Our First Best Independence Day. Ever.

*Originally published in 2013, this post still makes me smile. We are finally to the point where everyone loves fireworks. We are having a party this year and lighting off a ton!! Super excited to make this our "second-best Independence Day ever."

I remember sitting in the back of my dad's pickup truck as a young girl, staring up at the night sky. We were parked in an empty field waiting for the fireworks to begin.

As soon as they would start, I would stuff my fingers deep into my ears. I could still hear the booms and the pops, but I didn't care. The fireworks were amazing, and I loved them. It's one of my favorite memories.

There was never any choice, really, about going. No matter how scared I was of the noise, I had to go because the whole family was going.

That's kind of how it worked when we were young.

Not so anymore. If one of our boys protests loudly about something or is scared, oftentimes, we just don't do it or that child stays home. Perhaps it's because in "this day and age" we know more about psychological scarring and therapy appointments and all that other B.S.

And I really do think it's B.S. If we stayed home every time one of our children complained about going somewhere, we'd never go anywhere or have any kind of experiences at all.

Not everyone at our house enjoys fireworks. Back in 2008, when Joey was 4, he was just starting to enjoy fireworks and helping Hubby set off simple ones. We were so excited for the next year, but of course that was the year he got sick; and then there were about three years that no one was interested.

Last year, Knox became interested, and he is even more so this year. But we always have someone hiding in the house or the car or complaining in general about not wanting to see/hear them, though.

Friday night, we met up with Hubby's sister's family to attend a free concert and fireworks show that our city puts on every year the Friday before the Fourth. Upwards of 80,000 people attend - it's that huge of a deal.

We never venture in to the actual park itself - it's a logistical nightmare. Instead, we meet right behind the park at an elementary school. That way we can talk and play on the playground and run on the soccer field and have fun; although we actually haven't been for about five or six years.

It was time to go again. We found a parking spot right by the park and set about playing and enjoying the music and the people watching. Unlike the muggy and humid years past, the air was cool and fairly bug-free. The boys romped with their cousins and the adults chatted, stopping to push someone on a swing or help a toddler up the stairs to the slide.

Soon enough, dusk was settling in and the music was coming to an end. Hubby wanted to leave before the fireworks as "not to traumatize the boys." I suggested hopping in our car to watch, but Hubby didn't like that idea either.

People from the park were scurrying up the hill to grab the best viewing spots, and I knew it was now or never if we were going to leave. Slim started moving up the hill with the throngs of people, and we had to yell and chase him before we lost sight of him in the dark crowd. We quickly gathered up our chairs, cooler, and the boys and got in the car. Hubby wove through the narrow, crowded streets trying to reach a church parking lot up the hill. Perhaps that would be far enough away and provide a good viewing spot for the fireworks display.

Suddenly, we heard booms indicating the show had already started. We found a break in the thick trees and parked on a side street. Hubby and I got out of the car to watch and the boys stayed in.

As usual, the fireworks were beyond amazing. But what was more amazing to me were my children's reactions. I think I watched them more through the car windows than I did the fireworks show.

Their faces were bright and alive with wonder. Everyone was smiling wide, open-mouthed smiles and no one was covering his ears. They were loving it!

And I was glad we made them go.

On the way home, the backseat brimmed with conversation and giggles.

"That was so cool!"

"It really wasn't that loud!"

"This was the Best. Night. EVER!"

"Can we do this EVERY year?!"

My heart was filled with a happiness it hasn't felt in a while. Holidays are hard. Days that not everyone wants to do the same thing are hard.

But times when all of us are excited and happy? Well, those are rare and treasured, and will now be tucked into our precious memories.

File this one under "Our First Best Independence Day. EVER!"

The Search for Joy

Ever since the diagnosis and death of my son, Joey, from cancer, it has often been a struggle for me to find joy in my daily life. Some days I just want to curl up and die myself, to be quite honest.

There have been times that I have isolated myself from friends and family because things are just too hard.

There have been times when I have been a negative, vicious, screaming mess toward my family.

There have been times I have just wanted to lie around and do nothing.

But there are times that the joy creeps in. Joy seems to have a way of doing that. It starts out as a tiny ball of light seeping through a crack until it gets bigger and wider and more brilliant than you can imagine.

It is the smile on the face of a nine-year-old who has just won his grade level geography bee.

It is the laughter of an eight-year-old who is at the movies with his friends.

It is the excitement of a kindergartner who has just learned to spell a word.

It is in the tight hug of toddler who has his arms wrapped around your neck.

And it is in the voice tone of a husband who finally got some time alone with his wife.

Even in a family like mine who is grieving and feuding with each other on what seems like a daily basis, we have our moments of joy.

  

In the midst of all the craziness of life, what brings you joy?
 

Mother's Day: The Best Things in Life are Free

I love the month of May! The flowers are in bloom, the weather is pleasant, and two of my favorite days fall nearly a week apart: Mother's Day and my birthday. Hubby has dubbed May "The Month of Kathy" (I love that even more!).

