honesty*rain

I’ve been wanting to chronicle the experience of raising a boy - the great, the less great and the hey! stop don’t jump off of that, are you daft! But every time I sit down to do so I find it difficult to get my thoughts in order.

I obviously had no idea what it would be like to have a boy. I wanted a girl for all of the usual reasons but was as much overjoyed when Jacob was born as if he had been a girl. In fact, I was admittedly excited to be mother to a boy. I knew my bond with him would be eternal and that he would teach me things a girl could not.

There have been challenges with Jacob and I”m not sure all of them have been because of his being male. He’s a lot like me, you see, and while I was a good child I was a constant source of dismay for my mother. This because I am relentless and not a little opinionated. I always tell people that Jacob is me, the jacked up version. He’s got the boy thing on top of what would already have been a rather strong willed personality. He’s got the desire to bash things about and jump on people when they are not expecting it. I wasn’t so much with the physical. I was more with the talkytalkytalk. I never understood why my mother found me so tedious.

I know now.

I really do want to write about my journey through mothering a boy but admit that I don’t know where to start. I don’t want to journal it so much as I want to chronicle it. I want to write about it and apply whatever wisdom I can glean from taking the time to think about it. I feel honored to be Jacob’s mother and I think in the past few years I’ve gotten so busy with the business of parenting that I’ve forgotten to really notice what I am doing. Jacob is an awesome kid who I know will be an awesome grown up person. I want to really put thought into how I’m raising him because some day he will be in a position to consider his childhood and I would like for him to think that I was present and thoughtful about being his mom.

1st good, I did it today! I did not shout at my children. Not even one single time. Today was a shout free day! This will seem all the more impressive when you get to the bad….

2nd good, my niece (11 years old) was in Seussical the Musical at her school tonight. She played the mayor’s wife and had the best costume in the entire show! She is such a performer (loves it) and I was so proud of her! We went to the show despite the bad which I will tell you about now-

the bad, I have the world’s most gigantic, bubbly, yucky cold sore. On my lip. Which is on my face. Which is on the front of me in plain sight for everyone to see. I have not had a cold sore in probably 6 years. Maybe 10. They are so awful, I cannot tell you and I am generally given to keeping myself to myself when I’ve got ‘em. I do not go out unless required to by law and when does law require me to leave my home? Never. I skip school, work, parties, and all public merry-making etcetera when I have a cold sore and feel no guilt whatsoever. I do not care to be seen and I am in no mood for people or their various personalities. I get a kind of flu-like pms thing going on when I have a cold sore. Illin’ and mad. And hideous! Best to stay out of my way. Something Madison is not terribly good at.

AND YET I DID NOT YELL AT HER!

AND YET I WENT OUT INTO PUBLIC TO SEE THE PLAY!

(applause)

I feel perfectly just in saying that I am better than you today. I have risen above. I am superior and if there’s to be medals awarded I get the first and shiniest one. Mine! Mine! Mine!

Now leave me lovely comments or I’ll post a picture of my cold sore and your eyes will burn up and die. BWA HA HA.

Day one of the shoutfree project was going so well! I managed to go all day without shouting at my children despite the fact that Jacob got in trouble at school (turns out for a not major infraction) and that Madison was wild with desire to drive me over the edge. Not to mention that if I were what I feel I would be a zombie and therefore everyone would have been eaten and the matter would have been closed.

And so just an hour before her bed time she did pester me that tiny bit more than I could handle and without thinking I barked at her in a not quiet voice. Was it a shout? Not technically. But I cannot count this as a successful day in the shoutfree project.

Tomorrow is another day. I can and will do this. They will not get the better of me. I will not be given to self indulgent anger just because they are insane.

Jacob’s hockey wind-up was today. We went to a local hotel with a waterslide/pool and then had pizza and cake. One of the coaches got misty-eyed talking to the kids about their year and that right there is why we had the season we did. We couldn’t have been luckier with the coaching staff we’ve had. It was a great introduction to the sport for all the kids.

A few of the siblings came to the wind-up as well, Madison among them. Happily, the two girls she always plays with (sisters of other boys on the team) were also there and they had their own great time. These girls are slightly younger than Madison but close enough for it not to matter.

The funny thing is, I look at these other two gitls and think, oh they’re so little!. I see them as the four year old girls that they are and I can’t imagine getting mad at them for not getting into the truck fast enough on a cold day or for needing a new pair of socks because they went out on the deck in the rain without any shoes on. Obviously, I’d help them figure things out, show them the way and teach them rather than shouting at them.

And yet, I am in near consant annoyance with my own four year old.

