Um...What?!

It's a pretty normal Saturday morning for my house. We are all just getting up and around. After a time with coffee, I grab my computer to tune in to work. As a college instructor, my work hours are scattered randomly throughout home time, as I try to keep up with emails, grading, and class prep. 

Email comes first. And what I read has left me stunned. I'm really struggling and have come here to try to sort it out. 

A synopsis of what I read is this...The University of Michigan-Flint is making "historic" changes to faculty and staff awards that were created to specifically acknowledge women and people of color. These awards have been deemed illegal and against the policy of discrimination based on gender and race. So instead of setting aside some resources to acknowledge faculty and staff from historically under-represented groups (especially in higher education and academia), these awards are now open to all. In an institution where white, male privilege runs rampant, it has now been determined that white males have been "discriminated against".  To add insult to injury, the author of the email (and implied crusader of the movement) is a white male. (Enter eye roll here). Even more rich, he's a professor of finance and economics. 

Hence, the title of this post. Um...What?! 

What the hell does a white male professor of business and economics know about racial and gender discrimination?  Please note that this is a rhetorical question because the answer is nothing. When a rich, white, male complains that he is being discriminated against by policies that work to fix imbalances caused by actual discrimination, I have a visceral rage reaction.  

Racial and gender discrimination is based on literally hundreds (maybe thousands) of years of prejudice attitudes against these groups. It is a result of power inequality and longstanding beliefs that those in power have gained that power because they deserve it. They are superior beings and their higher qualities have gained them the power they have received. With these attitudes, it easily follows that those not in positions of power do not have the superior qualities. They are inferior and deserve their lower existence in life.  Any effort to rebalance this power dynamic are consistently met with the kind of resistance expected from those who wish to keep their positions of power. 

Let me say it this way. Never in the existence of America have white males been on the receiving end of discrimination. They cannot be. It's impossible because they have always been and continue to remain in power. They can be victims of stereotypes and prejudice, just like everyone else. But the discrimination that we are fighting against does not apply to them because discrimination is about power...and they still hold it. 

It seems that there is this movement to change the definition of discrimination to mean simply treating anyone differently. We are no longer allowed to treated anyone differently. We must treat everyone equally. But seeking equity between groups is not solved by treating everyone equally. I am reminded of this simple graphic.

 

So, yeah. I'm kinda pissed. Changing policies to be equal creates inequity (See above graphic if you still don't understand). So now, these acknowledgements meant to help women and people of color share in an equitable environment have been erased. The impact will be that less woman and people of color get acknowledged, less get promoted, less are placed in positions of administrative power, and inequity remains. 

Happy 7th, Cole!

Seven seems like such a big number. When I used to think of seven year old boys, I have to admit I didn’t like them much. I always thought that kids started getting less cute and more annoying at around this age.

Can you believe I thought that?

Now that you have reached this age, I not only find that you are still cute...you are also hilarious! Although, I will say that you are lucky your mom thinks fart jokes are funny.

You are definitely a boy who wears his feelings on his sleeve. It appears that all of my effort in teaching you words for your emotions has paid off because you are VERY good at telling us how you feel. Maybe too good. I don’t think we would mind if you dialed it back a little.  :)

This past school year, we have watched with pride as you continued to excel in reading. Every spelling test that came home was a perfect score. You find math to be “too hard” and I noticed that you expected more out of your 6-year-old brain than is possible.  I have become a bit concerned about blooming perfectionism. Both your father and I have struggled with perfectionism in our own way and I hate to see that you seem to have inherited the trait. I have watched you give up on something when it’s too much of a challenge and you chastise yourself excessively when you make mistakes. A new (and very disturbing) trend is that you call yourself “a bad person” when we talk to you about a poor choice or a problem behavior. I wish I could literally pluck those thoughts out of your head. They break my heart. I know the price of perfectionism and I don’t wish it on anyone.

There were some milestones that you reached this year. You lost your first tooth in December. I was six when I lost my first tooth, too. Late bloomers, I guess. Here we are on your 7th birthday and you still haven’t lost your two front teeth (only one...very recently).