True to the predictability of my personality, I always ask for the same thing for Mother's Day. Is it diamonds? You ask.

Nope, got some of those.

Is it a new spring wardrobe?

Nah, I'm trying to lose a little weight first.

It must be a spa day then!

Nope, not even that.

What I ask for every single year is something practically free for my family:

I want a day during which I do not have to clean up the kitchen.

I am so completely serious. Cleaning the kitchen is probably my most hated household chore. It has to be done, like, 6 times a day - more if you live at my house.

First of all, I cannot stand a dirty kitchen. One of my friends once said, "If there are no crumbs, how do you know you're standing in your kitchen?"

The kitchen is the hub of most homes; it certainly is ours. Not only are meals and snacks eaten there, but homework is done there, Legos and puzzles and art projects are completed there. It is the gateway to the backyard and the thoroughfare to the front. The computer is there and a t.v. is there and everyone hangs out there.

Because Mommy is there. And they want to be near Mommy.

But the funny thing is, Mommy doesn't really want to be there. She wants to be in the backyard pushing someone on the swing. She wants to be in the basement building the coolest, twistiest train track with someone. She wants to be pushing someone in the stroller down to the park. She wants to be taking a bike ride in the sunshine with someone.

So, that is what I do for a day. Hubby takes us out to brunch, he grills something in the evening, and Mommy plays all day with her kids because that is what she wants to do.

I don't get to do this very much anymore. Life gets in the way. School projects and ball games and laundry and grocery shopping and cleaning - it all still needs to get done sometime, right? But for one day, I don't. I enjoy my children because I know, after losing one of my children to cancer, that life is way too short to not take a day - to use my free pass - to just play. All. Day. Long.

So I never ask for flowers or wine or manicures or clothes. I ask for time. It's a pretty cool gift. And it only costs some hugs and kisses and a whole lot of smiles. Mostly mine.

This post was written for a contest at Nerd Wallet. Check it out here: http://www.nerdwallet.com/coupons/contests/.

*Update: This post won the contest in the category of Best Experience! Yay! Check out all of the other winners here.

7 Lessons My Family Has Already Taught Me This Year

The new year has barely begun, and in my quest to "do everything better", I have found inspiration in the most unlikely of places - the very people for whom I want to be better. 

My family.

Over the years, they have taught me many lessons -  the most important being that no matter how genetically predisposed they might be to sinking a putt, dunking a basketball, hitting a home run, or putting a ball or a puck into a net, they still can not hit a laundry basket or a toilet that is a foot in front of them. And the ability to replace a roll of toilet paper is clearly not in their genetic code at all.

That said, they have surprised me lately in my weakest moments; and instead of being the teacher, I have become the learner.

1. Faith. The boys and I were sitting at mass on the morning of New Year's Eve. Joey was the intention of mass (if you are Catholic you understand this). I was feeling pretty sad since it was his birthday. As if he was reading my mind just then, Slim (who's birthday it also was) reached over and squeezed my knee, "Don't be sad, Mom. Joey is still with us. He always will be." It was just what I needed to hear right then. Sometimes I think my nine-year-old has more faith than I do.

2. Patience. In addition to being a terrible sleeper, my toddler is bound and determined to do everything himself! When I'm rushing around, late as usual, I have no tolerance for this. I quickly grab him as he goes all limp and throws a terrible two-style fit. "Oh, Mom," my seven-year-old says smiling, "he just wants to be like us. Here, I'll show him how." He then proceeds to help Baby E with whatever task he's trying to do all by himself, and the big brother adoration begins.

3. Courage. Change is hard - and scary! It takes a lot of guts to change old habits and try to learn new ones (I said, as I shove cookies in my face). My five-year-old has been going to "food school" to learn how to try new foods. When he first started going, he would begin to cry as soon as we walked in the door. He would kick his legs and gag and not look at the therapists. I don't blame him. If someone was going to shove a bite of unknown food at my mouth, I would probably push it away and protest loudly. Instead, every week, the crying gets less and the bites get bigger and he talks to the therapists more and more. I cannot believe the progress he's made in such a short time. I'm inspired by his bravery.

4. Forgiveness. As toilet and laundry challenged as the male species can be, I will say one thing for their ability to forgive and forget - it's amazing! I don't know many grown women {hand raised} that have the ability or willingness to do that. I can fail my family over and over by yelling or slacking at my "mom duties," and they shrug it off like it's no big deal. Because to them, it isn't. They don't get worked up about much. That is the bonus of living with all males.

5. Compromise. Hubby has always been so good at this. Maybe it's called a partnership, or maybe it's just how he rolls, but there is no clear division of labor in this house. We both fill all roles. He cooks, he cleans, he bathes children, he helps with homework. He does it all because he knows if he needs a break, I will give it to him, and vice versa.

6. Negotiation. This isn't always a bad thing. I see the boys start to get upset that their baby brother has one of their possessions. Ready to intervene when things get ugly, I'll often be stopped in my tracks as the older brother gives the baby brother another toy and gently removes his precious possession from baby's hands. It's slick. So slick, in fact, that I've often gotten caught in it. "Mommy, if I help you clean the kitchen, you'll have time to read me an extra story tonight, right?" Even NATO can't deny the power of that persuasion.

