-day camps in the past, but this one was an all-day camp.  And this week, I learned one thing: camp is hard.

For me.  Camp is hard for me.

This particular camp was sponsored by the YMCA and held at our "country club."

(Now the reason that I put "country club" in quotes is because it's not that kind of country club.  When Hubby first suggested joining, I immediately thought of lots of snobby people high standards and exclusivity.  But ours isn't really like that at all.  In fact, it's terribly relaxed, a bit more so than Hubby would prefer.  For me?  Eh, it's a place to swim, chat with moms from school, have brunch on Sundays and work out.  It's all good.)

The week before camp, we received a letter outlining all of the items our children would need to bring to camp:

•  A swimsuit and towel. I figured. 
• Sunscreen.  I'd just put it on in the morning. 
• Bug spray.  Not in the hands of my spastic boys!
• A morning and afternoon snack. (Can't the YMCA or the "country club" go to Costco and buy some bags of Cheez-its?)
• Water bottle and extra water.  Wait.  Aren't there drinking fountains there?
• A sack lunch.  For as much as I paid for this camp, I'd think they could spring for some box lunches.  But, I can see where that would be iffy, what with all the food allergies kids have these days.  So, I'll give them this one.

Come Monday morning, as I'm scrambling to get all of these items ready, Knox pulled the same crap he does every time we are about to go someplace new, "I don't wanna go!" 

And as always, I said, "Tough. You're signed up.  You're going."  And I thought, Wahoo, I'm getting rid of 75% of my kids for most of the day!

As we walked in, the one camp counselor who was there with the sixteen or so children was passing out Skittles to them.  Lovely strategy on the first day of camp.   I guess it gives new meaning to the term "happy campers."

As Baby E and I walked out, I worried about the other boys.  Would they make any new friends? How would they behave?  Would they know which items in their lunch boxes were for snack and which would be for lunch?  How would Slim get along?  More importantly, would the camp counselors be patient with him and include him?

I had a sick feeling in my stomach that this camp would be like something out of the movie Meatballs.


I didn't have time to think about all of it that much because I had a hella busy day.  Part of it included taking Lil' C to the doctor.  When I asked him how camp was, he said it was fun.

"Slim got in trouble, though.  He was trying to take candy without asking."

My blood boiled a bit at this news, both at Slim's lack of social skills and at the counselors for having provided the candy temptation in the first place.

There was no mention of this when I picked up the other boys, just lots of "camp was awesome" comments.  And while that made me feel a little better about camp, the next morning as I was again scrambling to make lunches and pack waters and snacks and sunscreen because apparently the counselors made Knox put on more and he had to borrow someone else's so couldn't I just put some in his backpack, I was stressed all over again - this time about Slim.

We are trying a new ADHD medication with him this summer.  It is a stimulant, and typically he has not done well with stimulants.  He doesn't sleep or eat well, and his tummy hurts and his anxiety over bees and bugs and other things is heightened.  He didn't swim Monday afternoon; rather, he ran around the pool as the counselors tried to urge him in it.

So, Tuesday morning, I hung around a bit after drop-off and observed Slim.  While all the other campers were playing "hot potato," he was running around the circle excitedly.

And none of the counselors was trying to get him to join in. 

And as always, I felt the need to "explain him" to the nearest counselor.

Since I knew he wasn't going to swim in the afternoon, I picked him up at noon when I picked up Lil' C (his camp was only half-day).

The next day, Knox was complaining of a tummy ache and asking if he could come home at noon like Lil' C and Slim had the day before.  My head hurt from all the chaos and whining, and Hubby had the day off, so I let him deal with it.

He picked them all up at noon and took them to the driving range.  I seriously wish I could just not think that much about things.

Thursday was the big field trip to a local indoor waterpark.  The date loomed like a black mark on the calendar.  All week I kept replaying in my mind every accidental waterpark drowning I have ever heard about.

