To My Son on Kindergarten Eve

Dear Son:

Tomorrow is your first day of Kindergarten.  And while I am so very happy because it means you are healthy and thriving, I am also very sad.  Because I know that even bigger changes lie ahead for us.  And I'm not ready to let you go.

I remember when I found out that you were growing in my tummy. I told anyone who asked, "This baby won't dictate our routines. It will adapt to our lives and not the other way around."  And that was one of a handful of things that I succeeded at as a mother. 

And I'm so sorry. 

I dropped you off at daycare for the first time when you were just six weeks old. And I gave away so many "firsts" with you in the process.  Your first word, your first steps, first new foods, and the list goes on.  I'm so sorry I missed those things.  Because they were all things that made me so happy, things no mom should have to miss.

I couldn't wait for those middle of the night feedings to be over so I could go back to sleep because I had to work the next day.  I should have held you close and enjoyed our time together. 

I couldn't wait until you started walking so I wouldn't have to carry you everywhere.  I should have realized how soon you would be too big for me to carry.

I rushed you through our morning routine so I wouldn't be late.  I should have planned more so I could fuss less.

I couldn't wait until you were old enough to play on your own so you would quit asking me to play with you while I was trying to relax after a long day.  And now we've reached a day when I can see that you're not going to want me to play with you anymore.

Worst of all, I couldn't wait for you to start school so your dad and I could quit paying for day care.  And now that it's happening, I regret wishing your life away.

I have worked long hours and spent weeks at a time away from home in order to buy toys and clothes and more toys to give you.  But I never gave you my time. I was always too busy trying to be a good businesswoman/daughter/friend to everyone else that I forgot that my most important job was to be a good mom.

So here's my promise to you: From now on, I'm going to do better.  I'm going to be there for everything else less so I can be there for you more.  Because if there's anything that being your mom has taught me, it's that the hours now pass like seconds, and the months like minutes.

I am going to do my very best to not let you see me cry tomorrow, because your first day of Kindergarten should be full of butterflies in your stomach and excited giggles. But once those doors shut behind me, I will cry for all the time I've lost and all of your baby-ness that I wished away.

You're going to learn so much and make so many new friends and have so much fun at school, and I promise I will take the time to listen when you tell me all about it.

I love you big as heaven, my sweet boy. 

Angels Among Us?

Before my mother-in-law passed away, she gave each of her children instructions.  Her eldest child was to take care of his business and make it a success.  Her middle child was to organize everyone  and keep them all together as a family.  And her youngest child (my husband) was to, and I quote, "procreate." 

A few years later, Adam carried out his mother's final wishes for him and we became parents.  Following an extremely easy pregnancy, the delivery was riddled with complications.  My blood pressure shot into the stroke zone, my platelets dropped, making hemmhoraging to death a real possibility, and my liver began to shut down.  Connor arrived five weeks before his due date and, miraculously, he was perfect.  No NICU, no breathing trouble, no time in an incubator, nothing.  In fact, he was released from the hospital before I was.  We were listing to music when he was born and the song that came on the radio immediately following his arrival was a song that I remembered Adam's mom saying was one of her favorites.   I've always felt like she was there, in that hospital with us, cheering us on.  And I KNOW that if it weren't for her, Connor or I or perhaps both of us wouldn't be here today.

When Connor was three years old, Adam became extremely ill and we were facing the possibility of a pancreatic cancer diagnosis (thank God it wasn't).  I can't ever remember being more scared.  Not even when Connor was born.  Adam is the glue that holds our little family together and the idea of facing this world without him was too much for me to handle.  One night, after weeks of watching Adam's condition get progressively worse, I had a dream that Adam's mom pulled into our driveway and got out of her car, just like she had been here a hundred times before.  Adam, Connor, and I were so happy to see her and she said, "I'm here to take care of Adam."  Ten days later, Adam and I were home from a week at UVA hospital where he received care that quite possibly saved his life.

This morning, Adam and Connor were on their way to soccer when Connor found a pair of my sunglasses and put them on.  He said, "Daddy, I can see heaven through these glasses."  Adam asked, "Can you see my mom?"  Connor said, "Yes.  She told me to take care of you."  It looks like I'm not the only one whom Gran reaches out to from time to time. 

Getting to know Gwynneth was one of the biggest blessings in my life.  She was so kind and caring and she loved her children in a way that I can only hope to love Connor.  She was alway smiling and never hesitated to give encouragement.  She was gracious and dignified, and I'm so thankful that she was a part of my life.  And she still is. 

