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The Worst of Games

“Hate begets hate; violence begets violence; toughness begets a greater toughness. We must meet the forces of hate with the power of love… Our aim must never be to defeat or humiliate the white man, but to win his friendship and understanding.

The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy, instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it. Through violence you may murder the liar, but you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth. Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate. Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” – Martin Luther King Jr.

Normally if I post, I stick to my Monday schedule. I also don’t normally post on these types of events, because it seems morally wrong to profit from the attention. But I need to say something for myself, whether I end up posting or not. I just need to say it.

Gun violence is something that stopped shocking me ages ago. Admittedly, when I hear of school shootings that seem to occur almost monthly at this point, I’m no longer outraged or saddened. It’s now just something that occurs. I’m probably not even alone in this apathy. No one seems to care enough to talk about solutions. Some even point out that it’s merely a cost of our freedoms, including the most recent victim of this senselessness. And I’m just too tired to waste my mental energy on something that no one seems to care about until it happens again. And then poof! It’s gone again, until we are reminded of it when it inevitably happens again.

What people are more interested in is this game of being right or wrong. Of being the moral superior. Of the blame game. “Oh you think this is so tragic about this Conservative dying to some crazy lib? I didn’t see you post anything about any violence from those MAGA cultists?” It’s just as tiring. If you are all too dense to see it’s all wrong, there’s no hope to be had. Even the most vile of people being gunned down for their beliefs is not something to be celebrated. It’s just another victim of senselessness, even if there is this instinct to let the outrage of their vitriol to believe it was deserved. Hate begets hate.

The only people who are winning are the ones who celebrate divisiveness and this belief that they are better because they believe they are on the morally correct side. Seeing this unfold on social media, seeing a man with beliefs I wholly disagree with becoming a martyr for a cause he himself said was just a consequence of freedom is sickening. To see that a person who contributed to the spread of divisiveness be celebrated for being murdered is sickening. You can think a person who died was a terrible person. You are free to mourn him and his family as others are free to point out the hypocrisy in mourning this but not mourning a democratic state lawmaker that was also assassinated for their beliefs. But I promise that none of this does any good for anything but creating arguments and hurt feelings. Hate begets hate, after all

I usually try to end these posts with some positive messages. Some “Hold your head up high, you got this” message to help bring hope. But after everything I saw yesterday, especially on my own feeds, I’m not sure there is any hope. There is only divisive hate that seems to grow on both sides, separating everyone further. That makes any reasonable discourse impossible because everyone is so stubborn in the belief that they are the moral superior; there is no point in giving your own point of view with the fear of becoming an enemy. I am even hesitating posting this because I’ll have some people accuse me of being some snowflake, sheep of a liberal or a hate apologist conservative, when I’m neither. I’m just someone who is disappointed and sad at watching this deterioration that has been occurring for over a decade. They want us divided, and we’re just letting it happen. They want these mind-controlled masses, not the free thinkers.

I opted to share the entire quote from MLK, Jr. Because he was both warning about the contagious nature of those negative feelings but reminding people of the compassion, empathy, and open conversations that are needed to heal. I guess maybe deep down in my apathetic soul, I’m hoping people start coming to their senses. Maybe. Or we can continue to argue about being right all the time. Because that’s been working out well so far, right?

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Through Their Eyes

There’s something incredibly wholesome about the toddler age. They are starting to develop personalities, understanding boundaries, and how to interact with others. It’s, to me, one of the most fascinating stages of watching them grow. 

Every tantrum is a learning experience for everyone. It’s easier to manage them when you think of it that way. They are learning what’s acceptable in their behavior. We’re learning patience and giving grace to these little people who are overwhelmed by all these new feelings and skills and everything they are learning right now. You just have to keep in mind, even on the toughest days that you can’t control how they react, just how you react to them. The same applies to preteens and teens. But much harder to keep in mind.