7. Unconditional love. We're a flawed family. We yell, we throw tantrums, we pout - we're so far from perfect. But at the end of the day, I see hugs all around. I hear boys sharing toys, including each other, setting aside something for someone because 'it's his favorite.' It's like they know that life can change in an instant, and we're all in it together.

I can't help but hope that they came by these qualities honestly, and that maybe they had a good role model along the way somewhere.

Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas

It was Christmas Eve. The eleventh hour. And I was still scrambling to get everything done.

Presents wrapped, house cleaned, food made.

We were hosting Christmas this year for my side of the family. Hubby kept reminding me that it was just family. Just 18 people.

Who were family, by the way, so why did it matter what the house looked like? There would be enough food, and everyone would have a wonderful time, he kept assuring me.

I knew this. I knew it. But Christmas always stresses me out, almost to the point that I dread it. With the snowstorm on Thursday and the boys being off school, there were a few things I didn't get done - namely, getting Hubby's special gluten-free cookies. Which makes me feel really awful since he always makes Christmas special for me (he actually did all the shopping for the boys this year!).

And I forgot to get the ingredients to make cinnamon rolls for Christmas morning. I always make cinnamon rolls.

I'd been snapping at the boys. Making demands. Pick this up! Clean this mess! Put this away! Everyone has to help!

I was feeling horrible. Why do I get so stressed? Why do I wait until the last minute to get everything finished? What makes me forget so many of our special things?

What's wrong with me?

The boys were invited over to their cousins' house to play Christmas Eve morning. I think it was to keep all the boys occupied so my sister-in-law and I both could finish Christmas preparations. I planted myself in the basement with my wrapping supplies, and I wrapped like a mad woman.

I was listening to Pandora, and for some reason, there was a heavy volume of children's songs being played. Each time I heard their sweet little voices singing carols, my eyes welled with tears.

It made me think of Joey.

But I pressed on and kept wrapping, thinking to myself how lucky it was that I had told the boys that elves are messy creatures. And how lucky it was that my boys wouldn't care about bows or ribbons.

I was all done by 11:30 that evening, and morning came quickly, before 7:00 a.m.

6:50, actually, and it was all said and done by 7:06 a.m.

The boys tore open each present in a matter of seconds with shouts of, "COOL!" "IT'S JUST WHAT I WANTED!" quickly moving on to the next gift.

And as I sat on the couch, still in a sleepy haze contemplating coffee or tea, I realized that no one had expressed disappointment. No one had simply said, "Oh," and moved on.

In fact, I heard seven-year-old Knox exclaim, "This has been the best Christmas ever!"

We had celebrated with Hubby's side of the family on Sunday. Hubby's huge, chaotic, loud, wonderful family which is now made up of 57 people! All but eight were there.

This isn't even half of his family. There are more somewhere!!

I have always wanted to be a part of a big family. The dynamics among the cousins and in-laws are warm and sweet and sometimes simply hilarious. It's truly a gift that everyone gets along so well. And even though I sit and observe the chaos with no gift in hand (Hubby opts us out of the gift exchange, and I am no one's godmother), I never feel left out. But rather, blessed.

And then there was that moment yesterday, as I was standing in the kitchen. I was still dressed up from Christmas mass - heels and a pencil skirt and a cute peplum top. I had my apron on and Hubby was next to me chopping onions for soup. The boys were playing with their new toys in the family room and someone yelled into the kitchen, "Mom, what's 8 times 8?"

As I answered quickly and kept stirring whatever it was I was stirring, I felt a wave of gratitude and happiness wash over me.

For this.

This is what I had always wanted in my life - this "kiss-your-frog-marry-your-prince-and-live-happily-ever-after" life.

I have it. Standing all dressed up in my kitchen with an apron on making Christmas food for my family while my children play. This.

However, this life may not be perfect because we are grieving the loss of someone.

This Christmas may not be perfect because Mommy kept forgetting to move the elf and she forgot the cookies and the cinnamon rolls and wrapped the presents hastily and snapped at people.

But no one really noticed that except for me. So it didn't really matter after all.

And Slim has made sure that Joey has been with us all Christmas season. He brought Joey's beloved stuffed animal, Stripey Kitten, downstairs to "help" us decorate the tree Thanksgiving weekend. And even though I keep telling him to put her back, he keeps bringing her out every time we do something Christmassy. So I know he's thinking of Joey, too, and giving us a little reminder of his presence.

So in the end, I didn't really screw anything up too badly - not that anyone noticed anyway. My small family all said they had a lovely time celebrating at our house, and there was even food left over.

 Hmm, maybe if I'm still hungry, I can lick
some of the frosting off that adorable face.

It's clear to me as I sit and reflect on how the holiday went for us all, despite my perceived failures and foibles, it was a pretty great Christmas after all. I think it's safe to say that everyone had a simply wonderful Christmas.

I know I did.



