Free Range Kid--Take Two

One of my boys has been nominated for the safety patrol at school. He's so excited about it and I'm proud of him! He made me even more proud when he told me about an incident at school yesterday. 

He has this "friend" whose parents are those "free range" types. The kid is aggressive, disrespectful, rude and obnoxious. But it's okay because lavender oil will fix that (insert eye roll here). I'm not saying it won't help, or that there aren't alternative methods of treatment. But this kid is off the chain!

Yesterday, this kid told my son that they needed to have a battle to see who's the toughest. 

My kiddo said, "No. I don't want to battle you or need to battle you. I'm on the safety patrol and we don't do that."

Yay for my kiddo! And for little free range? Leave my boys alone. You're a cute child who cannot control your impulses through no fault of your own. Don't drag mine into it. 

Thanks for reading!

Confessions Of A Not-So-Perfect Mom

I want you to sit down. Are you sitting? Now, what I'm going to tell you might be a shock, so prepare yourself. 

I'm not perfect. I know, I know, you can't believe it! It can't be true! Surely, I jest. But no, I am really a very imperfect person and an even more imperfect mother. There it is. I said it. Well, technically, I wrote it, but...

I threaten to take things away from my kids for "the rest of your life" and to strip their rooms of everything but beds and clothes; and I don't do it! I know nobody else out there has EVER done that!

I also don't always explain everything in a calm, controlled voice. I yell. Loudly. And with gusto. I don't always give my children choices or explain my choices. I use the phrase "because I'm your mother and I SAID SO" a lot. 

I don't tell my children how I understand they're feeling overwhelmed or frustrated and blah, blah, blah. I do sometimes, but not every time. 

I do tell my children they're being brats when they're being, you know, brats. I don't let them use their ADHD as an excuse. I don't always ignore behavior because they're tired or cranky. 

You see, I'm human. And I get tired of dealing with things, just like everybody else. And I think it's just as important that they know I'm human. I screw up, I get angry, I lose my cool. I also admit when I'm wrong. 

This morning, my oldest who's in the middle of preteen angst was being mouthy--not typical for him. He got

yelled at after talking didn't work. I took him to school and felt like an utter bitch. He was sullen, I was ready to cry. Fun times in preteen land--not!  

For the next hour, I went through the scenario over and over. All of a sudden, I looked at the counter and saw his morning dose of medicine. Crap! I forgot to give it to him. I never do that! 

I grabbed the medicine, drove over to the school to see the nurse and explain what happened. She called him to the office. He came in, surprised to see me.  I explained what I did and that he was right when he told me that morning that it seemed like he forgot something. He laughed and said it was okay. 

Then, he took his medicine, walked me to the office door, pulled me closer like he wanted to say something, and kissed me on the cheek. "I love you, Mom."

Huh, not so perfect, but close enough, I guess. Thanks for reading!

Delightful Surprise

This morning started out like most have lately with my prepubescent children: talking back, growling, fighting amongst themselves. One called me a mean mom, one refused to speak to me when I said no to a request, one was sullen when I asked him to get in the car to go to school. So, typical children on a typical day. 

I dropped them off, ran some errands, then went through the drive-through at a fast food place for coffee and a breakfast sandwich. As usual, I fed the family and forgot to eat. I pulled up to pay and found that the young lady in front of me had paid for my order. The cashier said "Your order was taken care of by the lady in front of you. She wants you to have a beautiful day." 

I've done this for others and had it done for me before, but this brought tears to me eyes. So, thank you to the young lady in the light blue car with Missouri plates. You made my day brighter. God bless. 

Thanks for reading.

Breaking Free

Emotional chains can tie you down. Insecurities, poor self esteem, and self-doubt can immobilize you. I know. This year is a continuation of breaking free of those chains. 

I'm working on a creative nonfiction piece right now. You'd think it would flow, but I have to remind myself to forget who will be reading it for now. I have to write it for myself first. 