You also found your first best friend, Levi. You rode the bus to school together and sat together in Mrs. Malenich’s class. You even both went to each other’s summer birthday parties. When I was your age, I was not able to make close friends. I was too shy. For this reason, I deeply value friendships and am delighted that you have a best friend.

You also joined cub scouts very soon after school started. I considered it a trial year because I was unsure of how you would like it. So far, it’s been a lot of fun. We’ve had a chance to go to many day camps where you experienced tons of awesome new things. We have hiked, shot a bow and arrow, went ice fishing, wore snow shoes, and shot candies with a sling shot. You beamed with pride as you built a birdhouse using the screwdriver all by yourself. This weekend, we are going to your first overnight camp together as a family. Looks like you’re in for next year.

Your newest adventure might be trying to make YouTube gaming videos. Your favorite YouTuber is DanTDM. A good portion of your year was spent with blue hair, just like Dan. We even had a chance to go see him do a live show in Detroit earlier this year. That was quite a treat. While we have the equipment to do videos, your momma doesn’t exactly have the time. I wonder how other kids do it because you and I literally spent a whole day trying to make one video.

I hope this next year comes with many more adventures. I love watching you be who you are, so unapologetically Cole. I will always love that about you.

With Love,

Momma

When is it enough?

At the risk of my dear step-children one day reading this, I have a deep sense of urgency to express this is writing. I can no longer keep it inside of myself as I am finding it destructive.

I will preface my thoughts with a very simple statement. The biological mother of my step-children suffers from a very severe personality disorder (Cluster B for those who know personality disorders). I’m not kidding or saying that in jest. She is incapable of seeing the negative impact that she has on others. She uses emotional manipulation and psychological control to maintain the loyalty of her children. She instinctively creates dramatically destructive situations and lays blame to everyone but herself (including the children). Her daughter has resorted to emotional insulation and escape behaviors to manage her anxiety. Her son withdraws emotionally in general but is quick to overreact when his own negative emotions become too much for him to bear.

She has been jailed twice for domestic violence (both of which were witnessed by the children) and allowed a previous boyfriend to assault her son as a form of punishment. CPS has completed two investigations and is currently completing another one. Each time (and I’m sure this time as well) ending with the “consequence” of parenting and/or anger management classes. Both of which are clearly useless to the personality disordered who invariably and intractably believe that they are not wrong and do not need to change.

So I ask this with a level of desperate frustration that I cannot fully express. When will it be enough? At what point will someone with the authority to back it up finally say that she cannot parent? My mind is continually brought to this case in my own hometown.

http://www.mlive.com/news/flint/index.ssf/2016/07/mother_charged_in_connection_t.html

In this case, there were “multiple previous contacts with CPS over allegations of physical neglect, medical neglect, lack of supervision, physical abuse and having a drug-exposed infant.” Only after this mother killed her 4-year-old son, did anyone bother to take any of her 7 children away from her. Everyone knew. The authorities, CPS, neighbors. It took a child’s death for someone to say, “Hey, this woman can no longer parent”. This is the example of child protection that is held in my community. A mother’s rights to be a horrific parent remain active until she kills one of her children.

My husband and I took the fight to the courts. After 6 months, over $5000 in lawyer fees, and a comment from our lawyer that we were “fortunate to get the deal”, we were merely able to increase our parenting time to almost 50%. Our lawyer lamented openly that Genesee County is very conservative and tends to prioritize a mother’s relationship with the children.

So there it is. With our hands tied and our hearts breaking, we watch as the system fails our children. In the one-half of their lives that we are allowed to have, we desperately try to counteract her toxicity with whatever we have to offer them. Security. Stability. Open communication. Support. Family….and Hope that it is enough.

Birthday Message

One more year is gone my dear. I want to tell you how proud I am to be your mother.