What I Wouldn't Give

Just like most parents, this weekend Hubby and I were kind of lax and reflective when it came to our sons. We insisted on a family night on Saturday despite their protests of not wanting to put on nice pants to go to dinner.

We smiled through the whining during dinner and gave calm reminders to use quiet voices at the restaurant.

We gently chided with them about which Christmas lights we would look at and which neighborhoods we would drive through.

And one of us gave someone a dessert even though it was well past bedtime. Because he was crying that he hadn't liked his desert earlier.

One of us made chocolate chip cookies for the Sunday School program she forgot about while the one year old sat on the counter and "helped.".

And one of us just enjoyed the extra snuggle time with said one year old until midnight because he had fallen asleep in the car earlier looking at the Christmas lights.

Almost all of us parents gave extra desserts, played longer, and hugged harder this weekend.

And then maybe some of us yelled again this morning at someone to get dressed, find his glasses, just get in the car already.

And that's okay, too.

They're kids, people we love. We only get irritated with people we love. If we don't care about someone, we don't give a rip what they do, right?

The Sunday School program has been the same every year. The little cherubs stumble through the alphabet telling the story of Jesus' birth.

This year, I looked at it with new eyes. I looked up on stage and saw a bunch of babies - four and five year olds - with bright little faces. Most were like deer in headlights, scared to even move or sing.

But not my little five year old rockstar!

Mommy, I'm an angel! And I'm wearing this
on my head. But it kinda itches.



As soon as Lil' C found us, his adorable face broke out into one of his huge, toothy grins. "Hi Mommy! Hi Daddy!" Yes, my child was the only child shouting from the stage.

The entire performance, he smiled and waved at us frantically.

And I smiled back and waved frantically, too.

And I cried thinking of 20 families who do not get this today. Who do not get to see their child frantically smiling and waving any more. I didn't think there was enough room in my heart for both the fullness of love and the ache of hurt.

But, it's been there before. It made me think of three days after Joey's funeral. Slim was in a Vacation Bible School program. I was listening to the children's sweet voices and feeling so angry because Joey should have been one of the children on stage. I had to leave, go out to the lobby, and have a cry.

What I wouldn't give to have Joey back with us. What those 20 families wouldn't give to have their children today. To have it be just another ordinary day - drop off and errands and dinner started and pick-up and homework and bedtime.

What I wouldn't give for this world to be safe and happy for my kids.

We all say at some time: What I wouldn't give to be able to pee in peace/have a night out with my friends/have a date with my spouse/have some quiet time for me/go on an adult vacation.

We all would give anything for a little more freedom sometimes.

Except our children. As much as they make us angry, drive us nuts, get on our nerves, piss us off, the bottom line is they are our lives. They reside in our hearts and souls, and we would give our lives for them. I don't know how anyone can be a parent and not think that way.

I would give anything to raise them in a world where people are kind and generous and understanding. Where everyone smiles and loves one another and holds hands and sings, like the old Coca-Cola commercial of the 1970's.

But it's not that simple of a time anymore, just like the '70's weren't really a simple time either.

I would give anything for assault rifles to be banned from getting into the hands of ordinary citizens. For violent games and movies to be banned and for violence to be abhorred rather than glorified.

I would give anything for the news media to just go away. Stop going over and over the details of every shooting - the weapons used, the bullets used, what the bullets do, how the shooter accessed the building. One channel of our local news the other night said they would not say the shooter's name out of respect for the victims. Finally. It took 6- and 7-year-old babies to bring a little respect from the news media.

I would give anything to know for certain that my boys will be safe and happy their whole lives. To never be the victims of violence or cancer or freak accidents. I would give anything to be certain that they would never be the cause of harm to anyone else. But even that I cannot guarantee.

I would give anything if I knew all the answers or how to fix things or make the world a better place.

But I don't. I can only give the best that I have and teach that to my children. That's all any of us can do.

Read here for 7 ways to keep your kids safe from gun violence. 

Fa La La La La, La Cough, Cough, Puke

December stresses me out. So much to get done, so much to do.

Addressing holiday cards, baking, shopping, wrapping, cleaning the house for guests, buying gifts for teachers.

Parties, school Christmas pageants, holiday shows, light displays. 

Sometimes I wish all other responsibilities during the month of December would fade away.

Forget the Elf on the Shelf - I need a Laundry Elf, a Taxi Elf, a Shopping and Wrapping Elf, a Christmas Card Addressing Elf. Oh, and of course, a Housekeeping Elf.

I want to be able to enjoy this time. I love Christmas - really I do. The magic and wonder, the music and lights. All good if they could exist in a vacuum.

The faster Christmas comes, the more I'm dreading its conclusion.

The months of January, February, and March rarely bring much to be excited about in Nebraska. The ice and snow, the wind and bitter cold.

And I know, I just know, it is the start of the cold and flu season. Three months of tummy aches, puking, green snotty noses, being stuck in the house with sick and crabby kids, stripping bed linens in the middle of cold nights to change someone's puked on sheets, constantly being out of ibuprofen and orange juice.

