Tag Archives: family

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Have a Little Faith?

In my entire  life, I never saw a purpose for religion. I went through the motions as a kid, attending CCD classes every year by no choice of my own, getting my first communion and confirmation. It wasn’t a choice, and I hated every second of it. It made me feel like we were supposed to have religion in our lives, it wasn’t something we chose. Eventually, I chose to read about religions on a spiritual or intellectual level, not as a journey of discovery. My bookshelves eventually became covered in Wiccan books. At first I’ll admit it was to see the reactions on my family’s face as they saw my interest grow in “the devil’s art”. It was a fascination though, and I found them to be interesting. No, I’m not a Wiccan. I don’t prefer to follow or celebrate any religion. I won’t call myself an Atheist though, I’m definitely not that. I hate labels, but if I had to label myself into a religious belief I would classify myself as Agnostic.

It wasn’t until I had my first son though, that I found comfort in at least taking a shot in the dark by asking whatever would listen in my head to watch over my son. Now, I still do that for both of my boys. I wouldn’t call it a prayer, I don’t say “God, take care of them”. I say “please make sure my boys are safe while they sleep”. I feel a little ashamed admitting this, especially as I definitely admit a distaste for organized religions as a whole. I do believe we need to instill some sort of belief system in our children if for no other reason than to open them up for the choice to have a religion in their life. I’ve baptized both my sons, and my oldest has attended CCD every year since he became of age to and he has had his first communion. I believe strongly that, if nothing else, I should let him decide for himself when he’s an adult to do whatever he wants in that department but he should get all the “starter” stuff done while he’s young. Which I suppose is exactly what my parents did despite my hating every second of it.

Now I have the looming fear of my son’s surgery coming up, as I wait for my appointment card to come in to schedule his next appointment with the surgeon in 3 months, with a tentative 5 month wait until his surgery. I don’t normally admit fear, I suck it up and hope that I retained my laid-back “no worries” demeanor while I’m really biting all my nails nervously in my head. In the car with my husband, I heard myself ask a question I’ve never considered. (My youngest son is named for my grandfather, side note that is relevant here.) “Do you think that if my grandfather is out there, that he’d watch over Georgie during his surgery?” I never considered the possibility that there was anyone watching from the afterlife. I assumed that once someone dies, the only afterlife for them is decay, maggots and dirt. It’s a cold and depressing way to think about death, but that’s the only way I’ve thought of it until that moment the question slipped out of my lips. My husband, ever the kind person, indulged me. “I think so”, while discussing a scientific view of matter never dying, it just simply changes form and that it’s possible. I felt better, a little bit.

This isn’t the first time I’ve ever needed something to believe in. But I think everyone at some point in their lives decide they need something to cling onto when you feel like you need a little extra strength. I think that’s why religion exists. I don’t remember the last time I prayed, I really prayed. I’ve said prayers in church like you’re supposed to. I’ve had kind thoughts for people I knew needed them. But I don’t remember every saying “Dear God, could you give me a little hand here?” Sometimes you really just need to have a little faith because you don’t know if you can get through it.

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Dylanisms

Once upon a time, my husband said to my oldest son “one doesn’t buy Mexican food; we merely rent it”. We all laughed, because sometimes the most disgusting of jokes are hilarious. Yesterday, my son begged for Taco Bell and we obliged him. It was his last day home, why not just get a taco box and volcano nachos for him? We did, and my son did enjoy every bit of his tacos, like he normally would. They relaxed and watched zombie movies, and then he brushed his teeth and went to bed. Or at least pretended to on the couch, while my husband and I watched TV.

My son always reminds me of what my husband said about Mexican food every time we get it for him. He will leave the bathroom and enter into the living room and says “Mom, the rent just ran out.” Every time I partly cringe, but mostly laugh. It’s disgusting, you’re welcome for the information. He says hilarious things all the time, it’s what kids do. I end up just calling them “Dylanisms”, though you never fully get the idea unless you see his facial expressions while he says them.

Remember this, even while your child is still a baby in diapers: children are characters.  I often thing that their main purpose in childhood is to entertain us. They can get away with saying whatever comes across their mind, because no one really expects a 4-year-old to have the sense of what’s socially acceptable to say out loud. I’m actually very jealous of this ability they have, though honestly it doesn’t seem to stop me. While you’re sitting with a crying baby at 3 a.m., it’s hard to imagine that it could get better from here. It does, I promise. (Though at the risk of being hated by every mother, I lucked out twice and my baby’s are pretty well-tempered. They don’t get it from me.) Even at 3 months, my baby son shows the same personality my eldest one has. Silly, with a bit of serious business. Even mannered, and smiley. And, enjoys his sleep as much as his father does.