This year, you completed kindergarten with flying colors. You’re reading at the 1st grade level and completed all of the math levels available for kindergartners. You made friends and even got your first crush (Emma). Being in school is tough for you but you stick through it like a champ. You really don’t like all the “paperwork” and really, I don’t blame you. Your teacher, Mrs. Baksa had to call home once this year because you were consistently not completing your work. I felt bad for you because concentrating on something so boring is about the hardest thing you have to do. Everything else comes easy. It was simply amazing watching you learn to read. You beamed with pride every time you found a word that you could read and that list grew with lightning speed throughout the year. I’m so glad that reading comes easy for you. It will make the rest of your learning experiences more positive and fulfilling for you.

This year, you also got a couple new baby cousins. Since you’ve been “the baby” for more than five years, we worried how you would respond to a new baby. You made your mommy so proud as you showed love, concern, and genuine care for Miss Ellie Bellie. You love her truly, miss her when she’s gone, and show excitement when she’s coming over. You’re an awesome kid.

As your parents, our main challenge has been your fierce independence and quick temper. We have had to make many changes in our parenting style in order to maintain peace in our household. Your father has made the most changes as he is used to his style working so well with Emily and Dylan. But, boy does it not work with you. You require gentle guidance and suggestions, rather than commands. You respond with fire when you believe someone is “telling you what to do”. You require a full explanation as to why a particular action is necessary and if you accept the explanation, you will happily oblige. If you do not accept it...well...good luck to us.

Being a blended family has begun to settle very unwell with you. You argue vehemently that your brother and sister should always live with us because “that’s the way it’s supposed to be”. You have desperately tried to figure out where to direct your anger about this situation. At first, it was my fault, then your dad, then the kid’s mom. Someone “deserved” your anger and was going to get it. We’ve all tried our best to help you accept the situation as it is even though it sucks. Unfortunately, your brain doesn’t work that way and you continue to argue your point of view. It breaks my heart to see you struggle and know that this is life...there’s nothing I can do.

On a happy note, your 6th year will be starting off with a bang because tomorrow we are officially adopting our new dog, Chewy. He has stayed at our house for the last week and the whole family’s in love. In one short week, I’ve watched as you sacrificed for him and put him first. You have taken your responsibility as “his boy” seriously and I hope he’s everything you need in a friend at home.

Happy 6th Birthday, my super hero

Love, Momma

Enough is Enough

I usually don’t use this format to voice my thoughts on societal issues but I have been unable to think about much else since the Brock Turner sentencing. This one case exemplifies so many of our societal ills: our biased criminal justice system, issues of privilege and race, and of course, our deeply ingrained injustices regarding sexual assault.

This man was caught in the act of one of the most extreme forms of sexual assault. He was appropriately convicted (which in itself is difficult to do in this country). And then slapped on the wrist because the judge is concerned about the negative impact that prison might have on him. Since when do we so thoughtfully consider the negative impact of prison on convicted criminals? We don’t. That is, except when the criminal is white and privileged.

Then there is the issue of sexual assault. This man went looking for a victim. He admittedly wanted to “hook up” with someone at this party and found the easiest victim to pick off. To me, this defines him as a rapist even before he committed any rape. Because rape is a mindset. If your intent is to figure out a way to trick, convince, or otherwise coerce a woman into having sex with you...you are a rapist, regardless of whether you have ever been successful. You have the mentality of a rapist and it is just a matter of time before you rape someone. The fact that this otherwise “good boy” could turn into a rapist is very simply the result of a rape culture.

Our culture consistently sends messages that women are objects of a man’s sexual desire and men are reduced to sexual predators. As objects, it is a woman’s duty and responsibility to guard her sexuality. In most cases, she is considered unfit to do so and needs to be protected by a male authority figure (i.e., those ridiculous memes of fathers protecting their daughters by threatening teenage boys with guns). When women are not successful in guarding their sexuality, they are either blamed for their victimhood or shamed for their promiscuity. There’s no way that a woman can have a healthy view of herself sexually. She’s either a failure or a slut.