Here, it's already started. Someone in my house has been sick since before Thanksgiving. If you have a big family, you know how it goes. They can't all be sick at the same time. That would be too convenient, too easy. Too "mommy-wins-the-sickness-lottery"!

Nope. They just get sick one after the other after the other. Like a twenty-car pile-up on the Long Island Expressway, it just keeps happening and happening.

First, my 7-year-old had croup. He's been getting that since he was a baby. It took him down for almost a week this time. Every time I thought he was getting better, he would cough and cough until he puked. He was home from school for 4 days.

Next, my eight-year-old had a cold. Not bad, but bad enough to make him tired all the time, weepy, irrational, combative at school. Lots of time spent talking him out of sad and weepy thoughts about his deceased twin brother. And one meeting at school to discuss his behavior.

Now, my five-year-old and 17-month-old are sick with horrible coughs, colds and fevers. The five-year-old has missed school for two days now, and the 17-month-old isn't taking naps. He just wants to be held.

My precious two hours of alone time every day? Pfft! Gone. I have gotten nothing done since before Thanksgiving, people.

But you know what?

It's okay. I know it's not their fault that they're sick. I'm trying not to let it add stress to an already stressful time.

Besides the 4 a.m. bed linen changes, I'm enjoying cuddling with them. Sometimes when they are sick, it's the only time they will slow down long enough to be held.

And the other gift their illnesses have brought?

Time. Time with each one. Time to sit on the couch and watch movies or play a game or read a story. Just time to stay home for a change. I feel like all semester every morning I have had to run to this class or lesson or this appointment or that meeting, volunteer here or do this.

Time for the commitments to fade away for a while.

There's something nice about just clearing the schedule and staying firmly planted at home.

Even if it is with a bunch of sickies.

Now if only those damn elves would hurry up and get here. I wonder what's keeping them?



 How's everyone at your house?

It's Not Enough, SeaWorld

So, I've been waiting to write this post about SeaWorld San Diego for three weeks now. I've been waiting to hear back from SeaWorld San Diego about an incident that happened to my family there - at SeaWorld San Diego.

And I've finally heard back from SeaWorld San Diego about the incident that happened there - at SeaWorld San Diego. So now I'm going to tell you about what happened at SeaWorld San Diego and how I feel about it.

(I am not nuts. I'm just trying to put "SeaWorld San Diego" in this post as many times as I can so it will get picked up by search engines. So people will read this and it will somehow affect SeaWorld San Diego in the hopes that they will actually do something about "the situation" <--- Oh, and no, not the Jersey Shore Situation. Wrong SEO. I'm totally getting off track here....)

Anyway . . .so my family took a much needed vacation to San Diego a few weeks ago. We had a really nice time. We stayed at a nice resort where the boys could play in the sand near the water, we went to Coronado Beach (gorgeous beach, quaint and darling town), and went to LegoLand (we LOVED LegoLand, so perfect for our kids' ages as they are obsessed with Legos right now and the rides were just their size).

And of course we went to SeaWorld San Diego.

We had gone to SeaWorld Orlando on our Make-A-Wish trip with Joey. We thought it was okay (probably just the circumstance under which we were there). Since Slim is also obsessed with sharks and other underwater creatures, SeaWorld San Diego was a must.

We were impressed with many aspects of our visit. The park was immaculately clean, the shows were darling, and every single employee - from clerks to custodians to guest relations - was beyond friendly, helpful, and smiling. Hubby and I kept commenting to each other all day about this.

The day after we were at SeaWorld San Diego, PETA was to be protesting there about the treatment of its killer whales. From what I understand, this is not the first time SeaWorld has come under criticism.

Of course, every bit of evidence we saw was to the contrary - happy, loving trainers and workers reminding visitors to be careful with the animals and smiling even as kids (mine) interrupted their prepared speeches about the animals.

We became aware that a television crew was on site filming a commercial for SeaWorld. In general, I found these people to be a little blunt, cold, and almost annoyed by the presence of visitors. One sign in the turtle house read, "Television filming in progress. If you don't want to be on camera, then stay out!" Or, seriously, something to that effect. So we stayed away. I didn't want my kids to get yelled at or anything.

So, later, we were walking by another location where filming was taking place. It was off to the side and gated. As we were walking, Slim was slightly behind us, walking in his Slim way, looking at the ground not paying attention at all.

I saw a woman sitting in a director's chair pointing at him and talking to the man next to her. I kept looking at her to see what she might be talking about.

And then "the incident" occured.

Slim wandered aimlessly in the direction of the gated off area. A SeaWorld employee, who obviously drew the short straw and was assigned to be the minion protecting the gate of hell, quickly steered him away.

Without missing a beat, Slim changed direction and followed us. No harm, no foul. Right?

Wrong. Not according to the director chair bitch who is probably related to some other bitch who has been in the news lately.

This woman, who had been pointing at Slim, then took her fingers, shaped them into a gun, and pantomimed shooting Slim!

I am shaking again, even as I write this.

