Seeing Past the Scars on Our Soul

I was recently reading a novel about breakups whose story was a bit on the stupid side but whose message was pretty profound.  It made me think.  Hard.  About why we do what we do during the relationship then feel the way we feel after the breakup.

Now, I will say that I have had a complete thought-process overhaul since my husband and I decided to divorce, but the epiphany I had at one point in this book is worth sharing.

Too often us women feel that we have to change certain behaviors inherent to our personalities in order to please the man that we are dating (or married).  It seems so silly when you see it written in black and white on this screen, but it is something hard programmed into our psyches and something we rarely actually think through.  We just do.

For example, I have a cousin going through a tough breakup that takes me back my own days of heartache.  The "why wasn't I enough?"s and the "what can I change about me to make him love me again?"s and the constant state of denial that the relationship has long-since been over.  I've been there.  Many times.  But here's (finally) what I realized:

Let's say that I was covered from head to toe with scars.  Big ones, little ones, disfiguring ones.  They are scars, so I can't do anything about them.  They are a part of me, but they don't define me.  And... I would never date a man who could only see those scars when he looks at me.  He wouldn't be good enough for me.  Period.

Every bad thing that happened to me has cut my soul.  Some cuts are small like paper cuts and heal without notice.  Others are huge, gaping, disfiguring scars that will be with me forever.  All of them tell a story of how I got to be me.

Now, my cousin pointed out that there's a difference between physical scars and emotional scars, but I disagree.  There's nothing we can do to change these scars.  They are with us whether we like them or not.  We can put Mederma on them, but it will only lessen the signs rather than obliterate it completely.  I feel the scars on our soul are worse because you can't see them at first glance.  You have to truly get to know us in order to see them.

So, why do we accept men that see those scars and won't accept us despite them or - staggering thought - help us to get past them?  They aren't good enough for us, yet we want them anyway because we have convinced ourselves that there is something wrong with us for having those scars!  Do we not think we deserve a man that helps heal those scars?

I now know that I am and won't settle for anything less.  And I hope you won't either!

Take Black Friday into the Red

I've seen a bunch of news broadcasts and Facebook posts about how sick it is that retail stores are starting their Black Friday sales on Thanksgiving.  What they don't seem to get is that this trend is the perfect example of supply and demand.  You know, the whole "if you build it, they will come" thing?

The economy is in the dumps (no matter what the high-paid experts are trying to tell us), and every store is doing their part to get their piece of the pie.  They are doing what they feel they need to do to get you out of your warm and toasty bed and into the zoo-like free for all that is their big sale.  It's natural, and it's not their fault.  But who's fault is it, you ask?  Ours.

We buy into it.  We want those deals so badly that we are willing to risk life and limb (sometimes literally) to get them.  If we weren't, the stores wouldn't pay the millions in overhead to open a store and pay their employees.  So, instead of signing a petition to stop "them", I suggest that you simply stay in bed and enjoy the family and life for which you just got done giving thanks.

If you do that, the stores will get the message loud and clear in millions of dollars in lost revenue and standard overhead, and their employees will also get to stay home and keep toasty.  Take Black Friday into the red!

But, let's get serious, it isn't going to happen.  People still want their bargains and will continue to flock to the earliest sales with the biggest discounts.  I'm just hoping it gets so bad that they start the huge sales on November 1st and take the shopping out of Thanksgiving and put the thanks back into Thanksgiving.

So, Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.  I give thanks for you... and won't be competing with anyone but my pillow on Black Friday.

I'm Not Afraid of Failure

I've been away from you for a while, and for that I'm sorry.  I've been trying my hardest to get things going with my art that I haven't left much brain power each day to write you.  I've had something on my mind lately that I'm ready to share, so hopefully this will inspire me to write more often.

I've failed at every aspect of my life but one (being a mother).  I lost my career.  I lost my house.  I lost my credit.  I lost my marriage.  I don't say that to for your pity or concern but to prove a point.  I'm not afraid of failure anymore.  Do you know that I've never been able to say that before?  I'm not afraid of failure!  I've already failed, so I have nothing to lose.