The messages men receive regarding their sexuality are no less twisted. The cultural expectation that they be predators is everywhere. Viewing women as prey and sex as conquering that prey. As predators, their responsibility is to “get” sex by any means necessary. Sex is the objective. The woman doesn’t matter. Brock Turner’s victim said it very well when she reflected that if she had not gone to that party, this still would have happened. It just would have happened to someone else. If a man is not successful in conquering their prey, they are seen as weak and their manhood diminished. Portraying men in this way is just as disgusting and inaccurate as over-sexualizing women’s bodies. Women are more than their sexuality. Men are more than their sexuality. Everyone should be offended by these images and messages but very few actually are offended. The ones that speak up are marginalized through negative labeling (“crazy feminist”).

On the personal side, I have always known that I was more than my sexuality. However, I’ve been reduced to my sexuality over and over again. In my teens, there was the seemingly constant question of whether I was “still a virgin”. Once word got out that I wasn’t, boys suddenly showed interest in me. In my twenties, it became increasingly clear to me that no man would just be interested in me as a friend (with, of course, a handful of exceptions). If they showed interest, they were immediately deterred if I was already in a relationship. If we moved into a relationship, it fizzled quickly if we weren’t having sex. I will openly admit that this made me connect my personal value to sex. If I emphasized my sexuality towards men, I was valuable to them. If I didn’t, I was expendable and not worth getting to know. With this reflection, I am not in any way blaming the men in these situations. They are subjected to the same cultural pressures and expectations as I am and my insecurity is in no way their fault. I only reflect that these messages impacted me and my self-esteem greatly. And I can’t imagine that I’m alone in this.

The pattern of over-sexualizing women and reducing men to animals is so deeply ingrained into our cultural identity that we hardly even notice it. As long as these messages and images remain at the forefront of our media, we will continue to have cases exactly like Brock Turner. The only thing special about this rape is that Brock was caught. How many other rapes happened that night with other men looking to “hook up” and other women not realizing that they were about to be victims? The answer is easily in the thousands. Maybe not at Stanford, or in California, but count every rape on every college campus during or after a frat party and it’s easily thousands of cases of rape. All because men feel pressure to prove their manhood through sexual exploits and a woman’s value is constantly reduced to her sexual attractiveness.

You're Big 5 Now.

      

As expected, loads of interesting things happened this year. 

You entered pre-school in September and attended 4 days per week until June. You tolerated it well enough, I suppose. I noticed that you didn’t much enjoy that kids don’t always play exactly what you want to play or in the way that you want. You find the large group atmosphere overwhelming and continue to attach yourself to a warm, quiet adult in the room. You don’t care much for constantly being told that it’s time to do something else, despite the fact that you aren’t done with what you are doing. Your teachers expressed some concern that you weren’t listening or paying attention. I know that you were just ignoring them because you didn’t want to hear them telling you what to do. You do it to me and Daddy all the time. I understand. Also, I could tell how much you were listening by how much you were learning. You consistently came home with a new song in your head that I have never heard before. You would teach it to me and then we would sing it together. You began to sound out letters, point out shapes, and counting continues to be one of your favorite things to do. Even though going to school was never your “favorite” and you would have rather been taken almost anywhere else, I really appreciate you being strong and brave, making friends, and doing your best. I can only hope that you find Kindergarten more tolerable.   

Very recently, I think you have begun to realize that 5 years old is a big deal. You have begun to voluntarily dress yourself, put on your shoes, attempt to put on your seat belt, and all sorts of other “by myself” activities. We still struggle a bit with you wanting Mommy to feed you, but there has been notable progress the closer we get to your birthday. You also recently wiped your own butt, despite your insistence throughout the year that you wouldn’t do so until you were 5.  Your favorite activities generally involve the water. You frequently go to the splash pad with Grandma Ruby, the beach, and fishing with Papa Bud. When we are stuck at home for some reason, a water gun fight, the hose, and a sprinkler will generally suffice. Your bike riding skills are becoming quite impressive. Your confidence shot up remarkably when you were given a set of pads and a helmet. I think you will be ready for those training wheels to come off when we get the bike out next spring. 