When the day arrived, it turned out that Lil' C's group didn't get to go and Slim didn't feel well as he slept barely a wink the night before.  Since Knox would be going without his brothers, I drilled reminders into his head: Swim with a buddy.  Stay in shallow water.  Don't dive in.  Don't go anywhere with any adults other than the counselors.

Needless to say, he looked a bit nervous as I dropped him off.

After camp, I asked if he had fun at the waterpark.

"Not really. I didn't have anyone to play with since Slim and Lil' C didn't go and my friend Jack wasn't there today."

My mama heart broke a little bit.

But later at dinner, he was excitedly telling Daddy and Slim and Lil' C all about the waterpark.

Today is the last day. I will pick all the boys up early because we have a family wedding this weekend.  And they will end camp as they started it - together.

And I will end my week less organized and more stressed, but a little wiser about all-day summer camp.


Next week Slim has afternoon camp at our Children's Museum downtown, which is about a 20-30 minute drive from our house.  My plan, so I don't have to drive back and forth, is to stay downtown and sit at a coffee house and write.  Fifteen delicious hours to write brilliant essays that will make me rich and famous.

Yeah, I don't think that'll happen.  But stay tuned.  Maybe there will be at least one free  little known brilliant essay here next week.

Going Home

Photo by Kathy Glow

Inching, five miles per hour.

Why can't I just be home?

*     *     *

This post is in response to Flicker of Inspiration Linkup #58 - Tell a story in exactly 11 words - over at The Lightning and the Lightning Bug.

Driving home today after my looong-ass day of dropping Littles off at camp and running errands for my sister's wedding and taking Littles to appointments and stopping at the grocery store twice and not even being home long enough to eat a meal, I got stuck in traffic...and became inspired.

I guess you never know when that will happen.

A Little Joey Reminder

I am the kind of person who believes in spirits.  I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that if a person truly believes that there is an afterlife, then how is it not possible that some spirits get “stuck” here or choose to stay behind?  Or that perhaps the part of our being that does live on after our bodies die is so strong that it can “signal” to us from the great beyond?

In the weeks and months after Joey’s death, and even now, I was constantly searching for signs that he was still with us.   I knew I would never “see” his spirit or anything like that, for if there truly is a Heaven, Joey was let right in, and commenced partying immediately. I can’t see that fun-loving child coming back here for anything.

But I wanted to believe, I needed to believe, that he would at least send us signals that he was still keeping tabs on us.  After all, Joey loved to be the center of attention, and I doubt that would stop in his afterlife.

Everywhere I looked, though, I came up empty.

In my formal living room, which is a pretty room that never gets used and happens to be the room where Joey died, hangs our beautiful family picture taken shortly after Joey was diagnosed.

Surrounding it are individual pictures of each of the boys.  Often, as I walked through that room, I would notice that Joey’s picture was crooked.  I would smile and straighten it, thinking surely that must be my sign -  Joey’s attention-getting way of showing me he was still there.

Until one day I saw one of the boys bound down the stairs on the other side of the wall rattling the pictures out of place.

And then there is the picture of all of the boys on an end table in the family room.  I noticed quite frequently that it would be lying down rather than propped up.

Knox, Slim, Lil' C and Joey in 2009

Yes, of course.  My brilliant little Joey had learned, a la Patrick Swayze in Ghost, how to push over an object to get my attention.

Until I saw one of the boys aggressively knock the picture over while playing with toy cars on that same end table.

I became a bit distraught.  I wanted to see signs of him so badly that I became almost jealous of another woman’s heartbreak.  This woman lost her husband, the father of their three small children, very suddenly about two months before Joey died.  She had a reading with psychic Rebecca Rosin, who told her that when she found pennies, that was her husband’s way of contacting her.

Pennies, you say?  Pennies are so commonly found all the time, you say.  But this woman was finding pennies in the most unlikely of places, even before she talked to Rebecca.