I mean WHAT. THE. FUCK??? (And you should know people, I hardly ever drop the F-bomb. This is how upset I still am about this.)

The child did absolutely nothing wrong. This is my child who IS likely to bust in somewhere and interrupt; but he didn't even do that, so WHAT ON EARTH was this woman thinking??

I was livid, and stunned. I stood there and stared at her, and she stared back at me with a smirk on her face. I did the only thing I could think to do at the time - I flipped her off and kept walking, hugging Slim to me  (thank God neither he nor the other boys had seen what she'd done).

I was shaking as I told Hubby about it moments later - I wish he had seen because he would have yelled at her all of the things I then thought about yelling, two minutes too late.

In this day and age of social media, he suggested going back and taking her picture and putting it all over YouTube and Twitter and my blog. I was too chicken of a confrontation, though. I am so not a confrontational person. Plus, I didn't want to get us kicked out of the park.

And let me tell you, it absolutely RUINED the rest of my day. I couldn't stop shaking and thinking about it.

Of course I filled out an incident report at Guest Services and went home with plans of writing about it and submitting it all over the web (if only I had the bitch's picture!).

But, I waited to see what SeaWorld's response would be.

After all, SeaWorld is obviously a family friendly place. They want families there, so to allow a person from a company hired by SeaWorld to do this, is unfathomable.

Right?

Three weeks later, I got a short letter as a response:

Dear Ms. Frog:

Thank you for your correspondence. We greatly appreciate you sharing your concerns with us. I am terribly sorry for your experience during your recent visit to our park. We agree; the action you described by a member of the production crew is unacceptable. We are following up with the agency that coordinated and oversaw this commercial filming production as this type of behavior will not be tolerated.

Again, I want to genuinely apologize for the behavior of the member of the production crew and express how sorry we are that it detracted from your family's experience while visiting the park.

Sincerely,
Dave Koontz
SeaWorld San Diego

Well played, Dave Koontz's administrative assistant. This is exactly what a mom would want to hear.

However, for me, it is not enough. I am a mom, darn it. I want to know how this production company was punished, not that they got a "talking to." I want to know that you stood up for a family at your park and fired this company for not adhering to your family values.

Do you think I'll ever hear back from Mr. Koontz about the final outcome?

No, I don't either.

Some people might say, 'Oh, Kathy, just let it go. That's just how the world is.' But I don't want to let it go, nor do I want to simply accept that people are just rude. I, for one, am tired of rude people. I don't accept that it is okay to be rude to someone just because you do not know them, so what does it matter?

Well, it matters. It matters how you treat people, especially children. Especially in this gun-crazed, psycho pedophile, terrorist-laden society - yes, it matters.

We cannot let rudeness and ugliness become standard behavior just because that is what most people are doing. What happened to smiles and kindness? What happened to helping and caring for all people? What happened to acceptance and understanding?

I could have been one of those people who took this to the media. I'm sure they would have jumped on this story given the problems SeaWorld was experiencing that week. But that's not what I wanted. I wanted to know what would be done.

And I'm still asking, what is going to be done? That behavior is offensive and scary and stupid, and the fact that an adult did it toward a child who was doing nothing wrong is even more disturbing. It shouldn't be allowed to continue, and it should be known that it will not be tolerated. After all, it is California. Production companies must be a dime a dozen. I just want to know that SeaWorld is spending its dime on a different production company.

The woman who did this will never get punished, but I want her to know that her actions lost her company a job. I want people to know that their actions do have consequences, because, after all, isn't that what we're all trying to teach our children?

I think I'll keep Mr. Koontz's name on file and follow up with him in a few weeks. I think he thought he heard the last of this when he asked his AA to draft a letter to this crazy mom.

But I'm not done because it's not enough.


What do you think I should do? Just drop it and accept the apology, or follow up and find out what happened to the production company?

Something Always Brings Me Back

I was awake at 4:00 a.m. the other morning. This is not unusual as Baby E has never been a great sleeper. I don't mind, though. I know soon enough he will wake in the night and not need me to soothe him back to sleep.

 

I know that all too soon those sweet, middle-of-the-night moments will be over, and he won't be my baby anymore. He'll be my little guy, dreaming little guy dreams that don't require Mommy's cuddles to get them started.

 

So, the other morning, when his cries woke me, I went to him right away. And we rocked and we cuddled. And we both drifted back to sleep.

 

Then, somewhere in that hazy place between wakefulness and sleep, I felt a memory of a simpler time. A time when Joey, Slim and Knox were all under three, and we had just moved back to Nebraska after being in New York for two years. A time when the double stroller was my fourth constant companion and trips to the park were a daily outing.

 

I must have smiled in my sleep remembering how we would take walks on the trail next to the park (for Mommy) as two rode in the stroller and the third would be perched on top of the cup holder (held in place by Mommy, of course).

 

You're laughing. Kathy, how was that simpler than cuddling with one little baby?

 

Because it just was. There was time for daily trips to the park. There were daily walks because everyone was portable. It was a time of Playhouse Disney and Curious George and everyone agreeing with everything Mommy suggested.