Yesterday, during the nighttime cuddles that I’m soaking up because our toddler is the last child and I know how fast this goes, I missed her head and said “I love you.” She sat up, smiled, and in the sweetest voice said “Thank you, mommy.” Those are the moments they won’t remember, but you will. Those innocent moments that go too fast as you navigate raising them into adults.

It’s okay. It’s okay to be as sad as you are proud in these moments. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed during those neverending tantrums. It doesn’t last forever. Just focus on trying to see all these things with wonder and joy as your toddler is. 

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Aging Gracefully?

The dreaded 40. I had friends making a bucket list of things to do before they turned 40. As I approached my 40th birthday last year, I admittedly rolled my eyes at my friends. We’re 40, not dying. I didn’t dread that number. At 41, I still don’t. It’s an age. Your age is not something that defines you. You can very easily define that age for yourself, making it whatever you want. That’s the wisdom we gained with these 4 decades.

It doesn’t help that we get things thrown at us all the time. You get ads on your phone as you get older about all these creams or serums and honestly, I can barely apply basic eye shadow and mascara without it becoming a production. Poking myself in the eye with the mascara wand. Getting eye shadow glitter all over my face. It’s a disaster really. And you expect me to know what to do with collagen toner? These are things that I’m convinced are there are make us feel bad for those little lines we’ve earned as growing older in the efforts to contribute to the obscene coffers of these companies. I don’t mean this as a judgement to those who do make these investments. In fact, part of me is admittedly jealous that you aren’t overwhelmed at all these products.

We’re told to age gracefully, as women. We criticize those random gray strands we find. We analyze our face daily to see if we notice a new line that wasn’t there the day before. We are changing. Our skin is getting weird and dry. We’re getting antsy about what we’ve accomplished, and often times more focused on what we didn’t. If we’re moms, we have the added worry of juggling all these changes (both physical and especially mental) on top of “Am I doing enough for my kids?” Because that’s right; on top of convincing us that we need to be aging gracefully, we also need to be the perfect partners and parents.

You can age as gracefully or as not gracefully as you want. You can do that bucket list if it eases your mind. You can let your grays take the spotlight and rock it. You can proudly show off every wrinkle that you have earned, as your mind and body aged. Or you can erase the signs of aging because you’ve earned that right to do whatever you want to feel good about yourself. We’ve earned that right to age on our own terms and not let some silly numbers define who we are. To not let other people tell us how we should age gracefully.

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From Birth to Preschool

The local preschool lottery is opening up, which seems past where we should be but here we are. My local district has preschool available for free, for those students who need services and for those who can win the lucky spot in the lottery. While my littlest one does have a little bit of a speech delay that seems to be getting better every day, my hope is the lottery so that I can finally go back into an office with real adults and have conversations that go beyond “No, you cannot ride Arya like a horse”, “Is that grilled cheese and yogurt yummy?” and singing the Bluey theme and listening to Encanto and Moana music all day long. With dashes of Pidey Len, shooting her webs to prevent the dogs from eating her “(s)nackies”.

It happened so fast. While I’m excited for this new stage of our last child’s life, my husband and oldest son (who’s 22 now) are in denial of the fact 3 is coming up in a few short months. I’m sure tears will be shed by the men of the family. Us Malloy girls though, we’re a breed of our own for sure. Full of assertiveness, sass, and intelligence; we’re in a league of strong women. They boys might not be ready for it. In fact, I’m not entirely sure the preschool will be ready for this ball of energy. But, it’s time.

Not every school district is lucky to have free offerings. Some are luckier and don’t have to play their hand at winning a lottery. (A post for another day, I’m sure.) I was never much of a winner anyways, but here’s to hoping. Preschool will be a mutually beneficial endeavor for us. Len will get socialization from actual kids her age, which will significantly help her speech. It will help her learn and grow and it will be great. I get to go back into an adult world where sweatpants or pajamas at work daily is not acceptable. (Which is probably the biggest thing I will miss working from home.)