What My Parents Did Right

When I was a kid in school, my parents' biggest concern (at least until I started driving) was that they would get a call from the principal's office informing of them of some kind of trouble I'd gotten myself into.  I might come home with a black eye or a busted lip.  Now, as I drop Progeny off at Pre-K each morning, I have real fear that seeing his backpack light up as he bounces down the walkway might be the last time I see my sweet boy.

Ever since hearing about the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School last week, I have spent a lot of time wondering.  Wondering why this happened.  Wondering how it happened.  Wondering what is wrong with the world today.  Wondering where we, as a society, went wrong.  And I haven't been able to determine what the answer is.  What I do know is all the ways my parents went right when I was a kid.

My parents gave me an abundance of motivation to do the right thing.  And my motivation was this:  If I got in trouble at school, if I earned subpar grades, if I spoke disrespectfully to my elders, if I (insert any other show of bad behavior you wish here), I got my ass beat.  My dad wore a leather belt every single day of his life and although I don't ever remember a belt whippin', just the possibility that it might one day happen was enough to keep me in line most of the time.  I grew up with a weeping willow tree in my back yard (willow switches make excellent motivational devices, for those who don't know).  My mom kept a yellow flyswatter on the top of the refrigerator for the sole purpose of making sure I behaved.  There were spans of my childhood when I know I got more than one spanking a day - and you know what?  I'm okay with that.  More thank okay, even.  I'm thankful that my parents loved me enough and cared enough about my development as a human being to make sure I didn't make the same dumb mistakes twice.  And for as much trouble as I stayed in, my mom and dad spent twice that amount of time letting me know that I was loved.  I don't ever remember a punishment without a talk at the end wherein my parents told me exactly what I'd done wrong, that they hoped it never happened again, and that they loved me.  

My parents taught me very early on that in most every situation in life, there is a winner and there is a loser.  And that it was okay if I wasn't the winner every time, just as long as I gave it my best.  There was no such thing as non-competition soccer (basketball, baseball, football, etc.) when I was growing up.  We showed up wearing matching t-shirts with the names of our team sponsors on the front (usually local banks, the lone car dealership in town, or the local Kiwanis club).  We played hard.  We listened to our coaches and did what they told us to.  One team won and one team lost.  And we shook hands with the opposing team at the end of every game.  If I whined and complained about not getting to play enough or play a certain position, my parents didn't have a come to Jesus chat with my coach.  My parents suggested that I practice more.  My parents came home from work, worn out from a hard day paving roads or serving meals in the school cafeteria, and they got out in the yard with me and hit grounders and fly balls and pitched overhand to me.  They knew my coach wasn't responsible for my success at my sport of choice; and they didn't blame him or her when I didn't get my way.  With that, they taught me that I'm the one responsible for my successes and failures - not my coach.  Not my teachers.  Not my bosses, neighbors, friends, or enemies.  

I wasn't allowed to dress however I wanted to, to do whatever I wanted to my hair or my body.  My parents didn't treat me like a grown up.  They treated me like a child.  They paid for those clothes and hairdos and if they didn't approve, then it didn't get bought or done.  I believe we focus far too much on treating our children like little adults and not enough on treating them like children.  Children need direction, guidance, and training.  They need a routine and discipline and motivation to make the right choices.  And they need to be told no.  That doesn't happen a lot these days.  If little Joey wants to wear his hair all swooped around and down in his eyes because that's how all his friends are wearing their hair, then that's fine because he's expressing his individuality.  I wasn't allowed to express my individuality until I could afford to pay for those expressions on my own.  And an allowance for making my bed and sweeping the kitchen floor?  Think again.  Those were chores.  Those were things I was expected to do because I slept in that bed and I helped to dirty that floor.  My parents taught me that everyone needs to earn his or her own keep in this world.  

I grew up during a time when I wasn't connected to all 500 of my "friends" and to the world at large 24 hours a day, seven days a week.  If I wanted to know what my friends were doing/eating/watching/thinking/listening to, I called them from a landline telephone with a cord running between the receiver and the cradle (if they were allowed to talk on the phone on school nights).  Otherwise, I waited until I saw them at school.  And since I was motivated to not get in trouble for socializing during class time, I had to wait until lunchtime to chit chat (at an acceptable volume) with my pals.  All of this gave me a LOT of time to do my homework, read, or spend time with my mom and dad.  To talk to them about school and friends and family or learning to shoot a gun, string a bow, or change a flat tire.  My parents knew what was going on in my life because we talked to one another all the time.  There are days now that when I go to bed, I know that I have interacted more with my Facebook timeline than I have with my husband and son.  And that makes me sad.  The world was a much bigger, more spread out place when I was a kid.  And I will do everything in my power to make sure that the world seems just as big to my son.  

