I've been having an on-going conversation with a very dear friend about the meanness of the world and the terrifying prospect of letting our kids go out into it alone. She and I are, in many ways, of a similar mind about the whole thing, but in the end, we will inevitably have different responses to our fear and here's what I want to say about my perspective on the whole thing:
I will admit, very freely, that I am an overprotective mother. I hate when my kids are out of my presence -- I spend a lot of time worrying about them, unless Tim is there, or unless they are in one place with someone I love and trust (you all know who you are, so don't go all wiggy on me about "do you trust me to keep them?" Pretty much, if I've left them with you, you're in the circle, and enough said about that issue I think. I don't have time to make a detailed list right now!) I especially hate when they have to ride with someone who is not me or Tim -- though again, if we are all in the vehicle together it feels somehow different, even if we are not driving.
So I really hate when somebody wants to take them somewhere without me. Why, I think to myself, do you need to take them anywhere without me? What do you want/need to do with them that I can't be there to participate in? I begin feeling very suspicious about that whole request -- I realize I limit the fun sometimes, but I need my kids to be following my rules, even if I'm not there and it's hard for me to be trusting when I know folks are deliberately setting the usual rules and expectations aside. It makes me mad and it's frustrating because I know my kids -- I know what they can and can't really do. I know, because I deal with it every day, that Mara is just a little bit clumsy and needs a spotter on the playground when she's climbing stuff because she tends to freeze when she feels herself slipping. I know that Matty has no fear at all and will climb all the way to the top of the most dangerous play structure with complete grace and then attempt to free-fall off the top if you aren't watching him carefully. I know that he will not listen if you ask him to stop running into the street and that he runs much faster than it looks like his chubby little legs should be able to carry him. I know that if they eat lollipops at 3:30, they are still going to be sugared up at 8 and that one sucker means Matthew then knows a word for sucker ("uck") which he will scream for over the next three days until I want to ban them from the planet. I know that simple rules broken at somebody else's house will have big consequences for the rest of our lives at our house and I hate having to spend weeks fixing one little "harmless spoiling" incident from somewhere else. (stop trying to read between the lines to figure out if I'm talking about you in particular, I'm just giving examples)
And while they are still little, I am going to keep on being overprotective as hell, in part because that's my job right now. My role in life is to keep them safe, even if means I often over-react to simple things and don't let them do every single thing they (or somebody else) think/s they want/ought to do.
But, I am also beginnng to anticipate a time when I have to start being brave and learning, a little at a time, to let them go. Because I know that time is coming all too soon. Matthew helps, some, with this whole problem, because he has no fear and no regard for danger in any form, including gravity. I feel justified, at least to some extent, in helping him find a rational level of concern for his bodily self. And I think this is another way he is a gift to me from the universe. I didn't want a boy, but now I wouldn't trade him for all the girl-children of my dreams. He is a constant reminder to me of the joy of fearlessness -- of delight in the physical world -- both of which I am too apt to forget.
And he helps me remember that Mara needs to see me being fearless too. She is my Wemberly. She worries and worries and thinks and then worries some more, and what's more disturbing is the way she is constantly watching me, to see how I will react to things. When we take a wrong turn or it's taking longer to get where we're going than she expected, she will ask anxiously "are we lost?" And I always pipe up cheerfully, "nope, just having an adventure!" and her face relaxes and she's okay again. So when I am feeling scared, I have to remember how much she's watching and listening and taking in, even when I think she doesn't really understand. Lots of stuff she doesn't understand, but I can't ever be sure -- so I have to be extra brave to help her enjoy the world a little without worrying all day long.
But ye gods it's hard!!! I know what a hateful place the world can be -- it's mean out there and we're already seeing that in our own careful little circle -- but short of building her a Rapunzel tower, I don't know how to protect her except by giving her gifts of confidence and strength and a brave example to follow. She has words in plenty, and that will help some as she learns to negotiate, and we are working on skills of compromise with some success just now. And knowing how mean small kids can be, I hate the idea of her having to work things out on her own -- I mean this is a kid who will cry because you ROAR at her in play...
But I also wonder, sometimes, if she won't learn more by getting out there and having her fragile feelings hurt and seeing that she can survive, even when they roar, even when they run away, or say mean things, or try to not let her play. Right now she is a delicate flower and still needs me to run interference -- but I can't be there every minute for the rest of her life, so don't I need to help her learn those skills RIGHT NOW when I'm watching and helping her and letting her know she has backup when she needs it? Right now I have to help her understand she will survive -- right now, when the stakes are pretty minor overall.