 

I don't remember it being difficult or complex at all.

 

It was before Sponge Bob and I Carly introduced sarcasm and insults. It was before homework and soccer and Cub Scouts kept us too busy to go to the park. It was before phone calls from the teacher and behavior charts and trips to the behavioral psychologist.

 

It was before cancer and medication and negativity changed us.

 

I thought about it all day, that time in our lives, and it kept me smiling.

 

And then, when I was swapping out a broken picture frame, I found this picture hidden behind a more current one:

Knox (23 months), Slim and Joey (age 3)

 

And it brought tears glistening to my eyes. It was not for Joey's presence in the picture. I actually never liked that picture of him. I remember being upset that he wouldn't put his hands down. It was mostly just seeing the three of them, in the midst of that simple time.

 

But it was Knox, too, and that cherubic face and those huge, innocent eyes. They brought me back to a time when he was happy to tag along like a puppy after his brothers. He was happy simply being "one of the triplets" (as everyone thought they were).

 

Now he's older. Complex. Negativity brewing. Nothing will ever be as simple as walks to the park and brothers playing together. There will be school struggles and girl crushes and self esteem issues and peer pressure and grown-up decisions thrust unfairly at adolescents possibly ill-equipped to handle them.

 

I've read several columns lately, new moms asking if they will survive this time with a newborn. It pains me to know what they have not yet discovered: that this is the easy part. The fatigue, the spit-up, the sore nipples, it will all wan and be a distant memory. What will remain are the cuddles, the smells, the coos, the tiny fingers wrapped around your hand, the fuzziness of baby hair, and the feel of a little head asleep on your shoulder.

 

Memories of watching Sesame Street together for the first time and being delighted when he claps in time with Elmo singing his theme song.

 

Remembering how you felt the first time you saw him dance to Thomas the Tank Engine's theme song or the first time he wrapped those tiny arms around you in a hug.

 

Remembering how you used to cuddle with him until you were both asleep pressed together in his tiny twin-sized bed, sweating from so much heat emanating from such a tiny little body.

 

Remembering how you laughed over his pride of "reading" for the first time, even though the word was totally wrong, but he was just so sure that's what it was.

 

I think that's why older parents always say to "enjoy it now because it goes by too fast." I think we always look back and remember a simpler time than the one we're in now. That's the beauty of parenting. It's the ability to have memories that sustain our todays. To know that however hard today is, there will be something about it that will make us smile someday, even if we can't quite see what it is today.

 

As I sat down to write this, I couldn't find the t.v. remote. Surely my fifth little toddler had hidden it under the couch. When I bent down to look, I found a stash of Knox's toys. After a brief initial annoyance, I smiled as I pulled one treasure after another from under the couch.

 

I remember that Joey used to do that, too. As I sifted through the pile, I smiled as I remembered the first time I pulled a stash like that from under the couch. It's always something.

 

It's always something that brings me back.

 

 

 

What are some of your favorite memories of raising your kids? Are there any you thought were hard at the time that have become fond memories?

It's About Priorities

Today was a pretty busy day.  We had mass followed by Open House for both the older boys' school and Lil' C's preschool.  After that I had to run to the store to stock up on milk and fruit and after school snacks.

When I was finally home, I had a choice to make. Did I start to clean the mess that was my house - breakfast still evident in the kitchen, piles of clothes, shoes and socks littered in the laundry room, various toys strewn all about.

Or did I sit down with my laptop and troll Facebook, send some Tweets, and catch up on e-mail and blog reading?

No, I decided instead to set my priorities. I put on my running shorts and tennis shoes and asked the boys if they wanted to go for a walk with me. Slim decided to stay home with Daddy and throw balls around the backyard, but the three others set out with me.

We went for a great walk! In all, I walked/ran (remember 'cause that's what I do) and the boys scootered about two and a half miles.

Halfway down the trail we chose, we came upon a small pond. The boys could see ducks, so they asked if they could go closer. We sat for a long time watching the ducks bob for fish, wiggling their tail feathers in the air.  We watched as frogs jumped out of the water onto a piece of driftwood.  We counted the other sets of frog eyes peering out of the water at us. And we listened to the geese honk from across the pond.



We sat for a long time, just watching and talking and showing Baby E all the animals. I thought about how this was the last day before school started again.  Before Cub Scouts and soccer and speech therapy and homework and countless other obligations begin again. And I was really glad I asked the boys to walk with me.

Even when they started complaining on the way home, I kept a smile on my face (we had walked a long way after all). To think I could have missed it.  I could have been buried in laundry or tied to my computer trying to figure out more about SEO.

No, it really is all about priorities.  Tomorrow school starts, and my time with my boys will be significantly less.  It will be more structured and, probably, a lot more stressful. 

Today was just what we needed as an unofficial end to our summer time together.  I'm glad I had my priorities straight.

***

The director of my sons' preschool is one of the sweetest, wackiest-in-the-cutest-way, soft-hearted people I've ever met.  Every year she includes the same poem in the preschool parents' packet, and I just love it.  It is the perfect reminder of what's really important.  I've posted it before, but it bears repeating, today and often.