And because I (like many creatives) have a plethora of interests, I've opened an online jewelry store and I'm selling my designs online. I'll also be adding jewelry boxes to the site over the summer. (The website is http://deescreations1.sello.com. My FB page is deescreations1)

These things are a part of my breaking-free quest. Go me! Thanks for reading. 

I'm Angry

THIS IS YOUR TRIGGER WARNING! The subject matter involves cancer, death, anger and tanning beds. If you can't handle it, don't read it. (P.S. I'm angry.)

A few years ago, my dad DIED from melanoma that metastasized. He'd made it through prostate cancer, had numerous skin cancers removed, and on and on. He lived in agony and was sick every day for the last few months of his life. He suffered so much. And guess what he had in his house that he got in far too much? Yep, a tanning bed. 

Much of his pain and suffering could have been avoided. All for the sake of looking good, he FUCKING DIED! I'm angry about that. Still. It was not "God's will" or "God's plan". It was because of a stupid mistake, even after he knew better. He could have prevented much of his--and frankly, our--suffering. Skin cancer isn't a joke. 

So, I'm angry. And I'm pretty sure that there will be people who will be angry with me for writing this. But as I think back on the many warnings my dad had and on the disregard of those warnings, I don't care if it makes someone angry or uncomfortable. I have a right to be angry. 

My boys will not get to grow up knowing him and learning from him. One of the biggest supporters of my craft is gone. I have beautiful memories. I have not-so-beautiful memories. Memories can't talk to you on the phone. Memories can't encourage you or give you a reality check when you need it. You can't hug a memory. Cancer sucks. Period. 

Thanks for reading. 

Chaos No More

Some of you are aware that I'm on a mission to declutter and organize my home. It has honestly gotten so out of control that I hate being in my house. Decluttering is a slow process, but it didn't get this way overnight. 

Growing up, I had a mom who kept very little clutter. She hated unorganized, chaotic spaces. My grandmothers--both paternal and maternal--were the opposite. They kept everything. And when they passed away, family had to clean it out. I followed in my grandmothers' footsteps. 

I have self-diagnosed ADD, and two of my three children have ADHD. So, focusing on anything is a struggle. Add to the equation that we all have trouble getting rid of anything, and you get chaos. 

I'm slowly but surely purging things that don't bring me joy. If I haven't used it in a year, why do I need it? If I hate doing it (crochet)why keep the yarns for it? I'm keeping my crochet hooks and a couple of skeins of yarn to teach anyone who asks how to do it. I'm keeping my sewing machine, because I do use it every now and again. But the rest, other than what I use for jewelry, is gone. 

Chaos is not my friend. It's not my children's friend. We need less stuff and more peace. Less to find a place for, and more space to enjoy our home. 

I have a few friends who are on this mission with me. We encourage and support each other, sometimes offering a swift (but kind) kick in the rear when necessary. I value their support and try to offer the same. And for those in the group that are on this quest, much love and respect. 

Thanks for reading. 

A Letter To My Prepubescent Child

Dear Child,

Yes, this letter is for you, the child who rolls your eyes and lets that "tone" creep into your voice; the one who tells me "no" when I tell you to do something, after I've asked you nicely before resorting to the "do it now" command. I'm going to impart some wisdom here. Pay attention, because I will NOT repeat myself. 

When you, my darling child, decide to behave like a little shit, you might want to remember a few things. 

First, I am your mother. I will be your mother for the rest of your life. You're ten/eleven years old now. You've got at least eight to ten more  years at home. That means you deal with me. Every. Single. Day. For. The. Next. Decade. Think about it. 

Second, although I'm more tolerant than my mother, I do have a breaking point. You have passed the point, my love. That is not wise. 

Third, you should understand that all of the electronics, toys, and other assorted crap you have, are privileges that can disappear faster than an unguarded birthday cake around yours truly. 

And finally, you will be a parent one day. And I sincerely hope I'm around then. If not, I will leave a detailed list of all of the bullshit you pulled for my grandchildren. Why? Because that's the way I roll, my sweet. And be warned, the apple does not fall too far from the tree. How do I know? Because you're just like...your dad! (You didn't think I'd say me, did you?!)

Love,

Mom