So when things seem like they will never end, the crying will never stop nor will the endless stream of poop diapers to clean up, you should remember that every reaction you have to them might very well shape their future. Sometimes all it takes is a deep breath instead of a bad attitude, and you get a smiley baby that grows up into a fine young adult. And then that fine young adult will announce every time he “blows it up” and you can shake your head in laughter and disgust. That’s the best part of being a parent.

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Don’t Ask

I dread moments when people ask questions. I enjoy to keep my secrets, and I think we’re all entitled to that. When I was pregnant, I showed people ultrasound pictures, but I’d never post them for a public realm of people to see. I feel like that’s a secret that my family and I should share, not my family and I and an odd assortment of people who follow me on social media. It wasn’t until my husband really begged, did I even show a slight picture of my baby bump. I felt that anymore more would invade a privacy I like to keep. When the baby is born and everyone can see it, I feel that you no longer have that “only I can see and feel you” overprotective vibe. That, and I really enjoy my privacy.  The great thing about this blog is I can share what information I want, and nothing can be stolen from me otherwise.

Now that let’s people as questions. It wasn’t until my first son was born that I realized that women are touchy and you need to watch what you say. When they ask “how was the birth?” and I tell them it was quick to the point and I didn’t need medicine, they get jealous. And they aren’t happy with me. I’ve memorized this look, it’s the same look I now give people who are toothpicks after giving birth. It’s that look that says “well aren’t you special”. They also give this look when they ask how your child is and what milestones he’s accomplished. When I respond “for the past month, he sleeps 8-10 hours at night and can roll both ways and he inches forward on tummy time”, I get asked how old and then I also get that look. Don’t ask the question if you’re going to get angry at the answer. It’s probably why I never ask questions, that and I generally don’t like being nosy. If people want to share information, fine. I’m not going to go around asking.

It’s scary though, last night my son decided he wants to sleep on his stomach. After a few futile attempts to correct this, I nervously watched over him a while. He’s been moving around his crib for a while now, and a few weeks ago decided he liked sleeping on his side. Now I see him on his stomach after repeatedly putting him on his back, I can only hear his pediatrician saying “remember, back to sleep”. I remember, but maybe you could let my son know because he didn’t seem to get that memo. I learned watching him that I could be a little at peace. He would lift his head and switch sides, and demonstrated great head control for a little 3 month old peanut. I’ll still worry though, but I’m not entirely sure what I can do. He’s becoming an age where I can no longer control these sort of actions.

Next time you ask a question and don’t like the answer, think of why you didn’t like the answer. Did you hope the other person’s child was not as advanced as your little one and you wanted to brag? Did your labor go poorly and hoped that they had a more painful story so you could feel better about yourself? Everyone is different, and every baby hits milestones differently. Babies and births are not competitions, they are miracles to be enjoyed and adored.

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The Dogs and Me

I often admit here that I lack any sort of normal social abilities. I don’t know how to properly connect with people, and I certainly don’t understand how to properly converse with others. My friends are exceptions to this, because they often also share this lack of ability to behave “properly” on some level. Though I’ve known several people who’ve died, I only cried once at a funeral. I’ve always associated this with the fact I lack a sense of connection. People probably will judge me on this, or for being so blunt about it. Even on TV, I have a hard time getting upset over a death of a character. I get mad, but I quickly get over it. I sometimes think that I develop more connections with fictional characters than real ones, but even still I accept this as life.

Soon after having my son, I realized I couldn’t stand seeing a child killed on TV. I couldn’t look, even if it was implied. I don’t recall having this cringe effect prior, but afterwards I just couldn’t deal with it. Kill the adults, but leave the kids out of this. Their innocence, I just couldn’t accept that at all. I could sit through the goriest murder scene in movies if it involves an adult, but the minute a baby died on a House episode, I had to leave the room. At least that made me feel a little more human realizing I’m not a complete emotionless shell.

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Princess Zoey loves Christmas.