To My Child  by Sally Meyer

Just for this morning, I am going to smile when I see your face and laugh when I feel like crying.

Just for this morning, I will let you choose what you want to wear, and smile and say how perfect it is.

Just for this morning, I am going to step over the laundry, and pick you up and take you to the park to play.

Just for this morning, I will leave the dirty dishes in the sink, and let you teach me how to put that puzzle of yours together.

Just for this afternoon, I will unplug the telephone and keep the computer off, and sit with you in the backyard and blow bubbles.

Just for this afternoon, I will not yell once, not even a tiny grumble when you scream and whine for the ice cream truck, and I will buy you one if he comes by.

Just for this afternoon, I won't worry about what you are going to be when you grow up, or second guess every decision I have made where you are concerned.

Just for this afternoon, I will let you help me bake cookies, and I won't stand over you trying to fix them.

Just for this afternoon, I will take you to McDonald's and buy us both a Happy Meal so you can have both toys.

Just for this evening, I will hold you in my arms and tell you a story about how you were born and how much I love you.

Just for this evening, I will let you splash in the tub and not get angry.

Just for this evening, I will let you stay up late while we sit on the porch and count all the stars.

Just for this evening, I will snuggle beside you for hours and miss my favorite t.v. shows.

Just for this evening when I run my fingers through your hair as you pray, I will simply be grateful that God has given me the greatest gift ever given.

I will think about the mothers and fathers who are searching for their missing children, the mothers and fathers who are visiting their children's graves instead of their bedrooms, and mothers and fathers who are in hospital rooms watching their children suffer senselessly, and screaming inside that they can't handle it anymore.

And when I kiss you goodnight I will hold you a little tighter, a little longer. It is then, that I will thank God for you, and ask him for nothing, except one more day......


Here's to a wonderful and safe school year for all our children!

I Spy a Family

It was one of those rare late summer evenings.  The kind when the air is cool rather than humid and the locusts are silent rather than buzzing.  There was no wind, no clouds, just clear, beautiful stillness.

Knox and Lil' C were in the back yard with Hubby, who was throwing baseballs.  Knox, who is not particularly athletic, was knocking the heck out of them, and Lil' C was cheering him on.

Baby E was waiting eagerly by the back door, and I let him out just as I would shoo a little puppy out to play.

Slim was in the basement putting Lego's together, and I could hear the adventure that he was scripting for his Star Wars characters.

I was busily wiping the counters and washing every last pot and pan in an attempt to leave more time to cuddle with the boys before bed. The windows were open letting the cool fresh air swirl through the house.

And suddenly it hit me...

a feeling of contentment and peace such that I haven't had in a really, really long time. 

Maybe since long before Joey's diagnosis.

Usually when I look upon scenes such as the one I was viewing, I am washed with sadness and anger, fear and hostility. I think about the what-ifs and the why-hims, and I'm filled with bitterness and envy for those families that are whole and complete.  And I have an ache in my heart that hurts so badly I feel as if I might want to just curl up and die.

But this night felt different. It felt happy, sweet and other worldly. I don't mean in a way that I was hovering out of my body or anything, but it just felt so different than what I have been feeling for the past three years and four months.  Like I was someone different and I was looking at a different family who had been through different circumstances.

By the time I was finished with my kitchen chores, Hubby had lit a fire in the outdoor fireplace and the boys had gathered around it.  I turned on some jazz music loud enough to be heard in the backyard, found Slim who was now playing his Nintendo DS, and coaxed him outside with me.

It was dusk and Knox had found a flashlight.  He was holding it under his chin and telling spooky stories.  Hubby and I laughed in sinister voices - mwa haa haa haa - and Lil' C was riveted to every word Knox uttered.  Even though Slim was still playing his DS, he would laugh and add a bit to Knox's story here and there.  And Baby E was toddling from one of us to other as we patted and hugged him and tossed him toys.



Lil' C is enthralled with Knox's story.

Daddy and Slim being entertained by Knox's story.

Even Baby E wants to listen.

 

And that's when it happened: I spied a family.

A family that, although they may yell and argue and disagree, still knows how to laugh and love and live.

A family that knows how to go on even though there is a hole in their hearts and an empty seat around the fire.  A family that is living as their brother would live - in the moment. 

In the goofy, silly moment.

Instead of being angry and bitter that Joey is gone, I smiled thinking how much like Joey Knox has become.

And it made me happy.  It made me happy to know that pieces of him are going to live on and make themselves known in infinite moments like these.  In surprise ways that will hit us and fill our hearts with joy.

That joy will never replace the sadness we feel.  It will never fill the empty hole left by our sweet Joey's absence.

What it will do is help us to go on, to be that family that I spied. The family that must accept what their numbers are, not what they should be.  The family that must work to find joy most of the time and be surprised when joy finds it some of the time.

I spied a family that has finally learned how to move forward, not holding on to the past, but carrying a piece of it with them.

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

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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 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?