It’s ridiculous. I know what she’s capable of and what she deserves but I have to confess that the constancy of her four year oldness drains me and often leaves me far less patient than I mean to be. I forget that she is in fact super little and deserves a little more leeway than someone who is, say, forty-five. I feel a little off track, patience-wise. I could afford to remember that my children are children and not grown up persons who should know better.

I’ve been meaning to start a new personal project called the shoutfree project. I’ve noticed that in recent months I’ve really let life’s stresses get to me and I’ve been pretty damned shouty. I want this to stop. It’s lame to think that I can take my mood and frustration out on my kids (or anyone else) just to get the satisfaction of the explosion. It’s selfishness of the most dangerous kind: I’m changing who my children are with my raised voice and pissiness. Not okay with me.

Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a war zone. It’s just been a little louder than I want it to be and that’s changing today. I looked at Maddie’s little friends and saw eensy weensy little girls who should not be yelled at and of course, neither should the eensy weensy little girl I love most in the world. So today I begin the shoutfree project. If anyone wants to join me, please do and post in the comments (of whatever post is up) to let me know how it’s going. I will be putting a shoutfree day counter in my sidebar to keep track of the days I can go without shouting at the people I love in anger.

Sadly, today won’t be counted.

i am eternally sorry for leaving this place stranded with whatever that last post was! I mean, I know what it was but still! Mercy! Could I not follow up with SOMETHING a little less waa waa waa? Geez!

Everything is fine, by the way. I am fine. The drama is subsiding. The people who are ass are improving. The situation of assiness is getting better by degrees.

Now I haven’t got anything more because my natterbug is beside me nattering and we have to get ready for dance class! Dance class, Mommy! I have to get dressed! Wheeeeeeeee!

She’s a little bunny, she is. I loves her.

Back soon. Check out my daily photo which is actually being updated daily! What? Hazzah! Also, I am on twitter which I swear was created for moms to get a blogging fix without actually having the time to blog because of the child related emergencies they face every ten seconds(I have dance class! In two hours! Hurry!).

Have a nice day, you who are not ass.

People are ass and only a rare few really matter. Some because they are birthed to your continuum of loved ones and others because they have been chosen. I chose Dan. He is the only chosen one. Everyone else is either ass or obsolete. Yeah, we’re friends, you and I, but be serious - am I honestly irreplaceable? I thought not.

Friends matter, don’t get me wrong, but only in the now and only for as long as they serve their purpose. I have friends who have children the same age as my own. I have friends who like to read the same books that I read. I have friends who drop their kid off at school the same time I drop mine off. These are good people (with a healthy serving of ass*) who I may like but am not committed to. And they can up sticks any time they like, I won’t care.

*this includes me. I do not deny that to others I am as much ass as they are to me.

Secretly, I might care and that’s why I am in huff to begin with but I’ll never admit it. Instead I am going to denounce the world at large and take to my bed in (melo)dramatic fashion. I feel like being sixteen today. This is my party and I’ll be a bitch if I want to.

Not that i don’t want you to have a lovely day. Have all the lovely you like. Just make sure you take it with you when you go. I’ve got a thing going on and I don’t need it messed with, got it?

All my love,

or at the very least has someone doing it for her. which is remarkable to me. seriously? you’re running for president and you’re taking advantage of Twitter? does she have a facebook account too? is hilly on myspace? i think she just IMed me on yahoo. s’up mrs.c?

i get the why but still find it absurd. i know she’s trying to reach the young and the hip and the now among voters but there’s something pathetic about it.

wait, before i say that i better check and see if obama is twittering too….

damn, it’s an epidemic. honestly, if either one of them is trying to reach out on msn messenger i’ll crap a hanging chad. it’s a mockery of their status.

now i dare anyone to ask any of the candidates if they even know what Twitter is. i doubt very much if Hillary has ever set eyes on the site. i bet Hillary doesn’t even wipe her own bum anymore. she’s too busy crying and checking up on her lying, cheating, getting bj’s from women hot his wife husband.

oh! burn!

my twittering can be found here. i make no mention of my speaking engagements. you’re disappointed. i know.

Jacob: When I grow up maybe I want to be an astronaut.

Dan: An Astronaut? Well, you’ll need The Right Stuff. Hehehe.

Jacob: Yeah, I have it. I’ve got a banana, a sandwich and a squeeze bottle!

Dan: A squeeze bottle!

Jacob: Well, yeah, if I put the water in a regular cup it’ll just float away.