Last night though, I had trouble sleeping and watched TV. When I couldn’t sleep at night while pregnant, I remember every time they showed an infomercial for The Humane Society I would cry hysterically over them. I had pregnancy hormones to blame, but there was something about those shivering dogs that pulled at my ice-cold little heart. Only the cute ones though, I’m ashamed to admit. Back to the point, last night I saw an episode of “Sister Wives” where they actually showed the father digging a hole in anticipation of putting his dog to sleep. Then they showed the dog on a blanket in the yard, while you see the vet filling a needle with what was obviously the medicine to put this dog to sleep. Then they made you watch as they pet and hugged the dog as it fell asleep. Then they showed the family burying the dog. I found it offensively graphic. I found it inappropriate to air on TV. Why would you want to have cameras tape a heartbreaking moment as putting your dog to sleep? I couldn’t deal with it.

Dog boy Tank

Dog boy Tank

After that, I immediate whispered little Zoey’s name and called her on the bed. She climbed up and cuddled with me, and I practically fell asleep next to her. Watching that had the same effect as watching a kid on TV get hurt. I wanted to hug her and pretend she was an immortal little puppy dog, my little princess Mal-shi. Tank, while not exactly as small as Zoey, is a lovable cuddly oaf of a small dog. He thinks he’s smaller than he is, and acts like our little baby of the house.

I love my puppy sized dogs. Don’t worry, we don’t put clothes on them every day, but for silly pictures to make people either hate us or go “awwww.” I wonder if I love them more than I love most people. I probably do. Dogs are loyal, always around to love you, and keep you entertained. I don’t like cats, they don’t quite love you in the same selfless way. Will a cat claw someone who tries to hurt me or my family? Nope. Will a cat cuddle up next to my baby son and pretend that he is the baby in their litter and try to shower it with love? Nope. Plus, the advantage of having dogs over human friends is they don’t talk. They bark incessantly, they jump all over the place as if they are children. But in a way, they are my children. My furry little immortal puppy sized dogs.

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My Name is Brianne, and I’m an Ephebiphobic.

Made you Google that word, didn’t I? Even if you didn’t, I’m going to pretend that you did to make myself smile that I was able to cause my readers to something. The word itself isn’t entirely correct for this purpose; my  issue doesn’t simply lie with children that are teenagers. I simply have an issue with kids. I’m not ashamed to admit this fact: I have a problem with kids, they make me feel uneasy.

I love my sons, and this doesn’t apply to them. My own spawns are immune to this general feeling I have. I understand them, I know what to do with them. I’m more comfortable around them. I excel at mothering them. Throw another kid in the mix? I have no clue at all, and it makes me anxious. I don’t know what to do with these little people running around my house, screaming and hitting each other. My instinct is to threaten to throw poopy diapers at their head, because it’s not painful and very hilarious. (Seriously, imagine a bratty kid covered in poop. Try not to laugh.) Would I throw one at my kid? No way. Would I throw one at my nephews for being annoying? Definitely, or at least they know well enough not to find out.

I wonder if it has to do with the fact that people are most comfortable with their own kids. Or something more. I remember when my first niece and nephew was born. I never had an urge to hold them or coo over them. Though, I don’t coo over my children either. I speak to them as I would an adult, minus the inappropriate things that come out of my mouth. Babies are stinky balls of poop and drool, and the 14-year-old me wanted nothing to do with all that. I don’t think I ever really wanted kids until I had my first son. Then I realized I liked my kid, just had a problem with other kids that weren’t mine. I go to birthday parties for kids a lot now, and a friend laughed at me as a bunch ran by yelling and throwing torn paper napkins at one another and I muttered “I hate kids”. There might be truth there, I definitely hate annoying kids.

Maybe I just don’t feel comfortable around other kids, related or not. I don’t know  how to relate to them, nor do I get a giddy desire to play with them. I smile at the cute ones, I can smile at them. Ask my friends how many times I’ve asked to hold their babies, I don’t recall ever doing that. I’m good with kids, I’m great with them. I wonder if that makes me weird, that feeling of disconnect with other children. It’s not to say that I don’t love the little ones in my family, I just admire them from afar. It’s one thing to drop your own child on his head; you drop another person’s kid you suddenly become the devil.

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And He Laughed… and Squealed. And It Was Perfect.

You spend 40 weeks with this monster growing inside of you. You’re happy, but the time you spend with your head over the toilet or dreading the numbers on the scale makes you wonder why you got yourself into this mess. All the planning in the world doesn’t help you at that moment. All you can do is sit and imagine the little person’s first smile or laugh and dream of its personality and you hope that reminds you of why you’re doing this.