Sure, she is going to have hurt feelings when the mean kids roar. Yes, she is going to have some tears fall over those bad days and the inevitable kids who like to make other kids cry. But she is also going to recover from those days, perhaps more speedily now than she might later, and I guess I just wonder if it makes more sense to help her learn how to get over the mean kids when the issues are just a little less life- and sanity-threatening. Better, it feels right now, to learn to deal with bullies and disregard, than to be thrown in with it at the teen-age level when everything else feels so chaotic too. Right now she is confident enough about her own desires and her own interests that she can take a stand -- with a little nudging from behind -- and get back up again when the stand falls down. In another nine years, I'm afraid I'll feel less sure and moreover, I'm afraid she'll be less sure then too!
So, when I hear folks talk about how their kids will be eaten alive, or would never survive a given social situation, I get really nervous on all our kids' behalf. Because what if I'm giving off that vibe too? And what if they decide to believe it? What if they all start thinking they are only fragile flowers forever? What if they choose a life lived in fear and never venture out at all? What if we are the ones who make them scared to even try?
A life lived in fear is no life at all. And that's why we have to stifle our fears when the fairy children are around. We have to be strong women and fix the toilets our own damn selves. We have to be brave enough to drive the U-haul truck and do the taxes and pay the bills and step up when the bullies wave their bad selves around. We have to do it so they know we're not afraid. Even when we are a little bit afraid, we have to show them how to try. We have to show them we believe in who they are and what they can be: strong, kind, creative, imaginative, loving, clever, beautiful, joyful, resilient, brave.
And sometimes, the thought of all that makes me cry. Just a little. Quietly, in the parking garage, but only when the kids can't see.
Hmmm, not quite sure what to blog about tonight, but definitely feeling the need for bloggage.
So we'll start here: thanks for catching up with the blog Mom, and a continuing thanks to my other loyal readers for sticking with me even when I don't manage to write for weeks (and even when you don't feel an urge to comment, which is okay too). I like knowing ya'll are out there at the other end of my keyboard -- or sloshing around in my head, whichever feels best to you.
In other news...
Got back to the studio Friday night (thanks Tim!) and threw from the reclaim bucket with incredible success. Reclaim clay is stuff that others have discarded -- either they were throwing and are too lazy to wedge afterwards (that's when you slam and knead the clay to get all the air out) so they just dump it in the reclaim and buy new stuff (must be nice... though I really kinda like wedging) and it's just there, available. So I availed myself of it and threw three small pots, all of which I kept, and it was delightful -- deliciously slimy, which means I don't have to use so much water to keep it moving.
The clay I bought two weeks ago, which I couldn't throw with AT ALL, I've brought home to do some handbuilding when the studio is closed and I can't throw. We'll see what I do with that. Not sure yet what I want to try, maybe some slab work...
The stuff I had thrown at the end of class went into the bisque fire on Friday morning, so it should be ready to glaze on Tuesday. Very exciting! Those were really some of my best pieces and I'm interested to see how they come out, now that I have a better sense of how the glaze works (or doesn't).
I can't think what else to write about that won't take hours. I'm too tired now to come up with much that's philosophically thrilling and want to play my new dumb computer game anyway. So forgive me for ditching now and have a great day!
Okay, this is kinda dumb, but I've made two discoveries today and wanted to share them both.
The first is just a yummy: Ben & Jerry's latest flavor is called Primary Berry Graham and it's fabulous. They have my vote (heh-heh-heh) with this one! It's strawberry cheesecake ice cream with strawberries and a graham crumb swirl and it's divine. Very creamy, but also smooth and fruity. Also, this week on sale for $2.88 a container, which is why I tried it.
The second is my new best friend: Mr Clean Eraser cleaning sponges, which absolutely ERASES crayon in an instant. Matthew, following his older sister's example, decided to muralize this morning and made a huge drawing (like four feet by 2 feet) on the wall above his crib. Then, when released from the crib continued on the door to their room, Mara's dresser, and the door frame. "Why," I know you are asking, "did you not just take away the crayons?"* And the answer is that I am a selfish woman who just wanted to take a shower without listening to screaming from my almost 2 year old while I washed my hair. In any event, while the eraser thingies are probably toxic and dreadful, they sure do a hell of a job taking off crayon marks! Yippee, because I have tried just about everything else and all I was getting rid of was paint -- the crayon stubbornly stuck around in the gooey mess that had been my pristine living room wall. One word of warning, however, they are not great on dark paint. My dining room (which is painted "Limoges Blue") now has a lighter colored smear where the crayon used to be. But no more crayon, so there's one bright side anyway.