I'm creating art I've always wanted to create because I'm not afraid that I can't.  I'm selling that art on Etsy because I'm not afraid to list it; I may not be making anywhere near a paycheck, but people like my work enough to pay for it.  I'm not afraid to put myself out there because I've already failed and survived.  It wasn't easy and it wasn't fun, but I did it and I can do it again as many times as I need.

In the mean time, I'm showing my son what it's like to work hard for your dreams.  I'm showing myself that I can work hard.  Who knows if I'll fully achieve those dreams, but I'm not letting fear stop me from trying.

Silver lining? Try a silver cloud!

What's the best cure for a serious blow to the self esteem?  Doing something that (1) takes your mind off things and (2) gives you a little boost in the "can do" department.  What's my poison that fits both those criteria?  Generally, home improvement.  Specifically, laying baseboards.

These baseboards are incredibly beautiful and have been waiting six months to make my home a better place, and this was the weekend to end that wait!  Well, last weekend was the technical start of the project, but this weekend was the time to make it all happen.  Between wrangling the Toddler Terrorist and trying to make it big as an artist, not to mention my dad's hectic schedule, finding time has been difficult to say the least.

I love to work with wood.  I mean LOVE to cut and sand and nail and screw and... well, work with wood.  Actually, I love anything that involves creating something tangible from a hint of an idea lodged deep in the back of my brain.  Add that it is for home improvement, and you could say that I had a cheese grin on my face the whole day.

It was a slightly rocky start to the process because I had never actually done anything as technical as this project, but I have a pretty steep learning curve.  You have to understand my dad has been the boss for more than (ahem) thirty years, so it was difficult for him to give up the reigns and allow me to be the lead.  He did awesome, and it made me feel like gold when he said the same about me.

Color me six shades of awesome!  Each corner fit better, and each cut got easier to make.  I'm pretty proud of myself, and it shows.  Thanks Daddy for helping me find yet another silver lining!

Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones...

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but your words pierced my heart.  Today someone I trust very much and who's opinion I value greatly said some not very nice things about me to my face.  The words may have rung with a modicum of truth, so you obviously felt that I needed to hear them right then.  There's a part of me that would like to call it "tough love" and brush it off as a growing and learning experience, but that part seems to be the part filleted to the bone by the sharp words.  Mostly I call it a betrayal.

Most words may be just words, but many words can be used as weapons depending on the wielder.  I'm an emotional soul.  Borderline empathic, my validators come from external sources and I - more often than not - consider someone else's hurt feelings over my own.  Letting someone inside means giving them the power to hurt me with very little effort.  That's what happened today.  I let someone in and was carved into tiny little pieces then pushed out the door with a half-hearted fare-the-well.

I'm way too ashamed to repeat what was said or even give you a hyper-quick overview, but know that the words have echoed in my head for just over 10 hours now.  You would think that at - ahem - 25 years in this world (more like 34 and counting...), I would have grown some self esteem and not cared what anyone says or thinks about me.  I haven't.

What's my point to all of this cloak and dagger reference to a potentially juicy story?  Watch your words.  You may think nothing of the daggers you are throwing, but the recipient will feel every little knife point and resent you for it.

Thank you, Miss Kim!

My deepest thanks to my favorite toddler wrangler for giving me some excellent tips this week.  She may have retired for the next few baby-making years, but Miss Kim is my go-to gal for advice on my terrorist... I mean toddler.

He just had his second birthday and got a multitude of toy sets with a million pieces each.  When sitting in the middle of his hurricane wondering how on Earth I was going to organize it all on a zero-dollar budget, Miss Kim suggested that I use my clear shoe containers (I have a million of them) to group and organize each set in an easy-to-stack, easy-to-view way.  Brilliant!  Now, it is much easier for him to choose what he would like to play with and for him to know where to put things away when I'm choosing my battles to win the war.

Today, I told Miss Kim about his temper tantrums.  I'm sure every other mother of a young two year old thinks the same as I do, but - man - his fits are horrible!  He even sniffs of the possibility that he isn't going to get his way and the screaming starts.  I don't know what exactly has possessed my happy little baby over the past couple of weeks, but this little demon can't be stopped once he gets going.

Miss Kim explained about the ABCs of temper taming.  A is the antecedent or what sets him off (aka not getting his way).  B is the behavior or his reaction (aka the screaming and kicking fit).  C is the consequence or how I will react.  That's the kicker.  The million dollar question.  What do I do??