You are currently only two small inches away from being 4-foot tall and you wonder aloud if one day you will be bigger than Daddy or Dylan. People are still mistaking you for much older than you are. Questions usually involve what “grade” you are in. A nice older man at our garage sale this year asked if you were about seven. My baby boy is certainly gone.  But in his place is an active, boisterous, friendly, talkative, inquisitive, and sensitive boy that is adored my many. 

A wonderful example of how you touch people’s hearts lies in the relationship you formed with the custodian at your pre-school, Miss Connie. You would say goodbye every afternoon as we passed her cleaning cart. You would stop, show her what you had made that day, and tell her to have a good night. She stopped me several times to tell me what a sweet boy you are and how special you were to her. This meant the world to me because I never thought your teachers really saw who you are. They were too wrapped up in measuring what you can do. However, Miss Connie saw you… you are a beautiful little guy with a ton of heart. 

I’m proud of you. I’m proud of who are you becoming and I will forever hope that the world is able to see you as I do.

Happy 5th Birthday, Big Boy.                                                                           Love,  Mommy

    

Birthday Message

Prior to my blogging days, I wrote Cole a letter on his first and second birthday. For his third birthday? Well, let's just say I forgive myself for that. For his fourth birthday, it is just one day late... 

   Whoops, my sweet baby boy. Your third birthday flew by without me being able to stop to write a letter. I’m considering that a testament to how busy being two and three years old has been for us. This time has been marked most saliently by your ever growing size and verbal skills. When you meet new people, you are not shy. You will tell them any story that is on your mind. They marvel at your conversational skills and assume you are at least two years older than you are. Your height confirms that for them and they are simply shocked when they get the answer to their inevitable question, “How old are you?”  You are so social that I struggled with having “the stranger talk” with you. I didn't want to ruin your wonderful innocence as you approach others, but I also have a desperate need to keep you safe. Now, you’ll either ask if people are strangers or you will wait for us to greet them before you happily begin to talk to them. Another impressive skill has been your ability to pick up songs you hear. I have countless videos of you singing. Papa Bud recently commented that he believes you know the words to every song currently on the radio. I believe him. 

Before you turned three, we chose a new daycare for you that is on campus where I work. Despite high hopes, after six weeks, the stomach flu, and two bite injuries, we pulled you out. You've happily stayed home or with your grandparents ever since. Now that you've reached your preschool year, we have you signed up at a school nearby. We are hoping for a much more positive experience. 

I’ll be honest with you; three was a tough year. It was the year you decided that it was unacceptable for us to tell you no. We were either met with tears or anger. At times, throwing yourself dramatically to the floor. It has been difficult for you to get along with your brother because you insist that all toys are yours. On the other hand, I have witnessed you share generously with others so I’m calling this a “brother thing” and hoping you grow out of it. 

After struggling on-and-off with potty-training, Mommy took a stand after you turned three. I bought you underwear and a timer. Every hour you sat on the potty. We had to clean up a few messes but within a month, training was done. You’ve taken to the responsibility very well and now take care of business all by yourself (except for wiping). You’ve even very recently told me that you no longer need your potty seat. While you have taken well to being “a big boy” in the potty department, you have not taken so well to feeding yourself. You suddenly become unable to perform the smallest task when it’s mealtime and tell us adamantly that you are too little to feed yourself.  Mommy took another stand and yesterday, on your 4th birthday, every fork and spoonful came from your own hand. 

I couldn't be prouder of your developing taste buds. You eat raw green beans right out of the garden. Your favorite snacks include fresh mango, fruit and nut trail mix, and almond granola bars. You happily eat broccoli, peas, and sweet peppers, only turning your nose up consistently to tomatoes and potatoes.  Every ounce of these nutritious choices seem to go into making you taller, rather than adding any meat to your thin frame. 

This upcoming year will be our last before you go to school and begin your journey with best friends, teachers, and increasing independence. I have hopes that I will be able to change my work schedule so that I can participate in your experience as much as possible. While I understand and fully accept that you will increasingly need me less, you will also always know that I’m right here.  