So, as I continue to pray for those parents who lost children and for those people who lost loved ones last Friday, I also continue to try to come up with a way to protect my boy from the evils of this world.  I know I have to let him grow up - that I can't keep him in a bubble forever, no matter how badly I want to do just that.  But I can remember all that my parents did right and try my best to do many of the same things for my little man.  I think it's time to unplug - to shut off our phones and open our ears.  To live more simply and at a slower pace than we have been.  To always remind our children and ourselves that people matter more than things.  And to never, ever let a day pass without letting those who mean the most to us know exactly how important they are.

The Unofficial Resume

I admit:  I think the idea of reducing a life full of education and experience and personality to one itty bitty sheet of paper is insane.  But, apparently a resume is just one of those things that people can't survive without.  So, instead of the standard canned personal history lesson, I've decided my next official resume will actually be a list of things I like and things I don't like.  Here's what I have so far:

Things I like:
-My family
-Reading
-Writing
-Making people laugh
-Watching TV
-Making shit (not actually breaking food down and making waste in the potty, but creating stuff, like wreaths)
-Flexibility
-Equality
-Jokes, both corny and dirty
-Music
-Movies


Things I don't like and/or am incapable of doing:
-Schmoozing - That's a biggie.  I am a HORRIBLE schmoozer.  I just don't have it in me to be nice to others only to help me out in some way.  I would rather do without than to have to schmooze.  Because of this, anything sales-related is not feasible.
-Being told what to do (this is different than advice - I LOVE good advice.  It's also different than guidance offered by those who are more intelligent and more experienced than I am.  I always appreciate heartfelt guidance.  I cannot stand being told to be here and do this at this particular time for this long).
-Dishonesty
-Bad grammar
-Rudeness
-Ignorance
-Mornings
-Monotony
-Ambiguity


So, here's my idea of the perfect job - First and foremost, one that doesn't require or expect me to be an absentee parent to my small child.  In other words, flexibility is a MUST.  Must offer decent pay (and if it doesn't offer health insurance, it has to pay even more) and allow me to utilize my talents/abilities to the fullest.  Preference will be given to companies that enforce a strict No Asshole Rule (seriously, read the book and thank me later).

I'm thinking about posting this to monster.com just to see what happens.

Buzzwords that Make Me Want to Stab Myself

This blog has been a-brewin' for a while, ladies and gents.  And following today (aka The Day From the Depths of Hell), I'm feeling the need to get some stuff off my chest.  I'm sure there will be some profanity somewhere along the way, so if you are easily offended or have Puritan-like tendencies, stop reading now.

I've been mentally composing a list of buzz words and catch phrases that make me want to stab myself. Here's what I've come up with so far, along with examples of how they are (over)used nowadays and what they make me think about when I hear them (stabbing myself notwithstanding).

1.  Reach out
Used in a sentence:  "I just wanted to reach out and see how things are going."

This shit has GOT to stop.  There are so many ways to convey what you mean without going there.  For example, say "check in" instead of "reach out."  Or how about avoiding the very cliche phrase issue altogether and just say, "I just wanted to see how things are going."  Every time I hear or read the phrase "reach out," I immediately think of this:

That's right, folks.  your attempt at proving how with the times you are by using the coolest jargon makes me think of the dead alligator's hand (paw? claw?) from the opening credits of Swamp People.  Nothing says "current" like a dead reptile's mitt.  Take Penny from Dirty Dancing's advice:  "You gotta stop it.  Now."


2.  Buy-in
Used in a sentence:  "I'm going to run this fabulous new idea of how to reinvent the wheel to you and when I get done, I'm going to ask for your buy-in."

What?  With the economy in the proverbial sewer, you're going to ask me to buy something?  One moment, please, while I laugh in your face.

Whatever happened to saying support or help?  For some reason, when people ask me for my buy-in, I always imagine they're trying to talk me into signing up to sell Amway.


3.  At the end of the day
Used in a sentence:  "At the end of the day, that's all that matters."

At the end of the day, the sun goes down and I start dreading tomorrow.  End of discussion.