First, I need to reign in my own temper.  Hey, he gets his somewhere, and it is not all from his father.  After taking a deep breath and taking stock of my ABCs, I have decided to set aside a "Time Out" station for him to sit at until he is finished crying.  I explain to him calmly that he isn't to move until he is finished crying, then I ignore him.

If he decides he wants to move before he is finished crying, I stand above him and force him to stay until he is finished.  Talk about a battle of wills!  Sometimes it becomes a true standoff, but I try to win the majority of the time.  Eventually, I'm hoping that he gets the whole concept of time out and tries to avoid it as much as possible.

Miss Kim also suggested an egg timer to give him a concrete end goal.  "When the timer dings, you may get up."  Anything to help him realize that his behavior isn't going to get him the reaction he wants.  Maybe the egg timer is really for me...

Once again, BRILLIANT, Miss Kim!  Thank you.

There's a Silver Lining to Every Cloud

I haven't been ignoring you.  I promise.  Life is a rollercoaster with ups, downs, twists, turns, dips and lots of screaming.  The past few weeks have been no exception for me, including the screaming.  I could present the laundry list of unfortunate events from the past couple of months, but the important part is that I'm still standing!

Today is my little man's second birthday.  He's the one that makes it all worth it.  He inspires me to do better and be better.  I'm pursuing my art career so that I can show him exactly who I am with every art piece I produce and sell.  I want to be a financial success, so I can give him everything my parents were able to give me without the monthly worry of where the light bill money will come from.  I want to be able to pay my parents back for everything they've given me and all the times they've lifted me when I couldn't lift myself.  I just don't want to worry anymore.

Luckily, I've been able to use my past experiences to help others through similar heartaches and heartbreaks.  It just goes to show, there's a silver lining on every cloud.  You just have to look really hard to find it.  Either that or get out your silver spraypaint and make your own lining silver!

The First Step is Breathing!

I often find myself holding my breath when I'm thinking of stressful things.  It isn't something I do on purpose; instead, it is more as if my body is concentrating so hard that it doesn't remember to push air in and out.  More often than not, it results in a wicked tension headache.  Of course, the gallon of coffee I ingest each morning doesn't help the situation.

I've been working on cutting down my coffee addiction, but it is just SO good that I'm finding it hard.  I'm one of those that likes a bit of coffee with my milk and sugar, so the end result is soft and sweet and oh so tasty!  Not at all bitter and hard like black coffee.  Yuk!

Back to the breath holding issue.  Not thinking of stressful things won't work for me right at the moment, so instead I'll find ways to remember to breathe.  Pending divorce, single motherhood, financial ruin... all of these things tend to take over a brain and not let go.  Most of the time, I'd love nothing more than to succumb to the pressure and just lay down until I could breathe again, but - with a toddler to wrangle and a life to run - that isn't an option.  Instead, I've been concentrating on deep, cleansing breaths combined with meditative exercises geared toward relieving the pressure.

What is it they always say?  The first step is admitting you have a problem.  Well, I have a problem remembering to breathe, so first step taken!  Now I just have to find real ways to not let the stress rule my life.

Go, Good Cop, Go!

For the first time in what feels like forever, I am the fun parent. I brought the baby to Disney, all by myself, and we are having a blast. I even let him have a sugary drink with dinner! (GASP!)

Here is the back story in case you've missed it: I am the primary caregiver to my nearly 2-year-old son, so I'm the one setting boundaries, establishing a schedule and being the bad guy by saying "no". (I'm learning that's a foreign concept to some people.) I am the one teaching him to play independent because I have things that need to get done on a daily basis. My ex husband gets him a couple days a week - when he is able to and if he feels like it - so he is on constant vacation mode and endlessly doing fun things to make up for lost time during the week. I can't say that I blame him too much, except that it makes my job 1,000 times harder. It always takes a day and a half to two days to get the baby back on the program.

The relationship that my ex and I were trying to keep friendly is crumbling fast, so I'm less and less able to rely on his ability to curb the super fun zone into the normal fun zone. Enter my master plan!