Happy 4th Birthday, Sweet Boy.                                                    Love, Momma

P.S. You finally had your Dinosaur Party. Last year, you changed your mind at the last minute to Cars. :) 

Words have come

When my brother-in-law Gregg passed away suddenly on April 26th, I had no words. I cried with my family and found myself filling the day after with obsessively finding every picture I could of him.  Pictures have always been my solace and I was glad to have them that day, when I had nothing to say. But today, on his 50th birthday, I have things to say. 

It's hard to pinpoint when I first met Gregg. We grew up in the same neighborhood and suddenly, he was just there, driving around in his cool car with his cool friends trying to impress my sister. I'm 7 years younger than my sister, Charlene. So of course, when she was a teenager, nothing was more cool to me than anything she was doing. So hanging out in the driveway, or the yard, or the street, just waiting for Gregg and his friends to drive by and stop became a bit of a summertime pastime. At that time, what stood out most was how nice he was to me. At that age (I'm guessing around 8 or 9), not too many people were nice to me. I was too skinny, wore glasses, and was painfully shy. But he (and his friends) were nice to me. 

As Gregg watched me grow into my young teens, he became the guy that would give dirty looks to the boy in the neighborhood who was trying to impress me. If I looked sad or my sister told him a boy hurt my feelings, he would ask if I needed anyone beat up. His parents let me swim in their pool and they eventually became extended parts of our family. Gregg's father, Jim (who passed away from cancer in 2007) made a point to show his interest in my life at every family picnic or gathering. I always figured that Gregg got his personality from his father, who was always so warm, sweet, and caring. 

What bothers me a great deal about his absence from my life from this point forward is the impact that it will have on my children. When I married my husband in 2007, his two kids from his first marriage became part of my family. My family has been better than most, in my opinion, at embracing the children as their own and fully integrating them into our family. But I'm here to honor Gregg and who he is so I will focus on his part. While he was someone who the kids only saw a handful of times each year, he stood out to them in their memory. I was quickly reminded of the knack he has for making children feel special. He would talk to them at their level, and show kindness and respect that many people just don't have for children. He would get on the floor and play with them, whether it was Barbie's, Bey Blades, or just wrestling around. The kids remembered him even when they were younger and looked forward to seeing him because they knew it would be fun. That experience in their life is now only a memory. While I can help them cherish the memory, I'm saddened that the experience of having "Uncle Gregg" is no longer in their future. 

When I was talking to my 11-year-old, step-daughter Emily at the funeral home, I told her how glad I was that she had a chance to know Gregg. I was happy that she became part of my family so that she could know not only him but everyone in my family. I cherish them. I cherish him. Her family is small and distant and it grew both in numbers and love when she entered my family. I will be forever grateful that Gregg showed her what an uncle can be, made her feel important and special, just like he did for me when I was her age.  

I cannot even bring myself to imagine what my sister, niece, and nephew went through on that day. Or what they continue to go through today and every day. But I wanted to share this story with everyone who knew him because his family deserves to know how important he was to everyone. This was just my story. 

My Graduation Day. Pride in his face. Like a brother. 

Perspective

The latter half of 2013 is a bit blurry. While I had time to attend to my photo journal, my blog was left empty. Given the mental health value that I put into writing and reflecting, it doesn’t surprise me…looking back…that it was during this same time frame that I lost perspective. Many things were happening in both my personal and professional life. I won't bore anyone here with the details but suffice it to say that in September, I had my first panic attack. I don’t mean that I was anxious and overwhelmed. I mean that my body said “you’re done” and induced heart racing, nausea, blurred vision, and difficulty breathing, followed by sobbing that was so out of my control, it felt like I wasn’t inside my body. If the episode lasted just a few minutes longer, Dan would’ve had me in the car to the hospital. But it didn’t. It ended. Like all panic attacks do. It left me with the knowledge of what just happened and the knowledge to accept that I had pushed too far.

