Exploiting My Baby

is a funny book by Teresa Strasser, that I recently read, thanks to my friends at From Left to Write. 

I'll be honest....at first, I wasn't crazy about this book.  I thought it looked like a Jenny-McCarthy-Belly-Laughs-esque funny look at the hormonal train wreck that pregnancy often is...the irrational fears that keep you up at night, the breathless hope of what is yet to come, the consuming impatience to meet your baby, and the abject terror of BEING SOMEONE'S MOM. 

When I opened it up, I found something a little different....Teresa is blunt and in-your-face.  She's snarky and she makes fun of you, right to your face. She uses salty language and there are a LOT of people in this world she wants to punch in the face.  I may be one of them, in fact, having mostly enjoyed my pregnancies, but I digress.

But Teresa is also real.  I understand where she's coming from, a lot of the time.  The fears that she will turn into her own kid-hating mother are very real, and I get it.  When you come from dysfunction and your memories of childhood don't make you smile, impending motherhood is maybe a little scarier for you than for someone who had good role models and a living, breathing example of a functioning family unit.  Some girls had moms who stayed home to raise them, taught them to cook and bake, led their Girl Scout troops, and proudly took an embarrassing amount of homecoming and prom pictures.  Some girls had moms who worked and taught them how to set goals and then work hard to reach them, how to prioritize what's important, how to balance different aspects of their lives, and how to make things happen.  Some girls had moms who juggled all of these things and more. 

And then some of us had moms who just weren't there, literally or figuratively.  And that's the hardest of all, learning to be a mom when you want to be completely and totally different from the one you had. 

I give Teresa credit for having the guts to put herself out there and tell her story.  I have to give her credit for being scared and doing it anyway (not that she doesn't get hung up along the way, mind you). While her near-constant paranoia and plentiful ragging on other moms whose methods or manners she doesn't like sometimes get old, I was happy for her toward the end of the book when she begins to make peace with her mom. 

About all those pronouncements, though.  I am reminded of the ancient piece of wisdom about karma:  it's a bitch. 

She kind of turns into the mom that she spent her whole book making fun of.  She chases the dragon, trying to make that baby smile.  She goes for a day or two (or three) without showers. She packs her schedule with Mommy & Me classes.   She buys every toy, swing and Baby Mozart DVD that Toys R Us can hold and she not only has whole conversations about baby poop, SHE TAKES PICTURES OF IT. 

I love it. 

It happens to all of us, Teresa....you're in good company.  We were all scared first-time moms too, and we all thought we were going to do it better too. 

I liked the book, in spite of my initial reaction.  I'm glad I kept going because, although I still don't think you need to use the F word a lot to talk about wanting, carrying, birthing, loving or exploiting a baby and I don't really advocate violence so I don't see a need to punch people in the face, Teresa's book made me laugh.  It made me think about how I relate to other moms.  It made me grateful for my group of mom friends that I lean on, and it made me kind of wish I could bump into Teresa at the mall.

Then again, I don't know.  I don't want to get punched in the face.  

Blocked

I have come here to post, to write, to ramble, and I find that I can't.  Over and over, I have started to write something and before I can string together a couple of coherent sentences, I just throw up my hands and hit 'delete.' 

I always have something to say.  I always have an opinion on things.  I always want to write, too.

But, just lately, I find that I can't.  And it bugs me.  Like, really bugs me.

I've never had writer's block before.  I've never wanted to write, and found that I couldn't. 

So, I still haven't come up with anything good, but I'm hitting 'post' this time and not 'delete.' 

To all of my readers, and you know who you are (all three or four of you!), I wish you a very safe, happy and blessed holiday season.  Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! 

Thank you

Today is Veterans' Day.  I want to take a moment to say thank you. 

Thank you to all the veterans who have served and sacrificed and worked long hours in awful places, so that I can sit comfortably in my house and watch my children play safely in my front yard.  Even though that wasn't the reason you did what you did, that's the result and for that I'm grateful.  You may not consider yourself a hero, but I do. 

Thank you to the families of veterans who have given up so much precious time with their fathers, husbands, daughters, sisters, wives, sons, and brothers, spent long hours on your knees in church or by your bedside, praying for the safe return of your loved ones, and waited by the phone or computer for the phone calls and emails that come as often as they can but are never quite enough.

Thank you to the kids who are this very moment packing for basic training, the kids who, in spite of the reservations their families and friends must have given the state of the world we're living in, are answering their nation's call.  Thank you to the soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines you will all become in a few short months. 

Thank you to those who have given the ultimate sacrifice for the United States.  "Thank you" isn't even nearly enough...your loss will be felt forever and there is nothing that can give enough comfort to a mother or father, wife or husband, son or daughter who has said goodbye for the last time. 

This morning, I spent some time at my kids' school helping put on a Veterans' Day presentation.  Along with several other moms, I gave some of my time to help the kids learn about what a veteran does, and why it's important to say "Thank You."  I don't know a single vet (and I know a fair amount) who really wants to be made a huge deal over.   I don't know many who would call themselves a "hero."  Most would say, "I was just doing my job."  No one expects or even really wants the ticker tape parades and all the hoopla.  But it sure is nice when someone says, "Thank you for what you do." 