I've decided that every once in a while, I'm going to let myself be the fun parent. Since I have been relegated to the Bad Cop role, I figure I can take the liberty of expanding my resume and sharpening my Good Cop skillset. That way, if I ever get into a healthy relationship and have more children, I will have had the practice. If not, then London won't resent me because I'm no fun at all. Great plan, huh?!?

Tomorrow is a full day at the Magic Kingdom, and - who knows? - I might even let him have some chocolate! Go, Good Cop, Go!

Exercise Extravaganza: Day 5

I fell off the wagon and landed in a Burger King drive through.  Sigh.

Exercise Extravaganza: Day 1

I've been fat for too long.  Those extra 35 pounds are no longer called "baby weight" but must be thought of as "toddler weight."  Imagine constant fatigue, chest pains, and an inability to run further than the distance it takes to get the monster off whatever dangerous thing he is climbing.  Add a horrible self image and nonexisten self esteem, and you'll get the picture.  Before we have to abandon toddler weight and plow head-first into the label teenager weight, it is time to do something constructive.  I have learned over the past two years that you can't will away weight just by imagining  yourself thin.  Dangit.

I come from a long line of obese sweets eaters, so years of observation (both internal and external) have taught me that diets just don't work.  Maybe for weeks or even months but rarely forever.  What works are lifestyle changes.  [Side Note: I don't consider the gastric bypass or LAP-BAND surgeries lifestyle changes since 100% of the people I know that have gotten them use them as a way to lose massive amounts of weight without changing their eating habits.  They still eat exactly what they want... only less of it.  Yes, that causes extreme weight loss (and extremely loose skin), but all of them have plateaued at a higher weight than they wanted or gained some of the weight back.  Either way, they still aren't happy.  Just a personal observation; the observees would argue.]

Resume thought train: the creation of the Exercise Extravaganza program!  I have decided to change my lifestyle including healthier food choices, a decrease in sugary things (since diabetes runs rampant in my family), and a lot of exercise.  Now, I know myself.  I'm a lazy procrastinator.  I have to ease into these things or I will burn out in a couple weeks and go back to my sweet-eating, "a moment on the lips forever on the (expanding) hips" ways, forever unhappy with the way I look and feel.  On to the point.

Today was Day One!  Step 1: cut my food portions and avoid the sweets.  Check!  Step 2: EXERCISE!  That one is slightly more tricky since organized exercise is no fun.  I have to find ways to trick my mind into thinking I'm playing so my body won't know what I'm doing is good for me.  The main idea?  Zumba on the Xbox Kinect during the baby's naptime and the movie elliptical after bedtime.  (The movie elliptical is where I set up the portable DVD players and play a movie so I forget I'm sweating like a pig.)

Tonight, I didn't have the movie player set up, but I decided to get out there and sweat anyway!  I got my jug-o-water to avoid dehydration.  Check!  I got my workout clothes on, including the sports bra to keep the ladies under control.  Check!  I got my Pitbull music mix on (nothing gets my blood pumping faster) the iPod.  Check!  I'm ready to go!  Timer set for 30 minutes.

I hop on and get started but quickly turn the resistence down to 1 since I don't want to burn out.  Oh, boy, this is easy!  I'm chugging along, sweating like crazy, listening to great music and feeling the burn.  Hell, I do so well I even manage several texts.  Time is flying, so I start patting myself on the back that I can do this way longer than 30 minutes.  Maybe I should push it to 45 minutes or even an hour!

I open the clock app to adjust the timer... and it's only been 6 minutes.  SMACK!  That's the sound of my hand hitting my forehead and my heart hitting the floor.  The next 24 minutes were torture... but I did them!

Different is Different, Not Worse

These are words I have found myself repeating as a calming mantra as I expose myself more and more to people with different parenting styles.  I suppose you could say that I am an "It takes a village to raise a child" type parent, but - with a type-A personality in full force - I need the village to agree with my parenting decisions and jump on board with my style... not theirs.

Blessed with a big mouth and a small enough filter where my boca grande gets me into trouble, I have found myself breaking my own cardinal rules about overstepping boundaries.  I'm that ever so annoying parent that doesn't want a shred of advice about how you would do it but wants to tell you how it is and how it should be done.  Now, before you close this post with a vow to never read my rantings again, understand that I KNOW this is wrong and am working on righting it.