Pregnancy isn’t for control freaks. You can’t control anything really, and you’ll lie to yourself if you think you can. Those people who freak out in the delivery room because they lose control should’ve done one thing to prepare: let go of the idea you can control everything. The minute you do that, it does get a lot easier. Do you go “I can’t wait to get induced and have extremely painful contractions that are worse than natural labor” when you find out you’re pregnant? Do you think “Hey, let’s just cut me open right now and get this sucker out because his heartbeat kept dipping”? I doubt either of these things were ever said. The reality is when you’re there in that moment, anything can happen and you need to prepare mentally for the fact that whatever happens you had no control over.

My midwife said that I did the best thing I could for myself when I when in for my induction. I studied enough about what was going to happen to not get freaked out but to be fully prepared mentally. I went into the hospital with the expectation that everything I didn’t want to happen was going to happen and I was going to get a c-section and a healthy baby. I was mentally prepared that I had no control over any outcome, but was mentally ready for the worst case. I was elated that my mental scenario didn’t happen.

It doesn’t end there, control freaks. You think that once that kid is born you regain control. Excuse me a moment, I just laughed a little. You can’t control a baby, it controls you. You might believe parenting books when they say “you just lay them down and they’ll know it’s bedtime”. The fact is sometimes you lay them down and they squeal with delight for playtime. They say “schedule feedings”, but I wonder if they actually had a kid. You can’t control when they eat or how much they eat when they do. You can’t control how many diapers they use in a week and you definitely can’t control when they wake up at night. Just know that this lack of control should help you know in life, you just can’t control everything. At least letting go of this control is worth it with the glowing smile and the high-pitched squealy laugh your little one shows off to let you know he loves you too.

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Text Text Text

A prepost shameless self promotion: my first short story publication is on sale now in e-book form on Amazon Kindle store for $0.99. It’s cheaper than most candy and you should definitely check it out. The link to my author page is on the side bar.

My husband and I have debated a while now, whether we should give our now 10-year-old social butterfly a cellphone. It wasn’t so much a debate as my flat-out refusal. Maybe I refused because I didn’t want to admit he was growing up, maybe I refused because I’m cheap. Maybe I refused because I just simply thought 10 was way to young to have a cellphone.

My husband needed to upgrade his phone, and ended up with that incredibly large Note II. While there, my husband got the sales rep to convince me that only good things could come of our son having this cellphone. He had me at “you can GPS track him”. I agreed, and he walked away with a smartphone, because what’s $10 extra from the basic phone when you’re already paying that much for a phone. Our son was elated, his cousins all had a phone and he jealously looked on. My son isn’t one to beg for anything, he asks a few times but gives up a spoken fight. Now, he had something he never dared to ask for and he couldn’t have been happier. He immediately downloaded every free Angry Bird game, including that Bad Piggy one. He had me download Fun. “Some Nights” as his ringtone. He immediately started playing games on it. Then, while I was in the other room working while he played next to Daddy with their new phones, I realized my upside: I was able to text him “Go brush your teeth”… and he did.

I didn’t realize the other benefits until he went over his grandmother’s house to spend the weekend. He constantly texted us and called us. We found out that he might actually miss us when we’re not around, and that made me a very happy Mom. He constantly texted that he loved us, or that they had bought him fast food, or that he played Halo 4 and it was awesome. I felt better about flip-flopping my stance on him having a phone because he’s an incredible little boy, and that phone helped me realize I may have done a great job with him and would do a great job with our new one.

I look at my growing too fast newborn/infant. He rolls over like a champ, and rolls to his side to move around the floor. He’s only 2 months, but he seems bigger. He seems like he’s just getting too big. They both are getting too big, and while that makes us sad as parents, we should look on with pride and not teary eyes of sadness. This should be a sign that we did something very right to watch our children excel as nicely as they are.

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It’s Officially Been a Decade

Today, my oldest wakes up a 10-year-old. I keep telling him to not get his hopes up, that he won’t technically be 10 until he gets home from school. I wonder if I’m delaying it for me or him. I’m not entirely sure if I’m delaying it because he’s getting older or because that means I am. Either way, my baby is officially entered into the double-digit ages.

It’s sad in either case, but mostly because it’s actually a little difficult watching the kids get older. I’m by no means an emotional person, but I become a little softie when it comes to my boys. According to the paperwork from his doctors’ office, he’s a tween. A tween? I remember when I didn’t want to admit he was a potty trained toddler though that was an incredible day realizing you were done with diapers. Of course, until you realize you’re still cleaning up his poop just instead of in a diaper it’s all over the walls and toilet. And even the “oops” in the bathtub. A tween? Scary.