          

After that, I had difficulty with almost everything. I couldn’t concentrate. It was difficult to keep my mind focused on what I had to do. I found even normal levels of anxiety to be intolerable. By October, with the help of family and the HR department at work, I decided to take a leave of absence. I put my pride down and accepted that I needed a break or I would break. (Or had I already broke?) On the first day of my leave, I chose a bible verse, memorized it, and kept it in the forefront of my mind every day.

Phillipians 4:6-7 Be anxious for nothing. But in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

Every day after that, I wrote. Not publicly, of course, and not really at length. But I took time and I wrote down my thoughts. Noticing every day a little more clarity returned. With clarity, came the peace that everything was going to be okay whether things changed or didn’t change. It’s like I had forgotten that simple fact. I’m going to be okay. I always have been. I always will be. I had gotten myself tangled up in thoughts that I HAD to do something and I HAD to make a decision or I would be miserable forever. Looking at it now, it seems so silly that those thoughts even entered my mind. I know better. But, like I said, I had lost perspective.

Glad to be back. 

By the way, Merry Christmas. Happy new Year. And all that Jazz.  

Ambivalence

When I used to hear the word ambivalence, I thought it meant that the ambivalent person “didn’t care” one way or another about a particular issue. With experience, education (and of course the internet), I learned that it means you feel uncertain, mixed, or have two contradictory attitudes about the same thing at the same time. I can say that I used to think having two opposite feelings about the same thing at the same time made you a little nutty. Now that I’ve accepted my own mixed feelings about a lot of things, I tend to find it comforting to more fully understand an issue by exploring my own ambivalence.

A recent experience I’ve had, however, has made me feel more nutty than comforted. Let me explain. A few weeks ago, I made the impulsive and incredibly emotional decision to pull my son Cole out of his daycare facility after some repeated bad experiences. I had a “last straw” moment and made the decision before even speaking to my husband about it (Bad wife!). That decision left us with a problem…choosing a new daycare plan. 

Initially, the solution was just “find a new daycare facility”. Then, day-by-day, little comments emerged from both of us indicating that we weren’t quite sure that this was the best plan. Our only other option, since we both work full time right now, is to use the resources of three sets of grandparents. Grandparents that already each take one day a week in childcare for us. The purpose of daycare (in my eyes) was to allow Cole to experience socializing with children his own age and to have an opportunity for more formal educational experiences. However, that wasn’t necessarily working out as I had hoped. His experiences with the other children were neutral at best, harmful at worst; he felt uncomfortable, tended to avoid the other children and either spent time playing alone or clinging to the adults. So, we began to wonder for what purpose we were spending several hundred dollars a month. Was that money worth the educational experiences he was getting at this age? He’s not yet 3 years old. The teachers were covering the sounds letters make, colors, shapes, music/art, play, and exploration of new environments/objects. With a few minor adjustments, we're pretty confident that our family could handle these concepts. 

But could I get over my excessive (at times obsessive) worry about my son being “raised” by his grandparents?! You know, those adorable people who spoil children and laugh to themselves when they send them home hyper and grumpy from too many treats and very little sleep? Let’s just say that I’m working on it. It also helps that Cole's grandparents aren't actually like that...only in my mind...sometimes. 

I've found that my ambivalence here has been a process. Even though we have made a decision, I can’t say that I'm over my ambivalence. I still wonder whether I’m doing the very best thing for my little guy. But I also have to remind myself that the “very best” is not really necessary in order for children to grow healthfully and happily. Many, many versions of childcare are out there. A slightly different one for each family, I suspect. And many, many of them are plenty good enough for the child. Armed with this valuable insight, I will try to remember that at the very least, me and my family qualify for good enough…maybe even better.

But I reserve the right to change my mind.

Facing demons

Last week, rather than looking forward to the weekend and time off work, I found myself wishing time would just stop. A situation with Emily and Dylan had come up and their mother had requested a “family meeting”.  Ahem, you mean you want me to sit in a room with you and have a conversation? Don’t you know that my mind has painted you as the evil ex-wife who ruined my husband’s life and who I would rather slingshot into another dimension than have you within my sight? Hmm, that sounds pretty much unbearable and I’d rather do just about anything else.