The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, so I have vowed to be more aware of my annoying habits and correct them before they happen.  No more correcting other people's children (unless they are about to get physically maimed) and no more expressing opinions when they aren't asked to be shared.  (I'm learning the hard way that it is true what they say about opinions: they are like a-holes, everyone has one but no one wants to hear from yours!).  I'm going to be a big girl and let every parent make their own mistakes with the expectation that they will let me make mine.

That being said (and here's the fun part!), I'm going to throw out a phrase my cousin often says (the one that has taught toddlers for 7 years and has all kinds of degrees and letters behind her name to back it up - I'll call her Miss Kim from now on), "Little kids, little problems.  Big kids, big problems."  Take a look at the children around you - both the known and the unknown - and look at the behaviors you like and don't like.

For example, I don't want my kid to be like that screaming lunatic in Olive Garden, so I correct his public behavior in private before it becomes an issue and teach him how I want him to behave.  My dad is always asking me why I'm so strict with the boy at the dinner table since no one is around to be bothered.  Basically, if he acts right at home, he will act right in public.  I, more often than not, get compliments at restaurants about how well behaved the boy is acting.

I realize this doesn't make me perfect and that I won't get nominations for mother of the year any time soon, but I work hard to do the right thing (whatever that is) to help my boy become an amazing man.  Just as I'm judging someone on their crazy parenting decisions, I'm positive there is someone out there judging me on mine.  I remind myself daily that it isn't wrong just because I don't agree with it.  (Yes, that was a difficult statement to write out loud!)  Different is different, not worse!

Fine Motor Skills My A...nkle

My infamous cousin, Miss Kim to you, only recently gave up her illustrious, 7-year child wrangling career to be a full-time, stay-at-home mommy.  (She's the one that works(ed) at a prestigious preschool and has all kinds of degrees to back her authority up.)  The old cliche (those things I gladly admit I usually butcher) that old habits die hard (take that, Miss Kim, I got it right!) was coined for her in this instance.

She has been after me... I mean gently encouraging me... for a while to start working with the monster on his fine motor skills.  So, I bought a water table for the porch and some non-water items to fill it with.  I have water, of course, to go in it on hot summer days, but I also purchased a boatload of beans and rice to help with his sensory development.  [Side Note: his former daycare nearly amputated two of his fingertips, so the hand specialist recommended the same thing to stimulate the continuation of nerve regrowth.]  The other day, I wanted to work on an invitation package that I plan to post to my Etsy store very soon, so I figured this was the perfect time to try out the beans.

I brought the water table in the house, cleaned it up, and stationed it in the open area behind my computer workspace.  The monster danced around me, vibrating with excitement, as I poured in the beans and got him measuring cups then dove in with all the vigor he usually reserves for milk.  Ah, blessed peace for hours while I focus on my work.  I quickly snapped a picture to send to Miss Kim to prove how good a mommy I am then turned back to my work.  Sigh.  This is the life - work and play all at the same time!

Then I heard the sound of many (many) little beans hitting and bouncing (far) off the tile floor.  Ugh.  I stopped to help him pick them up then showed him how to keep his activities over the table to avoid spilling again.  Yeah, great idea, Lis.  That worked for all of 30 seconds.  Then I had to stop again.  And again.  And again.

The texts to Miss Kim went from "Awww, isn't he cute?" to "Fine motor skills, my a$$.  This crap is going everywhere and making me realize just how dirty my floor is!" to "I can't take any more of this crap.  Even the towels I put down aren't stopping the flow of bouncing beans.  It's time to clean up!!!" to "Is this [censored] supposed to develop my [censored] motor skills or his?  I'll be picking up beans for months.  I'm not even trying rice... or oatmeal... or wet flour.  You're CRAZY!"

Hindsight being 20/20 (Ha, ha!  I got that one right, too!), I probably shouldn't have expected him to play neatly without direct supervision AND I probably should have done it on the porch as originally planned so the mess wasn't an issue.  Miss Kim 1, Mommy 0

Profiting Off Death and Destruciton... I Hope

Allright, allright... I'm not as bad as all that.  I'm talking about the t-shirts I made related to Osama bin Laden's death and posted to my Cafe Press store.