I think of one the most important things we can do is to teach our children about the value of service, of giving something back, of contributing to something bigger than yourself.  Our children are not only our own futures, but the future of this country.  Saying "Thank you" takes no time at all, and it doesn't cost anything at all, but the dividends are tremendous. 

So for this one day, no politics, no points to be made, no agendas.  Just....thank you. 

Seriously, is it worth it?

Good Lord.  I'm posting maybe twice a month lately, and it's because of school.  It feels like I have zero time for anything besides school.  These are my last two quarters, and it is HARD.  I finally reached the place where all my man-cubs are in their own school all day, and I thought I'd have time.  More time.  I have one afternoon and two whole days a week off from school, and silly me, I thought that would be, you know, free time.  Heh. 

I cannot adequately express how many pages of reading (and subsequently, writing) I am required to do every week for three history classes.  Hundreds of pages every day.  Literally.  Not only do I have to read them all, I have to analyze them in the context of the geopolitical situation, AND remember it all well enough to discuss it intelligently the next day, or the day after that.  Maybe I'm not cut out for college after all.  Oy vey. 

In one of my classes, we received a sound scolding today for not doing the reading.  The professor did not raise her voice or call us names, but she made her disappointment perfectly clear.  She sent us home to read, with the promise of a quiz at our next class meeting.  On top of the quiz we were already having.  When she said, 'you need to go home and read' and dismissed us a half hour early, I felt like I'd been naughty, and sent to bed without dinner.  But I was grateful all the same, to get out of 30 minutes of class time.

I know it's ridiculous to even entertain the idea of quitting school.  I'm less than two quarters from my degree.  But right now, I'm wondering if it's worth it.  I'm giving up a lot of time with my family, a lot of sleep, and my stress level is through the roof.  I told Captain America the other day, "I've come to a realization and I don't like it, but it is what it is.  I am useless to this family until the end of March, when winter quarter is over and I will be finished taking undergrad classes.  Useless."  He is totally supportive and awesome but I hate this not being present at home business.  I'm here but I'm not.  And when I am here, I'm busy writing for my freelance gig (deadline Monday!) or organizing a Veterans' Day event at the kids' school (which I do NOT begrudge and I do enjoy, it's just a lot of work).

And here's the really crazy part....I'm considering (or at least, I was till this quarter) grad school.  I think maybe it's this one professor and her class that has me feeling so bad.  She barrels through lectures, she's kind of soft spoken and I'm hearing-challenged, AND she clicks through her power points so fast, I can barely read them, let alone process and/or write down notes.  She has high expectations and I am just not meeting them.  She keeps saying things like, 'this is a 500-level class so we have to up the ante...' but my 600-level professor is perfectly happy keeping things a little more relaxed.  I'm learning just as much, if not more, from him, but he's not tightening the screws every time the class meets.

But in spite of feeling so maxed out, today was really a good day.  I was afraid that, due to overnight guests in my bed keeping me awake till all hours, it was going to be a rough one but it's a funny thing....I said a little prayer and asked for help to get through my day (Captain America is somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, enjoying a nice walk in the sunshine and sleeping in, by himself.  Not that I'm jealous) and I did.  The boys sailed through getting ready for school and were even ready to go 5 minutes before I asked them to be.  No muss, no fuss.  This doesn't happen on the days I don't take the time to ask God for help. 

Note to self....maybe you should think about asking for help every day, not just the crappy ones.  Hmm. 

So, I'll be going to morning prayer with the boys at school tomorrow.  To remind myself that it's ok, and necessary to ask for help. And also because the middle man-cub is participating in a skit.  Dressed like George Washington.  White wig and all.  I sense a photo op. 

The Kids Are Alright Part II

It took me a little longer than I'd have liked but that's how my life goes.

I finished The Kids Are Alright yesterday morning at about 1:00.  Wow.  As I started to write in my previous post, this book is just wonderfully written.  I love that all the Welch kids take turns writing chapters.  I almost hate to call them chapters, since they're mostly just a few paragraphs, maybe a page or two, but they are always significant.  In any case, it's how the reader gets to know each of the Welches in turn, and in their own words.  Each of them has their own distinctive voice and their own way with words.  Liz and Diana have become professional writers and I'm not at all surprised.

I'm finding myself relating most to Diana, the baby of the Welch family, since I myself am the baby of my family.  Not that I faced the kind of heartbreaks that the Welch kids did, but I also lost one parent very young and had the other parent just check out on me. I spent my growing-up years with people other than my family, not sure how I got there or what would happen to me. And ultimately it was my sisters who helped me find my way. 