I'm getting more ice cream and going to bed. Not sure why, there's nothing to get up for, except keeping the kids out of Tim's hair. He has the tummy crud now, but at least we don't have to keep waiting for the other shoe to drop and he is taking a sick day, which NEVER happens. Cross your fingers for us, I am about tired of all this plague in our neighborhood!
*For those of you who are instead asking, "why is it a problem for him to draw on the walls? He is developing artistically and you must never stifle creativity by limiting the media in which children can explore and experiment" let me just say that while I applaud you for your child-centered, free-thinking attitude, I am also not willing to live in a house (newly painted by me in the past year) that's covered in scribbles at knee level. There is paper (of many shades and textures and cardboard and the front sidewalk) available in abundance around our house and everyone can feel free to be expressive there instead. Thanks for the input though.
I am a member of an organization
(okay, I'll admit it, it's a club. Specifically a club for moms, but we don't exclude anybody, if they're a mom anyway, and why would you want to join such a club if you weren't a mom in the first place, so to me it doesn't feel all that clubby but anyway, that's what it is, a club for moms. It is, in fact, a moms club, if you will, but I'm not naming names or anything...)
and there are some folks (who are also moms, go figure) who used to be members of this organization and who are no longer with us. They are still alive (I think), they just didn't want to be in the group anymore, and I can respect that, we all have stuff to do, we all have a limited time in which to do that stuff and maybe you don't need a mommy group as desperately as I do, so whatever. Do what works for you, I got no problem with that.
But here's the yucky part: at least one of these (supposedly) grown-up women left the group because of me. Because I'm (again supposedly) a huge bitch with a bad attitude. I laugh scornfully at this notion -- or maybe I don't, because if I did, wouldn't that just prove I was huge bitch with a bad attitude? I dunno...
Anyway, this whole thing happened almost exactly a year ago and I have given it surprisingly little thought. I will admit, when the reasons for leaving were first revealed, I was hurt and shocked and felt a need to re-examine my behavior to the individual in question. I took stock, checked in with some buddies, and decided I had been the good person in the whole debacle and didn't need to go back and re-live 7th grade again, which seemed to be what was going on in the situation. At any rate, I've been pretty okay about it for the last 8 months or so.
Then today we were having our organization meeting and a couple of the "lost" people came up -- where were they? Why had they left? Should we make overtures to ask them to come back? Didn't we miss them after all? and so forth. And I finally had to say, "no, there is no point because they don't like me and aren't coming back unless I leave, which I don't really want to do, though I will, if that seems like a good idea to the larger group." Which hurt. I didn't like having to say that -- I didn't like having to admit that anybody dislikes me enough to drop 30 other friends because they don't want to be infected by my bad attitude, or whatever.
Luckily my womyn stepped up, as usual, and got my back, and we could laugh about how idiotic this whole thing was and the larger group (though it was admittedly not that large today) did say it would be boring without me and stuff...
But here's what I have to say to all the folks who don't like me (it's an excerpt from Liz Phair's latest album and I heard it on the way home tonight):
You may not believe in me
But I believe in you
So I still take the trash out
Does that make me too normal for you?
So dig a little deeper, cause
You still don't get it yet
See me lickin' my lips, need a primitive fix
And I'll make, I'll make you love me
I am extraordinary, if you'd ever get to know me
I am extraordinary, I am just your ordinary
Average every day sane psycho
Supergoddess
Average every day sane psycho
Supergoddess
See me jump through hoops for you
You stand there watching me performing
What exactly do you do?
Have you ever thought it's you that's boring?
Who the hell are you?
I am extraordinary, if you'd ever get to know me
I am extraordinary, I am just your ordinary
Average every day sane psycho
Supergoddess
Average every day sane psycho
Bad attitude my ass! Like I'm the one with the attitude problem! Sheesh. Grow the fuck up already! (okay, maybe I do have a teensy attitude problem, but wouldn't you? I mean really....)