Actually, let me back it up a little and explain.  Sunday night, I was pretty proud of myself that I was going to get into bed by 10:15 (hopeful for a full night's sleep) when I checked my Facebook account and saw the chatter about the Presidential address.  Wondering what on earth he had to say so late - on a Sunday, no less - I decided to turn to CNN and check it out.  Although I was wishing it were Anderson Cooper rather than Wolf Blitzer (wow, how torturouse his commentary was), I realized the news of Osama bin Laden's death was history in the making.  Just before I finally turned off the TV at 1:30 (yes, AM), I heard a tag phrase that stuck.  "Obama Got Osama."  Immediately, I thought that would make a great t-shirt.

I've been trying to create shirts that people would want to buy and get them up in a quick-like fashion, so I got right on the design and came up with three.  They may not be the most original messages in the world, but I'm proud of the designs.  I do feel a bit of guilt trying to profit from another human's death no matter how awful he was, but the promise of popularity and possibility of a stay-at-home income has overridden that guilt.

Want to see them?   Well, two of them?
 
Wait for it... (SHAMELESS PLUG) If you like them and want to buy one, click on the shirt to go to my store.

If I sell enough, maybe I can afford to upgrate to a premium store where they let me have more than one image on each product type.  Then you could see the third design.  Ah, the torture and shameless begging.  Hmmm, here's hoping!

Moving with a Toddler Sucks

So, I know you think I've dropped off the face of the earth, but I've been experiencing something a bit more terrible.  I've been moving.  With a toddler.  And no help wrangling but from my mother.  Now, my mother is descended from a branch of Super Woman's line, but we are no match for those two itty bitty little hands and two quick as lightning feet.

Three weeks into it, I finally have everything out of the old house (the garage as the only exception) and all of the boxes stacked into my new garage.  Slowly but surely, I am unpacking each box one by one.  "Great," you say?  Me, too!  Except the Toddler Terrorist comes behind me and wrecks it all.  The Tupperware closet that took me 2 hours to arrange?  Destroyed in 30 seconds flat.  The kitchen cabinets that took me 2 days to organize?  Upended in 10 minutes.

Seriously, someone should make a movie out of it.  I can see the tag line now: "If The Blob scared you and War of the Worlds put terror deep in your soul, then you have to watch... The Toddler Terrorist!"  He's fast as quicksilver and just as slippery; he'll distract you with his angelic face and devilish ways; don't turn your back, or you'll regret it!  Scary stuff, huh?

Luckily, I love that kid beyond distraction and his dad will take him for a couple of days soon.  I'll make up the setbacks in no time.  After a solid night's sleep!

A Continent is Amazing... Until You Are Promised The World

In the service industry, I must admit that perception is everything. Actual quality of service doesn't matter nearly as much as the way the consumer perceives the quality of your service. What brought this on, you ask? We just finished getting my new place tiled, so we have spent the past four days "dealing" with the installers.

Day one was amazing. The main man was there telling us how things would go and essentially promising the world. We walked out of there happy as clams in silt with our expectations soaring. The next day, we were a little disconcerted to find that he didn't bother showing up and didn't communicate the previous day's promises to his worker bees. So, we started fresh and let them know exactly what he promised and how we'd like it carried out. (We are strong, Southern women, so we aren't afraid to speak our minds - most of the time.)

The main man didn't show up on day three, either, but that's OK because we were very used to his number two and were re-adjusting our levels of expectations. Ah, but day four kicked us in the head again. Number two didn't even bother showing up, leaving what looked to be a fresh-faced teenager in charge. It turned out that the youngster was more than capable and did a wonderful job, but we kinda feel like a little bit of honesty would have gone a long way for our peace of mind.

We felt like we had to call them and ask for explanations rather than them calling us to explain and reassure. We may have beat them down on the price (did I mention we are incredibly frugal people?), but they knew what they were promising when the deal was done. A continent is amazing... until you are promised the world. Regardless, the tile looks amazing, and I'm so ready to move in; I just wish the journey would have been a little more worry free.

Sensory Development... Really?

