You were......wonderful. Yeah, wonderful.

Yesterday my family and I packed up and headed to our two oldest sons' hot, stinky elementary school gym to watch our oldest son play in his first concert.  (He plays the cello....for now.)

The proud mother in me wants go on and on about how wonderful it was, but the proud mother in me would be lying. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm super proud of my son.  He's one of only two cellists in the band.  He's only played for half the school year, and he can read his sheet music and pick out songs by ear.  Unfortunately, because there are only two cellists in the band...most of the music the teacher chose didn't even have parts for them.  He got to play two short songs, and then had to sit back and let all the other musicians play all the big fun songs.  Third graders were only allowed to choose between the violin and the cello.....knowing my sanity couldn't handle the sound of an 8 year old learning the violin, I steered him toward the cello.  Next year, he plans to switch to the saxophone, and he wants a guitar for his birthday. 

All that being said......I was FAR from the only parent in that gym wincing in pain when the band started playing.  LOL.  I am always highly amused by the plastered on half-smile and the glazed, zombie eyed look of parents who are being held hostage in torturous situations by their love and pride for their children. 

At the end of the day, I'm glad my son has the opportunity to play and learn about music.  He loves it and it makes him more confident and better-rounded.  So sitting through horrible elementary school band concerts with a smile plastered on my face while I secretly play Spades on my phone is a small price to pay. 

Invisible Mother

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response,  the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?'

Obviously not; no one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible.. The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more! Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this??

Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer,  'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.'

Some days I'm a crystal ball; 'Where's my other sock?, Where's my phone?, What's for dinner?'

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history, music and literature -but now, they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, she's gone!?

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. She had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when she turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.' It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe.

I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: 'With admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'

In the days ahead I would read - no, devoured - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: 1) No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names. 2) These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. 3) They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. 4) The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A story of legend in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof, No one will ever see it And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.'

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does.

No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, no Cub Scout meeting, no last minute errand is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for 3 hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, he'd say, 'You're gonna love it there...'

Happy Mother's Day!

Heartsick

One of my friend's from back home is experiencing something that absolutely no parent should ever have to experience.....the loss of her two-year old daughter.

I never met her little girl.  I've seen her pictures.  She was absolutely beautiful.  She looked a lot like her mother, and if she had even a quarter of her mother's personality, spunk, and optimism, then this world has lost something precious and rare and we are all worse off for it.  

I can't begin to imagine what my friend going through.  I just can't.  I look at my precious babies and the thought of life without one of them instantly makes me physically ill.  My friend is living that reality now, and I wish there was something that I, or anyone, could do to alleviate the devastation she must feel.  I hope that the outpouring of love and support that is coming from everyone who knows them will provide at least a little comfort to the family in the time to come. 

Tina Fey's "Mother's Prayer for her Children"

“First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen.Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.” 

-Tina Fey

Via:  Bossypants
(Which I desperately want to read)

Why is this so hard to understand?

Today, one of my favorite feminist writers, Jessica Valenti, posted a link to her most recent "The Daily" article on Facebook.  Entitled "Daddy Issues", this article explains how until our culture stops treating parenting as 'women's work' and holding fathers to a much lower standard than mothers, we will never have a society where truly responsible parenthood is embraced by men. 

Everyone should read it.

I've known a lot fathers.  I've known a few men (and women) who shouldn't be allowed near the children they've helped conceive.  But I've known far more men who were good guys, but mediocre to down right crappy fathers...and the vast majority of those fathers thought that they were good - even great - dads.  And furthermore, they were never called on their mediocrity by their family or friends.  In fact, they were generally lauded as good fathers just simply because they spent any amount of time with their children at all. 

This, in my humble opinion, is complete and total crap. 

Changing diapers, bathing and dressing children, feeding them, taking them to doctor's and dental appointments, volunteering at their schools, helping them with homework, teaching them the thousands of things that they need to know in order to live and be happy in this world......all of these things are what PARENTS do.  Not just mothers.  If you have a child, and you're not doing ALL of these things on a regular basis......then you aren't being a responsible parent. 