I had a realization the other day, which was this: I am, fundamentally, a pessimistic optimist. In the great cosmic scheme of things, I believe in good. I believe that the best can come from a bad situation. I believe we can find solutions for problems and make our lives turn in the directions we want them to.
I just think sometimes it takes a hellishly long time. And I also think it's hard to see the long term stuff from here and now. So what does that make me? Nuts? Probably.
For example, I am terrible with parties. I hate hosting events because I spend the weeks and days leading up to them in a complete PANIC -- something will go wrong, I won't have planned enough ahead, there won't be enough food, there won't be things everyone likes, no one will talk to each other, no one will want to talk to me -- it's a nightmare. So there I am a pessimist. On the other hand, call me up and say, "hey, lets all bring stuff for spaghetti at your house" and I'll be terrific on-the-spot. We'll make it work. It'll be great! And usually it is. But only because I didn't have time to worry about it.
This may explain why I like to be out and doing stuff. At home I think too much. At home I worry about ridiculous stuff that makes no sense. When I'm out, I'm preoccupied by all the stuff I have to remember -- where are we going, do I have clothes for everyone, do I have enough "rocks" for the whole trip (though Matty is finally saying "juuus" and "miik" instead of the more generic "rock" when he'd like a drink) parking is also a great distraction. I can plan parking strategies for hours...
I am a very freaky person some days. But I think it will be okay. Eventually.
I have a deal for you, you do the crazy doctoring and I'll do the crazy mommying (with home repairs), 'kay?
Just being silly...
A lag bolt, for all of you wondering why I haven't responded yet, is a big ol' bolt that you would use for building something like a swingset out of pressure-treated wood, or (when used correctly in recent improvements to this house) to put up hand-rails on a big beautiful back deck so the f'ing house "meets" FHA "standards" (feel free to read in heavy sarcasm there).
There are different sizes, but the one putatively holding down our toilet is about as thick as your pinky finger with a hexagonal shaped bolt head at the top, and about 2.5 - 3 inches long. It's the kind of bolt with a very pointed end for screwing into a solid surface, unlike a regular bolt, which you'd plan to put a nut on the other end of.
And that's a lag bolt.
Now remind me about psychotic episodes? What are those again? Hee hee...
Kym went with me to my pottery class final pot-luck and pick up your finished pieces party. It was awesome. My pieces are awesome. shhh, don't tell anybody, but my stuff was the best. There was certainly a lot of it...
Glazing was an interesting experience. I only had one piece come out down-right ugly and Tim disagrees with me about that. He says the ugly shiny green glaze (which was labelled 'light blue') is very "interesting," but remember, that's what Mrs. Lemley, my 7th & 8th grade art teacher used to say about anything that was weird or difficult to comment on positively.
Nice poem, I like the title.
Or something like that. In any case, it was terrific to have Kym along at the party, I wish I could have taken you all! When I can get digi-cam help, I'll upload some pictures of the finished works.
I need more practice, but I did a pretty good job overall I think. Yay me!
Thanks everybody who has been sending good vibes and also to my gift certificate folks for making it possible. I love pottery! And all of you too!
Several folks have commented in person that they disagree with me about the president's intellectual powers. In every case, I have started the conversation in a very annoyed frame of mind and then realized that what each person actually seemed to mean is that calling him a moron is too easy.
Because then he would have an excuse and be deserving of pity and special social services. If he were really that imbecilic, we would want to be thinking about long term care issues and how we could help the poor dear without hurting his feelings about being such a challenged fellow. We might even be proud of him for having gotten so far with so few actual skills.
But that's not really the case is it? I have come to realize, over the past week, that President George Walker Bush is not in fact a moron. He is, instead, a very bad person in full possession of his not unsubstantial faculties. I believe that he is lazy and doesn't take time to find out all the facts. I also believe that his actions will have lasting and devastating results for our country and our world, and while he can surely see these facts as facts, I believe he just doesn't give a red hot damn. And in my mind, that's just evil. To have the kind of resources at your disposal, to be able to do good in the world and resolutely choose the opposite? What kind of mind is this???
And today I discovered that someone I've known for four years, someone who put herself forth as a liberal funky mama is not only a registered Republican, she actually voted for Bush in 2000 and didn't seem bothered by admitting it. After choking down my disbelief, I muttered something cowardly about the difficulty of the two-party system and its limitations, blah blah blah. All the while, feeling chill run down my spine...
I have hated myself for the cowardice all afternoon.
Morons. Sometimes I am one of them.