Today was my husband's day with our son, which meant I had the whole day to myself for chores and move preparation.  I have commented to my husband (and almost anyone that will listen) that I get to do the "real" parenting while my husband gets to be on a constant Vacation Mode.

Not that what he does could be considered fake in any way; it's that he only gets two days a week with our son, so he tries to fit a week's worth of fun into such a short period of time.  Don't get me wrong, it's great that he wants to spend time with our little wonder.  I just hate that I have to spend the rest of the week getting the baby back onto a set sleeping, eating and activity schedule.  You know, the whole he gets the coffee while I get the grinds complaint.

Today, I was amused to hear that he got a dose of what I call Normal Daily (or The Real World).  You see, I have to take showers when the boy is 1) drinking his milk, 2) watching Sesame Street or 3) sleeping.  Those three activities are the only things that will keep his inquisitive mind and fast hands out of trouble.  Just so you know, if it's option 1 it's more of a whore's bath than an actual wash myself properly shower because the kid is so addicted to milk that he sucks it down like an alcoholic would drink a bottle of vodka after being on the wagon for a week.  At least the other two options allow a little more time!

For the longest time, my husband criticized me claiming it wasn't that difficult to get ready with the boy in tow.  Ah, famous last words!  Today, my husband needed a shower, so he hid the knives, secured the plugs, put the breakables out of reach and otherwise extra baby-proofed the apartment.  When he got out feeling fresh and clean, he felt like he was walking on a cloud.  Literally!  Our son had emptied an entire bottle of baby powder over himself and the sheets and was playing with the powder.

When my husband posted pictures on Facebook, my cousin (the one with the multitude of child development degrees that teaches three year olds at a prestigious school in South Florida) commented that playing with the powder is good for his sensory development.  Really?  I'm just glad our son was advancing his sensory palette on someone else's time... and bed!

TV Rots Your Brains

I'm sitting here practicing the fine art of dish washing avoidance by adding items to my CafePress store and reading community forums when a posting sparked a cute memory.  Thus, this posting to you.  I don't rightly remember what the insignificant thing that sparked the funny memory was, but I do remember the memory and, yes, I am going to share.  But, first, the back story.

I recently read several articles detailing why children under the age of two should not be exposed to television including the link to ADD, lower language and visual motor skills, obesity, sleep disturbances, lazy parenting and a plethora of other ill effects.  (If you don't believe me, google toddler television watching and see what pops up.)

Upon reading these articles and realizing that I let my one-and-a-half-year-old son watch upwards of... well, I'm not admitting how many hours of television he watched... I made the decision to cut him back to one to two hours per day, at the most, including what is watched on the DVD player in my mom's SUV.  In my own defense, I thought having it on as background noise would serve as the same sort of background noise he would hear at daycare or school.  I was wrong.  See?  I can admit it.

I always saw those parents that had portable DVD players in restaurants or any handheld electronic device in public - aka portable babysitters - and judged them as lazy parents without the attention span to watch or discipline their own children.  Having actually popped a kid out and come to the understanding of basic survival skills required to obtain a minute to yourself, my judgement has lifted a bit, but I still don't wan to be that mom.  (I haven't changed my mind on child leashes, though.)

On weekdays, that time limit always includes Sesame Street since he responds very well to the lessons taught in that action-packed hour; on weekends, it includes my personal favorite of Phineas and Ferb by Disney.  Selfish, I know, but a mom's gotta live, too.

So what's the funny story, you ask?  In the past two weeks of the new regime, my son has started "talking" more and picking up on general human mannerisms... including pointing at the television and asking, "Please, Mom?"

Being All I Can Be

I had a parenting discussion with a cousin's wife today, and it has inspired me to finally sit down and write you.  As I am always interested in how other people choose to parent and in the similarities and differences to my choices, this is a great topic to get me started writing for you again.

Before you ask, "Which cousin?", understand that I have about a billion of them, so only people very close to me or with outstanding powers of deduction can keep them straight.  Luckily, many of them are of child-bearing years, so I have a lot of fuel for my intellectual fire.  I'm a pretty competitive person, and the streak did not miss my mothering side, so I'm constantly comparing my kid to theirs and finding ways to feel superior.  (Oh, please!  Everyone does it; I'm just honest about it).