It’s helpful to focus on the positives. It’s sad to see your last child go through all these “last” firsts. It’s sad to remember how fast it goes. How one minute you’re singing to them in your belly to being mostly asleep when feeding them and not remembering any of it. To those last first steps and that last first words. But every milestone is a blessing. And you are helping this child grow into an amazing adult that will have their own little or big impact on the world. That makes any of the sadness worth it, I think.

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Let Them Judge; You Don’t Have to Listen to Their Verdict

It has been a while. But it’s time to try getting back to this. Once a week. I can do it. (I’ll just keep telling myself that.)

One of the biggest things as a parent is dealing with the judging eyes of others. It’s easy to tell yourself that they don’t know the whole story or that you’re trusting your gut and finding your own way forward. They have their own way of doing things, and sometimes they think their way of parenting is better than yours. This is especially true for those who don’t even have kids. Which honestly, as a parent, I just want to tell non-parents that maybe they should not have a seat at the table with judge-y parents. Because at least the parents have their own experiences.  You’re just judging to tear a person down. Good for you.

I’m guilty of it. I see a kid running around the doctor’s office, going right into the fish tank with enough force to hit it against a wall but fortunately not break it. Then, the parents do a “Oh don’t run, sweetie”. And continue to ignore the child who is.. checks notes, still running. I roll my eyes to myself. (I hope it was to myself. I can’t really control my face as well as I mostly can control my mouth.) But I do the respectful thing. I judge in my brain, or by sending a snide text to my husband who snickers to himself as he reads it.

But I don’t offer advice. I don’t make them feel bad. I judge in my brain because I only have a snippet of their experience. I don’t know if that kid is medicated or not. I don’t know if it’s their tenth attempt at the right medicines. I don’t know if the kid just got lost in being a kid. And you know what? It’s not really my business either.

My youngest son, the new middle child, has always been his own brand of handful. A loving ball of quick to anger, mouthy, intelligent, obstinate ball of amazing. He’s not without his difficulties that I try to get under control. And I don’t medicate him because I have made a choice to try whatever we can to avoid that route. I don’t judge those who do medicate their kids, as I hope(d) people wouldn’t judge my wait and see approach. I hesitate messing with the chemicals of a still-forming brain. And I don’t push that hesitation on others because… It’s not my place to judge and it’s definitely not my business. When someone makes me feel ashamed for my choice by pointed, offhanded comments, I feel like they’re judging me as the worst parent in the world. And that is the worst feeling in the world.

We have his 504 meeting today. Any parent who has had to sit in these 504/IEP meetings know that sometimes you just walk away feeling like you have failed. That no matter how hard you try, that you are falling short and no amount of trying makes you feel any better. You feel judged by these people who don’t deal with your child longer than 45 minutes, 5 days a week. You all have the same end goal of helping them succeed, but it doesn’t make it sting any less.

We’re all doing the best we can. Be kind. Don’t judge. Don’t take a tone of “you suck because you’re doing what I don’t agree with”, because those are the ones that sting the most. Be kind. We’re doing the best we can. As long as we try our best and love those little monsters, that’s the thing that matters.

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All The Downsides of an Epidural, Without Any of the Benefits

On August 1st, our little Beanie was born. As mentioned in previous posts, it was far from an easy pregnancy. My boys both had relatively uneventful and easy pregnancies and deliveries. Even the induction of the youngest boy was pretty easy. I was able to avoid the epidural, something that I avoided not because I wanted the bragging rights of natural childbirth but because the idea of a needle going into my spine was too much for me. I could only think about the things that could go wrong. Plus, I’m pretty unlucky and usually have bad reactions to medications. Which is why, as a general rule, I avoid taking anything when possible.

After a long induction process that started 3 hours after I was first admitted at 7 am, I was finally given the Pitocin to really start the induction at around 10-10:30 pm. I heard the contractions on Pitocin were going to be far worse than anything I had ever experienced before. I made it until about step 2 of doses before I realized that things were only going to get worse. It was semi-bearable, but it wasn’t going to be if things kept going this way. Finally, I was convinced by my support team that the epidural was going to be the right call.