Rebecca Rosin gave a talk in my city last spring.  Friends encouraged me to go.  Perhaps Joey would come through and send me a message, they said.  The thought was so delightfully tempting.  I could imagine her picking me out of the crowd and telling me there was a little boy whose name began with J who had something wrong with his head moving to the front of the pack.  He would be smiling and laughing and all the other spirits were letting him through because he was so cute and sweet.  He would want me to know that he would always be my boy, my Sweetface.  You see, I would always sing him You Are My Sunshine, but I would change the words to “You are my Sweetface,” and I would tell him, “Joey, you are so my boy,” because he always wanted to be with me.

My fingers hovered over “purchase tickets” to her show on the website for a moment before I shut down my computer.  I would be devastated if she didn’t pick me. If Joey didn’t come through to give me a sign.

But for all of this looking for specific signs, I think I was missing the simple signs that were in front of me all along.  I’ve heard people say that the signs are there, and that a person just needs to be open to accepting them.

Like the green jeep I see frequently driving in our neighborhood.  Joey loved green and jeeps.

Like every time I see a yellow car.  We used to play this game in the car when Joey and Slim were four and Knox was two. We'd pick out a certain color car to help Knox learn his colors.  We started with yellow since it was an unlikely color for a car.  Once we moved on to another color, Knox would keep pointing out all the yellow cars.  Joey would say, “We gotta stop looking for yellow cars,” giggling hysterically every time.

Like every time I see the same striped cat wandering through my yard.  Joey’s favorite stuffed animal was named Stripey Kitten.  We still have her, and Slim and I often fight over who gets to cuddle with her at night.

Like the green boat I kept seeing on our vacation last week.  A really big, really cool green boat that always seemed to be anchored in the lake in front of our condo or parked in the slip just down from our boat.  Joey would have loved that boat.


These things are surely just coincidences – the green jeep’s and the cat’s owners live in our neighborhood, and someone in the same condo building owns the green boat.  And really, yellow cars are a lot more common than you would think.

But then there are those signs that really make me take pause, that make me wonder, Could they be directly from him?

Like the number 444.  Joey died at 4:44 a.m.  When I look at the clock and its 4:44, or I’m handed my latte and the total is $4.44, I get a shiver.

Or when I hear the song I Can Only Imagine by Mercy Me.  I came across that song a few days before Joey died and decided I wanted it played at Joey’s funeral.  On Knox’s fifth birthday, two months after Joey died, he got a toy motorized truck to ride in.  The very first time he got in it and turned on the radio, I Can Only Imagine was playing.  I think it was Joey’s way of telling his little buddy that he would always be his co-pilot.

Knox and Lil' C

And this week at the lake we heard the song just as we brought out the new inner tube to pull behind the boat.  The boys were all too chicken to get in, and even though I hate lake water more than a manicure that chips the next day, I got in to prove to them it wasn’t scary.  Around that time , the song came on the radio, reminding me that had Joey been there, he would have been the first person in that inner tube with me.

Two years after Joey's death, I fear my memories of him are fading even though I think about him daily.  And though the logical part of me says that all of these signs are merely coincidences, they serve as little Joey reminders, which I sometimes need.  If all of these things - cats and cars, boats and songs and numbers, make me think of him, I'll take them as the signs I seek.

The last night of our vacation, as we were cleaning the condo, Daddy cranked up LMFAO’s Party Rock Anthem, and an impromptu dance party broke out – Joey style!  We used to have dance parties in the basement all the time when Joey was alive.  Hubby, Joey, Slim, Knox and I would dance and laugh until our sides hurt.

We needed a little fun just then, and it took a little Joey reminder to get us there.

This Mama's Heart

marymeetsdolly.com

The other day was a tough one on this mama's heart.

If someone had told me that being a mom was synonymous with heartache...well, I still would have done it anyway, but maybe searched for a way I could protect my heart, too, while protecting my children's hearts

I've been thinking a lot about bullying lately - let's face it, it's all over the news.  Having my boys home all day this summer, I've observed their behavior and wondered if any of their actions or words could be considered bullying.

And then I saw it happen to my own child.

To say that I lost my shit would be an understatement.