Growing up, I was a soda drinking, fried-food eating, television watching McDonald's fiend.  BUT, we were always outside playing, so I only struggled with my weight rather than being overcome with obesity.  (Of course, the constant sun would explain the extraordinarily large spot of carcinoma the plastic surgeon cut out of my face a few years ago... but that's another story).  My point is that - other than some weight issues - I was a moderately healthy, smart, bubbly kid.

I don't want my son to grow up with the same unhealthy attitudes toward food that I still struggle with, so I'm starting now (he's a year and a half) to shape his eating habits.  I limit the sugar, the frieds, the fats and as much as the carbs as I can.  He gets whole grains and a ton of fruit and no condiments aka ketchup, mayo, or BBQ sauce.  He doesn't yet know what he is missing, and I'm hoping that he's learning food tastes good without all the unhealthy additions.

I've been criticized as mean and too strict, but I don't see discipline as a bad word.  Setting boundaries now will help him not only understand limits but know which rules are meant to be broken... and which are to be followed.  He's a happy, healthy baby (he will always be my baby) that knows what "no" means and is pretty well behaved for his age group.  Even the pediatrician expressed happy surprise at how well he responded to her in his last checkup.  We can go to restaurants and other public places with a minimum of outbursts without the need for a portable DVD player to play as babysitter.  How many other parents of toddlers can say that?

I'm not a perfect know-it-all; not by any means.  I'm always open to another point of view and have actually picked up pointers from parents that make many decisions I don't agree with.  I want to grow as a parent and learn to be the best mom I can be.  The stakes are too high to do any different.

In a Thinkative Mood

I'm in a thinkative mood today.  It's been a couple months since I've written but not for lack of subject matter.  As a matter of fact, I've had so much that I could (and wanted to) write about and have even sat down several times to get it out, but I've struggled with the thought of making such personal experiences public.

I want more than anything to make this blog successful, but do I really want my personal business out there for anyone and everyone to read and judge?  I value my anonymity and our privacy, but I have a lot to say and I'm pretty sure people would find it interesting.  (Full of myself, aren't I?)  More than anything, I'd like to make enough money from writing about ... well, anything... that I can work part time and spend the rest of the time with my son.

Before you think I'm lazy, let me give you some background.  I'm not good with change.  As a matter of fact, there are few things that scare me more than change does.  Variety is great, but change is terrifying.  Why, you ask?  Eight months ago, I was married with a happy, healthy 10-month-old and a mediocre career.  I was working 42+ hours a week, driving 80 miles a day, loving my work but hating my job, and feeling like I was missing all the good stuff in my son's life.  Then my son got hurt at his daycare.  I mean, really hurt.  I missed a lot of work carting him from doctor to doctor, meeting with a specialist and getting interviewed by a social worker.  Why a social worker if he got hurt at daycare?  The hospital called DCF because of the nature of the injury, and - when they are called in - they investigate everyone.

My boss wasn't as understanding as you would think, so he fired me... then tried to deny my unemployment.  Real prince, huh?  Before pregnancy, I never thought I'd be the type of woman that would want to stay home and care for my child, but that's what those cute little hormones did to me.  If every tragedy has a silver lining, this was mine.  I became a stay-at-home mom and loved it.

I could bog you down with the details from the past eight months, but that will be fodder for another post.  I have to get you nice and hooked before I feed you the good stuff, right?

Today, everything is different.  My husband and I are looking at divorce; I'm considering bankruptcy; and I have to go back to work.  Bankruptcy means losing the house we brought our son home to, and downsizing to something more affordable.  My husband and I are lucky enough that I think we will be able to remain friends, but there is a lot of sadness about the split.  We have a lot of love for each other, but we just can't be married.  The pressures were too much, and we realize now that we want different things from life.

Change.  I'm terrified of it, but it's the only constant for me right now.  I have to go to work, but I want to be with my son.  I don't want to miss out on another moment of his life, and I'm terrified of daycare now.  The words "partially amputated fingertips" will do that to a mother.  I love my home, but we need to start the moving-on process.  This isn't just about change, my life is being turned on its ear.

This post may have turned out to be all doom and gloom, but I'm willing to bet there are people out there that can relate.  But can I bank on it?  Hmmm, makes me a bit thinkative.