4.  Low-hanging fruit
Used in a sentence:  "We've got to pick the low-hanging fruit."

Always makes me think about rotting, worm-filled apples lying on the ground.  Gag a maggot.


5.  Tweak
Used in a sentence:  "I need you to tweak this before you send it out."

Dear Lord Baby Jesus!  What, is change or revise no longer cool enough?  Now I have to find a way to get my work high on meth before I send it out?  Because that's what the word "tweak" makes me think about.  Pock-faced, toothless, paranoid, sore-covered meth addicts.  Nice visual.  Whoever thought of that one should have to spend a week dragging around a pillow case full of Blow Pops and quarters in a crack house full of meth addicts.


6.  Going forward
Used in a sentence:  "Going forward, I can be reached at this number."

Fabulous.  Like that's somehow better than "from now on," or "in the future," or "from here on out."  It sounds very elitist to me.  Like, "Dahling, going forward, we shan't drink wine from a screw top bottle."  Side note:  I think it's time to start enjoying a glass of wine each night.  And, in extreme cases, at lunch each day.


There are many, many more which I will add at a later date.  Trust me, this post has just scratched the surface.  I have only started to pick the low-hanging fruit, if you will.  I will continue to tweak it going forward.  I just wanted to take a moment to reach out to you all and see if I could get your buy-in toward never again using these phrases.  Because, at the end of the day, eliminating these awful phrases begins with you and me.

Memorial Day Mountain Spotted Fever

Our little family enjoyed a long holiday weekend at the camper.  You know, the home-on-wheels that I vowed to never again refer to as the "house trailer," because doing so will get us kicked out of The Association.  Apparently that is written somewhere in the by-laws, which I still haven't seen.  But whatevs.

A few weeks ago, our camper neighbors had their bug man come out and spray for creepy-crawlies.  Of course, they offered to send him on down to our camper for a small, nominal fee, but being the cheapskate I am, I declined in favor of having our regular bug man spray for us.  I figured maybe we could get a multiple structure discount or something like that.  Warning:  This was NOT a good idea.  When everyone around you sprays their campers for bugs, you must have your camper sprayed, too.  At the exact same time.  Guess where everything that gets shooed away from the treated campers goes?  Based on my experience this past weekend, I can now answer that.  Every single creature will come to the nearest untreated camper, which will be your camper if you do what I did and decline pest control services to save yourself a few bucks.

I didn't think about that Friday evening when we arrived at our home away from home.  Sure, I noticed a few spider webs in our shelves, but I thought they were probably just created by those teeny tiny little house spiders that crop up from time to time.  We had three whole glorious nights to camp, hang out with the greatest people in the world, eat, swim, rest, and relax.  I was STOKED.  We were all worn out by the time we got there, unpacked, and visited for a few minutes, so we went straight to bed and the night passed without incident.

Saturday was spent swimming, playing, and chit-chatting.  Husband and Progeny went to bed and I stayed up to hang out with the neighbors.  Normally, our sleeping arrangements at the camper are like this:  Hubs and Progeny take the bed and I sleep in the living room area, either on the couch or on an air mattress that I put in the middle of the floor.  When I got back down to our camper to go nighty-night, I snuck into the bedroom area to get my jammies (in the dark, I might add), and retreated to the living area to take out my contacts and change clothes.  I couldn't find my contact case so I had to turn on the light in order to search for it in the abyss-also-known-as-my-purse.  And that's when I saw this.  In the middle of the floor.  No more than 10 feet from where I was planning on sleeping.

                         *Please excuse the poor quality of this photo.  My hands were shaking*  

Zoe, being the curious (read: nosey) dog that she is, decided she would investigate matters for me.  She trotted over to the tarantula (it WAS a tarantula, y'all, just not the kind with hair) and decided to sniff it that way she could lead the police to its den after Adam found my lifeless corpse in the floor and called 911.  Every time she would get close, the spider would buck up on its hind legs and run around in circles.  Kind of like it was popping a wheelie.  This lasted for a good 5 minutes - or maybe 15 seconds - before I hurdled to the sink and got a bowl to trap the beast with.

I then patted myself on my back for my quick thinking and for not screaming like a little girl.  I also threw a couple of canned goods (Bush's baked beans and Del Monte corn, to be precise) on top of the bowl, just in case the spider were to go all The Bride on me and Kung Fu kick the bowl in an attempt to free itself and attack my face.  I contemplated whether or not I would be safe to go to bed.  I decided that wasn't an option, so I woke Adam up.  Here's how the conversation went:

Me:  Smith, Smith, SMITH!!!! Wake up!  There's a situation I need you to handle down here.