Then I put my adult hat on and entertained some logical thought. This situation was not about me. The kids needed some guidance and their mother asked for our input. Did I really think I could stand on the sidelines forever and just point fingers when things went awry?  Well, kinda yeah. I’m a step-mom to these kids. One step away from mom. That’s a BIG step. The writing in the gap says something like, “Don’t even think about pretending to be a parent because their “real mom” (a term I hate by the way) will speedily remind you of your insignificance.” So, seriously my method up until this point (5 years and going strong) was to keep my head down and my mouth shut. I talk to Dan when he needs to talk, give him my input, feedback, support… but I never, I mean never, talk to her. Now I have to sit in her living room, look her in the face, and give her my opinion?!?!?!? Oh, jeesh.

To put the suspense to rest, the discussion was positive and productive because we are, in fact, adults. We are parents to these children and we all care about them very much. But I have credited myself with putting aside some very significant and negative feelings in order for that to happen. And I don’t just mean negative feelings about “the ex-wife”.  I mean my own fears and apprehension about my role in this family dynamic. It’s uncomfortable (to say the least) to face any fear and we don’t do it unless the fear becomes a barrier for something we truly want. So I’ve come away from this with a new insight.  I want to be a significant part of my step-children’s wellbeing more than I fear my inferior status in this family will eventually break my heart.

Sounds a lot like love. 

Santa Who?

I swear to you that I don’t set out to be different. I don’t wake up in the morning and think, “Gee, how can I make myself stand out today. I was hoping people would look at me funny.” Regardless, I have found that this holiday season in particular has made me feel alone in a world I don’t understand. I will try to explain…

            Here are three things about me that you will need to know for this story. First, I am a Christian. Second, I am a private person. Third, I have a 2-year-old son. Your need to know this information will hopefully make sense by the time you’re done reading.

            I am a Christian. This means I believe in the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ. I believe he lived on this earth, having been sent by his Father, Our God In Heaven. I believe that he died as an eternal sacrifice for my sins and that I am forgiven because of this sacrifice. This makes me feel pretty strongly about his birthday, which I happen to be celebrating tomorrow. However, I’m not celebrating by telling my son a story about a man that will be coming to our house while we are asleep in order to bring us presents. I’m celebrating how I would celebrate any birthday. Family, food, desserts, and gifts. Except, instead of giving Jesus gifts (he’s impossible to buy for), we give each other gifts to acknowledge our appreciation and love for one another.

            I am a private person. The words I just wrote may surprise some of the people that know me. That would be because I choose not to shout them from the rooftops. But the bottom line is that I’ve always felt this way. Way before I ever had plans to have children, I knew what Christmas was about and how I would choose to celebrate it. However, I never tried to convince anyone that I was somehow right, and they were somehow wrong. I feel strongly against lying to children. I don’t play tricks, I don’t prank, and I don’t lie, even for “jokes”. How then could I look a child in the face and work so hard to convince him something is true, when it’s not? And how could I then expect that child to believe me when I tell him about Jesus and God…other things that he can’t see but is expected to take “on faith”? Given this conundrum, I made a personal decision to just leave Santa out of Christmas. Again, this occurred long ago. It’s only becoming an issue now because of my beautiful son.

          

           I have a 2-year-old. This means that every person that talks to him in the month of December asks him about Santa. And when he doesn’t respond the way he’s expected to, they give me that side glance like, “He doesn't know Santa?” My response? Smile and shrug. However, my inside voice says, “Hey, don't look at me like I'm nuts just because I’ve decided that the Santa hubbub is a distraction from what I actually wish my child to understand about the season.  But that private person prevails and I just breathe…smile…shrug.

            So, here’s my declaration to this cultural phenomenon. I will never tell you how I wish to celebrate Christmas as loudly as you tell me how you think I should celebrate Christmas. However, that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel strongly about it. And I won’t be swayed. This means everything to me. My Child. My God. My Savior. This is Christmas.

Happy Birthday, Jesus.