On Saturday night we went to a baseball game as part of a family outing for my husband's office.  At the game, there were bounce houses and a carousel set up for the kids to play.

And on this carousel was a seat that the rider could spin.  It was very popular among the kids, as it was the only exciting thing about this slow-moving carousel.  All the kids wanted that seat.

Slim finally had his chance at it.

I watched as the young girls running the carousel let the children through the gate.  I watched as Slim made a beeline for that seat.  I watched him reach the seat and get in a full three seconds before another kid.

And I watched this kid bully my child until Slim gave up the seat to him.

Now, I can't say exactly how I would have reacted had it happened to one of my other two boys.  I know my bold four-year-old would have yelled back at the kid.  And I probably would have told my six-year-old that those are the breaks and here's how you should handle it next time.

But this happened to Slim, a child who has so many issues that we are dealing with right now - issues that confuse and trouble us.  Issues that I don't even know how to begin to write about.

He's a child that probably gets bullied all the time.

I have seen it at the pool this summer.  I have seen the way some of his classmates speak to him - and it is just plain mean and rude.

And in some cases I have spoken up to the children who do it, telling them their words are not kind.

It's a fact that Slim is a unique child, but does that entitle others to be mean to him?  To bully him?

I think not.

So when this kid at the carousel, who got to the spinny seat well after Slim did, told him to "Get out!" not once, but twice until Slim relented, I went ballistic! 

I shouted at the little punk from behind the gate.  I told him that Slim had that seat first.  And when the kid pretended to ignore me and sit firmly in the seat, I yelled at him some more.  When the ride started, I glared at him every time he came around my way.

I told the girls running the ride that my son had been bullied out of his seat, and that the next time the ride started, he would get that seat!  I wasn't going to stand for someone bullying my child.

I am shaking again even as I am typing about it.

I stood at the front of the line.  I told the other kids who were talking about that seat that my son and I were riding in it the next time.  I told them about the bully.

And what infuriated me even more, was that no one seemed to care, least of all the girls monitoring the ride.  They were more concerned with the fact that Slim stayed inside the gate after the ride was over, and apparently that was a no-no.

Really?

But it was okay for them to allow another child to be a bully.

I sat, seething, with Slim as he joyously spun the seat during the ride.  I imagined what I would say to this punk-ass little kid when I got off.  I imagined calling him a bully, and telling him how NOT cool that was.  I even imagined telling him that karma would come back to bite his little ass, and I was upset that I couldn't be there to see it.

And then I forced myself to calm down and not make a scene, knowing that it wouldn't help anything if I did.

The kid knew what he did.  He heard me yell at him.  He knew his behavior was wrong.  Me calling him names would have turned me into a bully and probably embarrassed my children and Hubby.

And who knows if it would have prevented the kid from ever doing it again.

I thought a lot about a situation that happened when Slim was not even two.  We were at a park, and some older boys were standing in front of him, looking at his cleft-lip scar.  They weren't making fun of him, they were just talking about it.

I confronted them, asking if there was anything they wanted to ask us about him.  They said no and walked away.

Hubby said to me, "You should have just explained about his lip.  You know he's going to get teased a lot, and you need to learn how to handle it better - for his sake."

For his sake.

I know I do.  But I hate conflict.  It makes me shake and get a sick stomach and regret what I say in the heat of the moment because later I think of something better to say.

And this is the way that Slim feels, too.  I see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice when we ask him if kids are being nice to him and he says yes.  But there's always something behind that yes that's telling us, 'no, kids are not being nice to me, but I don't want to cause trouble.'

And it breaks my heart every time because I know I can't be with him all the time.  And I know he won't stand up for himself, which makes him an easy target for bullies.

The only thing I can do is continue to teach my children what bullying is and that it is wrong.  I can show them by example how to treat others and how to stand up for myself and them.

And then hope, really hope in my mama heart, that I don't go ballistic on the next kid who bullies my child.


Have you ever encountered someone bullying your child?  How did you handle it?  How do you think I should have handled Slim's bully?