Adam:  What? What is it?

Me:  There's a man-eating spider trapped in the kitchen and I need you to come kill it, pretty please, you handsome, strong, fearless, man you.

Adam:  Well, since you asked so nicely.... (gets out of bed and comes into the kitchen).

*He then looked at my makeshift spider Alcatraz, but couldn't see the spider.  It was hidden under the Bush's beans.*

Adam:  I don't believe you.

Me:  I swear!  I took a picture before I woke you up!

Adam:  Let me see.  (Looking at the picture) HOLEY MOLEY!  (Grabs a shoe, then freezes)  I've never killed a spider this big.

Me:  I just pray it doesn't have babies on its back or inside its belly.  I don't think I can do this whole camping thing anymore.  I'm ready to never camp again.  We should sell the camper.  Better yet, we should burn it to the ground.

Adam:  (Kicks bowl over and drops a Nike anvil on the spider).  Okay.  It's dead.

Me:  Are you sure?  Did you hear and feel it crunch?  You should hit it again just in case.

Adam:  (Hits spider again)  I'm sure.

I heard the spider crunch that time and was convinced it was dead, so I handed Adam a paper towel and he disposed of the spider.

The next morning, Adam woke me up to tell me that everyone in the entire campground (or at least 5 of our neighbors) were on their way down to work out on our porch and I should at least get up and put a bra on, just in case one of them decided to say hello or needed a bottle of water.  I obeyed his instructions, because he literally saved my life from an entire nest of gigantic camel spiders the night before.  I walked outside to grant the mob of fitness-crazed people.

Neighbor:  Mornin'.  I hear you woke Adam up to kill a spider about this big (holds up fingers in the a-ok symbol, about the size of a quarter).

Me:  It was NOT a small spider like that.  It was a giant spider.  As big as my face.  And now I have a rash.  I think I have Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.  Or malaria.  Or flesh-eating bacteria.  And I'm sure Adam didn't bother to tell you that he broke out in hives and began to sweat when he saw the spider, which was the size of half of our kitchen floor!

I slept with the TV on the next night.  I hoped that would confuse the spider's companions into staying in their lairs.  I got three hours' sleep.  Tops.  And I killed 3 more (tiny) spiders.  And I vowed not to go back to the camper without sticky pads and some heavy duty spider repellant.

How to Succeed in the Corporate World - Lesson #4

If you are to be a successful Kool-Aid guzzler, you MUST be sterilized.

I recommend that you have your tubes tied as soon as you declare your major, and no later than spring break of your senior year.  One might think that tubal ligation surgery would be a sweet graduation gift.  One would be wrong.  Remember Lesson #2?  Having abdominal surgery at the same time you should be running away from everyone you know and love is like texting after a couple of bottles of wine.  It's a bad idea.

You might be thinking, now why in the world can't I just go on the pill or get a NuvaRing?  Let me tell you why.  Because one day, there will be a little voice in the back of your head telling you how fantastic it would be to give birth to your very own cute and cuddly spawn.  You might even decide to stop popping your nightly BCP or fisting yourself each month (the concept of NuvaRing insertion freaks me way out) in order to become impregnated with yourveryown wittle bitty bambino.  However, if you've followed my advice and had those tubes snipped, then you will realize that pregnancy is impossible and you will quickly move on from such absurdity.

Never having kids is the only way to go if you want to climb the greasy pole of corporate success.  The act of childbirth alone requires that you miss at least 2 days of work; and some people are so wrapped up in being a new mom that they take MONTHS off from work.  This is just not acceptable for a budding CEO.

And it's not just calving that will require you to be away from the office (unless a water birth in the company fitness center appeals to you).  Kids get sick.  And who do kids want when they get sick?  Well,  that's a trick question.  If you've been a good little company sheep, then your kids will want Daddy.  But Daddy can't be missing work every single time that the kiddos fall ill.  Which means that you will have to stay home and change out DVD's every couple of hours and maybe even *gasp* cuddle and comfort your little one.  And in addition to the occasional (or not so occasional in those first couple of years at day care) sick day, there is also an endless tidal wave of sporting events, school functions, and special occasions that any decent parent is expected to attend.

So take my advice.  Let Michelle and Jim Bob Duggar carry your contribution to planetary overpopulation.  Have yourself spayed. If you want to succeed, don't breed.