Just so everyone knows

14 year old Bangladeshi girl raped, then charged with Adultery and lashed to death.

11 year old girl viciously and repeatedly gang-raped by as many as 18 men.  The men videotaped the attack and sent it around.  Much victim-blaming ensues, lots of worry about how this will affect the guys' lives. 

Another 11 year old gang-raped, this time in a California park bathroom.

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Next time someone gives me shit about being a feminist, I'm gonna punch them in the fucking throat.

M&M's were the key the whole time....who knew?!

So.  We are one week and two days into Operation Potty Train, and don't look now, but I think we're actually making headway!  Holla!

My middle son had a "100 Days of School" project due this week where we had to send in ten groups of ten of something small.  So this weekend, we went out and got a HUGE bag of M&M's (because I drastically overestimated what 100 M&Ms would look like) and his dad taught him how to aim at marshmellows in the toilet (because that's a talent I just don't have) and - wha lah! - instant potty training success!

I didn't even know The Tyrant liked M&Ms.

He hasn't had a pee accident in days.  He's even wearing big boy underwear now!!


 Poo, on the other hand....

We had our first and, so far only, poo accident last night.  I noticed him hunched over something he was hiding in his hand, slinking towards the bathroom, and I asked him what he had.  He looked at me all seriously with this hilarious disgusted look on his face and said, "Don't looks Momma, it's so gross, just don't look." 

Aww.  Thanks for thinking of me, Little Man.  Neither of your older brothers ever did.

File this under: WTF?!

Desperate to Be a Grandma, Woman Hires Man to Rape Daughter

And sadly, he succeeded in raping the young woman before the plan was found out.

Seriously.  What the fuck is wrong with people?!?!??  I understand that I will not be able to understand that whole amazing "grandmother feeling" until/unless I actually become a grandmother.  But having dealt with my fair share of grandmother insanity.....I'm fairly positive that I will be able to hold on to my sanity when my time comes to take up the mantle of "Grandmother".

 

If not, please euthanize me for the good of humanity.

I have a HUGE list of "fucking crazy grandparent stories"......luckily most of them aren't from my own personal experience.  It's really very lucky....because if some of the shit that I've seen happen to friends and family had happened to me....my kids wouldn't have any grandparents.  (I have epic grudge holding abilities.)

But this one really, really, really takes the cake.  I really hope that this young woman does not end up pregnant from this horrible experience.  But if she does, and if she decides to keep, love, and raise the child, then I fervently hope that she keeps it as far away from her mother as possible.  Especially if it's a girl  Because we all know what she's capable of if later down the road she decides that she just has to have a great-grandchild before she dies.

Potty training sucks....but at least he's not lonely.

My youngest son fell in love with his diaper at the ripe old age of "just fucking born"....and they have been a monogamous couple ever since.  He does not go without a diaper longer than it takes to get a bath.  And until recently, he also HAD to be fully dressed at all times.  I say until just recently because he has started taking off his shirt like his two older brothers at night when they are wrestling.

So.  He's been completely covered up since birth, got it?
Well today, I started forcing the potty training issue.  I took his diaper off at 8am and told him he could have them back at nap time and then again at bedtime.
Seriously.  Day One of potty training has been an epic fail.  He's peed three times....none of those times were in a potty.

I need a drink.

But he hasn't asked for a diaper since his hour long meltdown over losing them this morning.  Wanna know why?  He has a new friend.  And he really likes this new friend.  They've played Wii together, talked and gotten to know each other.  He even brought him over and introduced him to me while I was reading.  I'm just waiting for him to name it.  Wanna guess who his new friend is??

I'm just hoping his new friend is enough of a rebound to get him over his obsession with his diaper.  We can hope, right??

Sorry, no clever picture tonight....given the subject matter, I couldn't find one that would be appropriate.  Give me a break, I've had a rough day.