After about 20 minutes, the anesthesiologist came in. I was sitting on the exercise ball in hopes that Beanie would get herself in the best position (she was backwards, causing back labor) and to help ease the pain. When being moved back to the bed by the awesome nurse (who really was my hero during the birth), my water broke. This is where I knew that there was going to be trouble. My first was born 45 minutes after my water broke. My 2nd, about 20-30 minutes. I mentioned this before, which was why I was being induced a week early. Between my age and the cord insert issue, no one wanted to risk me not being in the hospital when the time came.

To avoid getting into too much detail, my mother was kicked out while they administered the epidural. The medical team rushed into the room, but didn’t really understand that this baby was going to come before they were ready for her. And the anesthesiologist had just enough time to put in the catheter, only to have to pull it out because there was no time. Beanie made her appearance, and made sure that Daddy and Gramma would only hear her entrance into the world with those loud little lungs. A loud scream that she still has, in case you’re wondering.

The aftermath? My spine was bruised and swollen, though the bruising has finally started to fade. I have (still) some intermittent nerve pain. I had all of the negative side effects of getting this epidural without being able to enjoy the perks the medication was supposed to offer. But it was all 100% worth it for that little angel and for our family to become complete.

Going home was the best part. Seeing her brothers meet her was amazing. Having her oldest brother walk over to her and declare that he would do anything for her was the sweetest. Even having my wild child younger son seem as tame as he could muster was a sight to see. Plus, there’s nothing quite like the look of adoration between father and daughter. My boys are doting on her and she seems to enjoy their attention.

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A College Education is Wasted on an 18 Year Old

This upcoming weekend, we will be picking up our oldest as he completed his first year of college. Then, he’ll be home for the foreseeable future, as he’s decided that it wasn’t for him. The major was full of people he didn’t want to work with for the rest of his life. The major was one where they wanted more of the same, not someone who wanted to shake up the system to make it fair. The college itself just wasn’t for him. Did I fight his decision? Did I tell him he was wrong and he should suck it up? No. I didn’t. Because he’s a smart adult and I trust that he made this decision after careful thought, not rushing to some rash idea that he stubbornly stuck to.

I was telling my OB about it at our most recent appointment, where she said “I always say that a college education is wasted on an 18 year old.” She’s right. I wouldn’t have been as successful in college had I jumped right in after high school. It works for some people. It’s the right path for some people. But for others, they just waste money only to end up at a fast food restaurant and hoping they can make enough to cover their student loan debt. Will it eventually be the right move for my oldest? Probably. As hard as it is, we just have to sit back and let our children take control of their own destiny. We can’t make their decisions for them forever. Part of being an adult is raising them and hoping that you did enough so that they can make the right decisions for them. Whether you agree with it or not. I trust my son. I support him. I agree he made the right choice. $15k a year is a lot when you realize you have no clue what you want to do with your life. It also couldn’t have been easy for him to do, since he’s spent his entire life working towards this goal.

My love for my son isn’t contingent on his getting a college education, going to a fancy school, or having a fancy job title. My love for my son isn’t contingent on anything. I only want him to be a good person who makes a positive impact on the world around him, while being able to financially support himself and be a productive member of society. That’s what I care about. I’m not better than anyone because I graduated college. Having a graduate degree doesn’t make you smarter than everyone or a superior being. It’s the little things. It’s how you treat others. A person who treats everyone as equals will always be the superior person in my book. You don’t have to put someone down to be on top.

Will he eventually go back to school? Who knows. It’s not my decision. He’s nearly 20. These are the tough decisions that he is going to have to make for himself. But, at least he can make them knowing that he has the love and support of his parents no matter what.