I cringe every time he says, “Mom, I’m almost a teen!” I’m not ready for that. I wonder if I’m not ready for that because I don’t want him to grow up or because I’m convinced all kids become the devil when they become the dreaded teenager. Maybe my son will prove me wrong, and not all teenagers are Satan spawns. I try to hope, but something tells me I shouldn’t get my hopes up. Maybe if I keep the fear alive in him of being punished he’ll stay my sweet angel.

Whatever the case, he’s growing into a fine young man and I have faith that if he continues on this direction he really will change the world. Or at least whatever place he finds himself. Eventually we as parents need to step back and cross our fingers that we raised them right and set examples for them that they can use to become amazing adults. I can take comfort any moment I hide my teary eyed pride that, at least in this moment, he’s on the right path to be an incredible grown man. But he’ll still be my little munchkin that walked around Wal-Mart with his pants down to his ankles because he was too small to fit in his clothes but didn’t have enough words to say more than “uh oh’s” to let me know there was a problem.Happy 10 lil’ man.

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Congrats, It’s a Turkey!

Last week I mentioned my oldest son was doing his student council duties and attending to his shift at the canned food drive the student council was putting on for the local soup kitchen. He was happy to report that his 4th graders did beat all the other grades by bringing in 125 cans, happily noting that 10 of them were ours. He tallied them up and they had received 450 cans, well shy of the 625 cans they had hoped to reach. With a heavy heart, my son announced to his school that they hadn’t reached their goals but that they did a great job. 450 cans were a lot better than none. Still, he was disappointed that they didn’t at least achieve the goal they set. I told him that they did a great job, and that soup kitchen was 450 cans richer.

I tried to teach him the most important lesson of all, something I try to tell him every chance I get: holidays aren’t the only time of year you need to do good things, you should do them every day. Change in the world and helping others isn’t something you can accomplish one or two days a year. To accomplish these goals you need to work every day of your life and urge your children to do the same. Eventually, it’ll stick whether it be a year from now or generations. It shouldn’t matter whether or not we can see the change, but knowing somewhere you were a part of the change should be amazing enough.

I hope my children learn this lesson. Thanksgiving may be a time of year for helping and eating a ton of turkey and pie, but it’s a reminder that there’s still a lot of work to be done around us. We need to forget that these holidays exist for any other reason than an excuse to see family, drink a lot, and forget that you’re on a diet. We should remember that homeless and poor people don’t just exist once or twice a year, that they have to live their life that way and we should help them in some way when we can. You don’t need money to help, you just need to have the time.

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A Nice Salute

I come from a family full of military men. My great-grandfather, my grandfather, an uncle, some cousins and my brother. I also live in a city where there’s an airbase, basically right down the street from it. My first job was a waitress that worked with serving meals to people on their way to boot camp and deployment. The military has played an important part of my life. My son, like any son probably, loves to pretend he’s a soldier and wears a military plastic helmet and does a patrol. Living so close to the base, he often sees a person in uniform and always seems to get their attention to salute them. He wants them to know he appreciates the danger they put themselves through to protect us, and he honestly admires them. He says he won’t enlist though because his “mommy’s heart couldn’t handle football, let alone war”. He’s probably very right.

I was young when my brother enlisted. I was close to him and I remember being heartbroken he had to go away. I’m pretty sure I locked myself in my room a long time and cried. I remember when he was coming home to visit, I worked to make a nice banner for him and woke up to him making french toast. (Amazing the things you remember when you try.) To this day, I make french toast just like he did. Since he doesn’t read this, I can also say embarrassingly that every time I make french toast, I think about him. It’s stupid to think though, since he only lives a mile away and I see him a few times a week for family dinners and because our sons are friends.

I’m lucky, everyone I know that served always came home. They weren’t fighting in wars, they were helping protect people to make sure a war didn’t happen. I know people personally that weren’t as lucky, and those are the people we need to personally thank. It wasn’t just the service of our family and friends, it was the service the military families give. They give us their family and stand by them while they fight for their country. They worry constantly about whether their family member will return alive, not just mentioning worrying about the person they will be when they come back. Sadly, they don’t always come back. Veteran’s Day isn’t just about those who serve our country honorably; it’s about their families who suffer waiting and have broken hearts when their loved ones aren’t alive when they return. It’s about families who never even get lucky to see their loved one a last time or are left wondering if they are alive or dead for years. We need to take a moment to thank them too, though they might not accept our gratitude because the pain of loss is so great.