I’ve never had a dedicated printer. That is to say, the printer in this household has never been attached to my computer because I have a laptop and what with the carrying around of the laptop it made little sense to constantly have a printer slung over my shoulder. Instead, the printer has always been attached to Dan’s desktop computer and when I need to use it he has to climb under his desk, unplug it from his USB port so that I could pop it into mine. This has been less than a spectacular system. In the beginning he was sort of patient about it but lately he’s downright snarly. Once he even poked me in the eye over it which I think is just rude. Printing should not lead to a fisticuffs.

About a month ago I decided I would get my own damned printer. Just a little thing. Not a 3 in 1 or a 5 in 7 or a 64 in 238. I was thinking a 39 dollar dealie from Walmart so I could print up the little things I need for the kids. Maybe an ocassional recipe. Or, you know, whatever. Just not photos. Cheapass printers don’t do so well with photos and that’s a fact.

Well I’m on the phone with my dad the other day and lo if he’s not getting all braggy about some printer he just bought. It’s, like, the best printer ever. It’s better than some stupid 39 dollar printer. It’s better than chocolate. It’s better than watching TV uninterrupted during a britcom marathon on PBS.

Come on, Dad. That good? Nothing’s better than britcoms.

Turns out it was a printer I’d seen in a magazine recently. The Kodak EasyShare 5300 All-in-One Printer Print, Copy, and Scan’s ad campaign caught my eye: everyone else’s ink cartidges cost a million dollars and ours don’t, so there*. Sounded good and as soon as my dad put me back on this printer I was off to the office supply superstore faster than you can say she’s makin’ copies.

I’m not going to bother with a play by play of what this thing does. It’s a 3 in 1 and it’s rock star. I had to have dan drill a hole in a cabinet in the kitchen so I could house the thing. It ain’t tiny, lemme tell ya, but it’s all worked out. We had a party the other night and ask me how much I loved taking pictures of drunk friends at 330am and printing them right from the memory card on to ready and waiting 4X6 high qulaity photo paper. While drunk. Both me and the people in the pictures. And do you know what? It went off without a hitch. If that ain’t a testiment to how easy this thing is to operate, I don’t know what is.

*paraphrasing

My sister has had a shit year. A shit decade, to be honest. Her husband has some rather major issues and is no longer living with the family. He is not allowed to see his two kids (16 and 11 year old girls) and his life is falling apart. My sister has had a tough row to hoe but she’s definitely come out on top.

(applause)

Now, given that, she’s also being a bit of a jackass. She’s still got a lot of stress (single mom! money! laundry! dishes! ack dating!) and she’s taking some stuff out on her 16 year old. A 16 year old who is a downright remarkable girl. This is a kid who reads an entire book in one day and spent three days last summer baking cookies to give to homeless shelters. Just because her and her friends thought it would be a nice thing to do. No one told them to do it. They just did it.

So what the hell? Why is my sister so hard on her? So critical and hard to please? Granted, the kid forgets to to the laundry sometimes and might not do the dishes one night becuase she’s pissed at you and wants to make a point. The child KNOWS what her father has done, she KNOWS everything and has been given load no child should ever be asked to carry. She’s coping well but holy shit, mom, help a kid out. Don’t crap on her head every time you see her.

It’s a case of stress affecting behavior on both sides. My sister isn’t completely recovered herself and has never, to be honest, been very good at considering how other people feel. There is nothing to which she is not central. When the Queen of England takes a shit the backward swirl of her toilet gives my sister a headache.

I’m always somehow in the middle of it when my sister’s life takes turns. She bobs, I weave, we wind our way through the minefield that is her perceived existence. I’m happy to do it because otherwise, frankly, people would be losing limbs and whatnot. I offer my advice and give direction intended to feel gentle but meant to be absolute and as I do so I take personal stock of my own life, my own actions.

I hate the way she treats her teenager. I hate it with every breath I take. This child was the first among my siblings. I remember when she was born as though it was a few weeks ago. I still see in her the possibilities of a future unmarked by the mistakes of her family. I am angered that she is being treated the way she is and it makes me really think. How often have I let my own moods, fears, stresses, anxieties etcetera affect how I treat my own kids? Could I revisit my own behavior to see if there is perhaps room for improvement. Because anyone giving advice had better been willing to take it themselves else they have no business opening their mouths.

Every step along my sister’s path has been a learning experience for me as well. I have expectations of her that I must also demand of myself. I respect her need for moments of weakness that I must also be willing to grant myself (and those around me).

I hate that my sister is being an asshole but if she wasn’t I probably wouldn’t be thinking about how I’ve been treating my own kids and I may not have taken the time to give them a picnic on the driveway today. I’m not feeling well and probably would have put them in front of the TV and asked them to leave me alone. It’s thanks to my sister I remembered to think beyond myself and be the mom I mean to be and not the mom I am by circumstance and accident. I’m grateful for that. So are my kids.