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Sometimes Things are Just Out of Your Control

I was hoping that by the time I reached 24 weeks pregnant, I’d feel a lot better not having to manage with morning sickness. I was mostly right, but when it hits, boy does it hit. After going to a few regular checkups, I was happy that despite my age they determined that I was a low-risk pregnancy. That was great news. After that appointment, I scheduled my ultrasound, excited to see our little Beanie. (Bean was the nickname my husband gave her. It stuck with us and has become her name until she’s born.) It was a big day. My husband took the time to come with me, because ultrasounds are never appointments that he misses. It was a great day.

It was sweet. Beanie was active (and has grown to be so active that we now sometimes refer to her as our “Jumping Bean”). She was developing perfectly and she was healthy. There’s no better news to hear in the world. After sharing our pictures with family that day, we finally broke out the Baby Book. One just like I had purchased for the boys. Where I worked on it for a single day and never once filled in any of the other pages. It was a fun time, until I got the email about a message from my provider. I read through it, thinking no big deal. They would have said if there was something to worry about. Apparently it was determined that there was a minor issue: marginal cord insertion.

At first you hear something’s wrong, then you start a spiral of “what does it all mean?” Do you immediately doomscroll through Google? Do you just wait to hear from your doctor? Me, being me, just assumed if the doctor emailed me rather than called me, it was probably not a major concern. I went to reputable medical sites like the Mayo Clinic (which my doctor later confirmed were the right places to go). From what I read? They generally don’t know why it’s really highlighted as much as it is. I avoided mommy blogs, because they’d try selling stuff like “it’s because you need (insert essential oil here) in your life” or “it’s because you were vaccinated”. I read some forums, where everyone who had the issue said “no big deal”. That satisfied me. No downward spiral. No anxiety. What good would that do anyways? Anxiety is not great for myself or Beanie.

Now, I just need to go through more frequent appointments to measure my size and get another ultrasound at 32 weeks to make sure her growth is on track. My OB isn’t too concerned. She told me not to be too concerned. That this is why we get closely monitored, so in case there is a problem they can catch it right away. That ultimately, the biggest issue could be when I deliver, but even then it’s rarely a serious issue. I’ll take the win.

Pregnancy is there to prepare you to just give up control. You can only control so much during the pregnancy and delivery of your child. You can only control so much as a parent. Some things are just out of your control, and being okay with that is the best thing that you can do. No sense in stressing about all the things that you can’t control. It’s not good for you.

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When Things Start Falling into Place

I haven’t been around as much as I would like to be. But I promise there’s only a good reason for that: not very serious but moderate enough morning sickness. While I’m lucky enough to not have extreme morning sickness, I have to admit that every day can be a bit of a struggle to function as a normal human being. I’m a “suck it up, buttercup” type of girl, so I do my best. I’ve managed to make it through my work day without too much of an issue, mostly thanks to medications. But once I’m home, it’s hard to do anything aside from trying to get comfortable on the couch or attempt sleep.

It’s exciting though, because my husband and I had always agreed upon 3 kids. That was our number. That was our goal. 3 seems like a good number. Plus, apparently I have 1 kid every 10 years, which is a hilarious thing to think about. When my husband first brought up his wish for another one, I was scared. I’m now 38. That’s an “elderly” or “geriatric” pregnancy. Would I even successfully get pregnant? If I do, what complications would I suffer from? It was scary, but this was also something I really wanted. And I knew I had the best partner by my side through this process.

I had given up after some time of trying. It wasn’t going to happen, I thought. I forgot about it. Until I started to just not feel right and decided maybe I should take a test. I had stopped tracking dates but realized I didn’t know how late I was. It happened. I was so excited that I woke my husband up at what he would deem an obscenely early time. It was 5 a.m. He wasn’t mad. He was excited. 3 tests a day a part later, we started the plan. I chose a new doctor. The next few weeks were getting doctor appointments setup, scheduling viability ultrasounds and blood tests. Explaining that I’ve never had morning sickness but I thought losing nearly 10 pounds wasn’t great. (Turns out, it wasn’t bad since I was slightly overweight, so it wasn’t too big of a deal.) Then having them prescribe medicines that would help. It still feel like death, but at least now I can eat a little more.