This story is just a powerful testament to love and to family and to the ties that bind.  No matter how far-flung the Welch siblings were, they always loved each other and took care of one another the best way they knew how.  Amanda, who seemed so angry and didn't want any part of "family bullshit" like vacations together, turned out to be a pretty darn good mom to her younger brother and sisters and never gave up on any of them. She had the most time with her mom, but she had to learn so much on the fly.  Liz loved fiercely and was always ready to drop everything when she was needed.  Dan drifted toward adulthood and real life aimlessly but he had two guiding lights to keep him from going off the edge of a cliff.  I feel especially for Dan, because he was the only boy in the family and he didn't have anyone to help him learn what it means to be a man, a partner, a husband, a father.  Diana, well, God love her, I feel a real kinship with her.  I would argue that she drew the short straw for being the baby and being the one who had to work the hardest at understanding what was happening.

I wrote out this whole long post, and when I read it before I hit 'post' it occurred to me that it sounded like a book report.  Which really doesn't do it justice at all.  Let me try again. 

What I really want to say about this book, is that it touched me deeply.  I felt drawn in, like I was one of them.  I laughed with them and I cried with them.  Dan broke my heart when he didn't think anyone gave a crap about how much acid he was dropping.  I wanted to just wrap Diana up in my arms and take her home with me when Nancy told her that she was ugly and no one wanted her around. Amanda wanted and tried to just forget everything and party her way through life, and I just wanted to slap her a high five reading about how she started to get it, about how important her siblings were to her, and when she creates new holiday traditions with them.  And I love that Liz pursued her own life and studied abroad and yet was still always there for the others.  What a phenomenal family. Just...wow.

And at the end, there is hope and forgiveness.  As much as they had stacked up against them, the Welches keep on keepin' on, and refused to give up or give in. As much as they've all struggled to find their way, they have all come out ahead. Marriage, careers, and the ultimate expression of hope, children. 


Yeah, the kids are alright.

The Kids Are Alright

Oh look. Another month and a half gone. 

Fall quarter is in full swing for me, and you know what that means.  For a history major, it means tons and tons and TONS of reading.  Which is why I'm still trying desperately to find time to finish The Kids Are Alright.  I started it at least ten times, during the few moments I could steal to read something for pleasure rather than for an obligation, always dozing off before I got past page 5.  Not because the book is boring or dull....it isn't.  Not because the story isn't compelling and heart-wrenching and phenomenally written....it is.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I must tell you that I am  only about halfway through the book.  But what I've read so far, is why I read so much of it in one afternoon.  I found myself with some time today and picked it up (again) and honestly couldn't put it down.  I'm blowing off a book on Hitler (which, to a history major with a serious love for military history, is a bit like turning down a hit on the ol' crack pipe) to finish it tonight.

It's the story of four siblings, the Welch family, written in turn by each of them.  Each chapter heading is the name of the sibling that wrote those particular pages.  It's the story of their father's sudden and kind of mysterious death, and their mother's illness that came on the heels of it.  It is about how they each experienced these life altering and world shattering events, as children. 

Each of them has their own very distinctive voice, and it didn't take me long to figure out who was writing, even without the chapter headings.  Amanda is the oldest and she sounds angry.  She is MAD.  Maybe she's not now, but then....whoo.  Liz is ironic and articulate, and it doesn't surprise me to read on the back cover that she is a writer.  Dan is kind of sarcastic and blunt and doesn't mince his words.  And Diana is the baby.  She seems kind of bewildered at all that is going on around her.  She can't influence any of it and must just go along for the ride.  They're all heartbroken and devastated by their father's death and angered by their mother's inability to deal with it.  It's funny and sad and touching and messy and real. 

I love it.  I am invested in the players...do you call them characters when they are real people?...and I want to know more.  So, I'm going to go finish the book, so I can finish writing about it. 

Oh look

I did it again, let more than two weeks slip by without typing one coherent sentence.

It's Labor Day, a day of rest for those who labor. It's also the day after my middle man-cub's 8th birthday. I feel a little melancholy today, and although I've never been a mom who gets weepy at the thought of her babies growing up, birthdays certainly indicate that time does indeed march on. He's kind of in between, he's not a little kid anymore, but he's not quite a big kid yet. He's a textbook middle child, going with the flow and low maintenance in so many ways, yet always seeming to be afraid he'll be left out or forgotten.  If one of his brothers get praised for something, Larry chimes in, "What about me?  I did that too!" Or if someone gets scolded for something, he pipes up, "That wasn't me!  I didn't do that!"

He's all boy, in almost every way, even down to being kind of a mama's boy but only when his friends aren't looking.  This picture isn't current, by any means, but it's one of my top two or three favorites of him.  He's walking into the surf, for the very first time, holding his big brother's hand.  It's just my favorite.

Happy birthday big dude.

So, noticing the passage of time today.  And sad about hearing of the rough patch in a marriage of two people who are very dear to me.  I'm hoping and praying that the power of love and the power of forgiveness can and will overcome the power of anger and the power of hurt feelings.  The only thing I can do to help them is to pray for them, and be here to listen if they need or want me to.  It doesn't feel right to sit by silently when people I care about are suffering, but at the same time, they are the only ones who can fix the issue.  It's not mine to fix.  But it still makes me sad, and at the same time, it makes me feel grateful for the people in my life who are willing to overlook my faults, forgive my mistakes and love me in spite of them.