The baby was healthy. My blood work was great. I got the Panorama blood test due to my age and risk of chromosomal disorders, which gave this extra benefit of finding out the gender before the 20 week ultrasound. My husband and I hoped for a girl, since we already have 2 boys. But we really didn’t care as much as long as it was healthy. My OB asked me what I thought it was. I told her that I thought it was a girl. Not because that’s what my hope was, but because this pregnancy had been so different so far. With both of the boys, I was exhausted all of the time. I just wanted to eat and sleep. I had no energy. This time, I felt like I had a flu that I just couldn’t shake. She said that she always thought that if the pregnancy felt different, it’s probably because it was and agreed that I might be right. Turns out… I was.

We’re in the second trimester now. 14 weeks. Anything can happen still, but I’m hopeful. We bought our first onesies and footie set for her. We won’t buy anything else for her for a while, just in case. But she is so loved already. She’s the only granddaughter for my parents, which makes it especially exciting for them. But all I can do is follow the doctor’s orders and hope that things work out.

That’s what’s so odd about pregnancy. It’s makes you feel so powerful and so powerless. You can’t really control when it happens. It happens when/if it’s meant to. You can’t control if the pregnancy goes full-term or if you have a miscarriage. Sometimes, things just happen even if you did everything right. But, it’s so powerful knowing that you are creating a life. But you feel so powerless if something goes wrong. I’m trying to stay positive. That this is something that is falling into place and show that good things are coming. I feel such joy and hope, that I’m worried it will come crashing down. But I just have to keep telling myself that what will happen, will happen. I just have to trust the journey.

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Raising the Next Generation of Wusses

My school district cancelled school today due to freezing temperatures. Yes, I live in Massachusetts and it’s cold in winter. The sheer amount of people with their panties in a twist over it was shocking. Do these people complaining even have kids? “What’s the big deal?”, I wondered. “This is why the next generation is full of wusses.” That was the answer.

I get it. There is some questionable behaviors from the next generation. But what bothers me is that they say, “Well, it was good enough for us to go to school during a blizzard in negative 20 degree weather…” Great, we should just settle for the status quo because that’s how it’s always been done? Shouldn’t we want better for our kids? Parents in my generation took a belt to their kids. Doesn’t mean we should be doing that today. We shouldn’t just make things, especially with the safety of our children, stay the same when there are things that we could do to improve their lives. For instance, car seats. Car seats used to be optional, but we use them today because it’s safer for kids. But I mean, because not having seat belts and car seats was good enough for us, it’s obviously good enough for our kids. (See how ridiculous that sounds?)

I get it. With stories like a basketball coach being suspended because their team had 80 something points on the other team, there is some level of babying that goes too far. The coach shouldn’t be suspended because the other team sucked. That’s life. There’s going to be something/someone miles better than you. Doesn’t mean they should be punished for it. That’s a line. There’s a difference between a participation prize and a babying prize. There are things that are making kids not ready for the real world, such as not having any rules or consequences for their actions. But, making them walk in negative wind chills is not really the play here. Especially when your argument is, “I have to work in the cold.” Well guess what? You’re an adult. If you don’t want to work out in the cold, get a different job. Isn’t that the argument when fast food employees want more money? It’s just that easy to find a new job, right?

The point is there are things that are making the next generation soft, but is that really necessarily a bad thing? When done right, this is what helps make a generation of people who want to do good in the world, and honestly we could use a lot more of that these days. Now, when they start asking questions like “Is peanut butter and jelly racist?” then that’s a line. When they think they can do whatever they want without consequences (cough: Kyle Rittenhouse, “affluenza teen”, Brock Turner) that’s a line. No one is above consequences for bad behaviors. But frostbite because kids are walking to school in negative wind chills really is not the hill to die on.