The TRUTH About Motherhood

Category: Confessions

Your Period, When God Shivs You in Your Lady Bits

Your period, that magical time of month when everything in the world irritates you.
Remember when you were in 7^th grade, way back before your mom would allow you to wear those whorish tampons that all the “cool” girls were wearing? Remember the good old days of wearing maxi-pads that had wings and were as big as a 747? Way before “First Moon Period Parties.” Back when your period, snuck up on you like a ninja and shivved you, usually someplace public, when you least expected it like right in the middle of confirmation or during your first boy/girl dance. Then you bled out like the near survivor of a shark attack? Way before your lady bits had a one of a kind special delivery in the mail each month.Hello aunt Flo, how the hell are ya? Yeah, good times.
Remember wearing a sweater “just in case” you had to McGyver it into an “accident” hiding cover up because you wore WHITE pants to school during your PERIOD? Yeah, me too. Puberty sucked for me. Besides the sprouting of all the hair in all the weird places and boobs growing (or not) you felt like a freak with pimples, greasy hair and if you were really lucky braces. But even with all of this, there was one silver lining …the missing of the gym class, more specifically swimming. You got to instead sit in the bleachers and hang with the other afflicted girls.
In middle school I was an awkward, gangly thing of a girl who had a growth spurt in every direction. I lost my center of gravity and any shred of self-esteem went into witness protection. But the period, as new and disgusting as it was to me in those first months, saved me from having to put on a bathing suit and jump in the water, emerging like the worlds ugliest drowned rat because, oh yeah, my dad wouldn’t let me shave my legs so, well, you can imagine what all that hair looked like wet. I did what any Latina girl my age would do, I grew a small mustache to distract people from everything else. No, not really. Not on purpose anyways. At least in regular gym class, I could cover it all up with nifty 1980’s tube socks.
From the moment I figured out that my “period’ could get me out of swimming, I immediately had at least 2 a month. That was 2 weeks a month of sitting on the bench writing notes and talking about boys. It was glorious while it lasted and then in 8^th grade I got a female gym teacher who I’m certain charted my cycle because it was back to one week on the bench and 3 looking like a drowned Mexican rat. Once again and for the next 28 years, my period never got me out of anything. In fact it got me into a lot of hard work, what with all the sex, pregnancies and children and all. Until today.
My period rescued me and used its power for good and not evil, for once.
In the past year, my girls have really begun to understand puberty and what is going to happen thanks to our dog who went into heat. They both know that the hair, boob fairy and period are all on its way. I’ve also assured them this is all very natural and I will make sure that they have all the necessary items available, including a razor, an aesthetician for those out of control eyebrows and lip hair, Midol, a good bra and dark chocolate. We are prepared.
Then this morning, I woke up feeling more than a little crampy on day 4 of flood gate shark week so I said to the girls, “ Girls, I don’t think we can go to the pool today. “ It was met with the expected, whiney, “WHY??????” (because to be honest they beg me daily to go to the pool, rain or shine) and I calmly told them the truth. “Well, I’m having my period and it’s one of those “heavy” days. I’m feeling really crampy and I just don’t think my tampon would survive the walk down to the pool.” To which my 7-year-old ( yes, the same one who yelled that I was going into heat once before in a public restroom) knowingly shook her head, turned to her sister and said, “See, mom’s going through puberty again.” Then she said, “It’s okay mommy. That would be gross. Let’s do crafts.” No argument, no long sigh, no whining.
I don’t know about you but I’m thinking I might be having two periods a month again. I figure she’s got at least 4/5 years before she figures out any different. God, I love being a woman.
Period party, anyone?
2014/07/02
Stop Waiting For “Special” Occasions, Do It NOW

Stop waiting for special occasions.
Do It Now!
Don’t Make Your Happiness Contingent on anyone else or conditionals. I will/can be happy when I …. is a crazy way to live your life. In fact, I have spent most of my life bartering with myself. When I get skinny, I will allow myself to finally be happy. When I do this, I will deserve that. When my daughters are no longer bickering and talking back, I can relieve myself of some of this mommy guilt. When my house is clean and my laundry is folded, I will be a good housewife. When I give my husband the attention he deserves, I will be a good wife. Then I beat myself up about all of it. It’s wasted energy.
You deserve happiness now. I.DESERVE.HAPPINESS.NOW! Not tomorrow or the day after or whenever I hit some imaginary goal, NOW! It shouldn’t be reserved only for special occasions. Tell people you love them. Dance like no one is watching. Don’t be afraid. Go for what you want. Celebrate every single day. Stop and see the beauty all around you. Every day that you are alive is a “special” occasion.
I’ve always been that kind of person who has hung my life on conditions and some imaginary set of rules for life. I don’t know why or how this started but I just never feel like I quite deserve success.I always feel like I need permission to just do what I want. Sounds crazy because I am the same person who believes that anything is possible through hard work and sacrifice. Maybe I only believe that applies to other people. It’s the mantra that I base my entire life on but then I just don’t quite feel like I deserve it, any of it. I feel like a fraud, in my own life.
I rush through the moments. Sort of like running through rain trying not to get wet. Instead of spending my life leisurely strolling through on a sunny day like I won the world and deserve all that life has to offer, I run from point to point trying to go unnoticed even when I want to be celebrated for my achievements. I half-ass a lot of things. I never give anything completely 100% because if I give 100% and it’s not good enough, then I am not good enough. I can’t give more than 100%, so if I hold back a little bit at least I can assuage myself with the knowledge that I didn’t try my best so sabotage is better than failure but success is never even an option when you live like that. Fulfillment can’t happen when you aren’t going all in.
Like a lot of people, I reserve things for special occasions; beautiful dresses that never get worn waiting for “special” enough occasions. China that never comes out for fear of being broken or the situation not being “special” enough. Furniture that stays covered, so many things that never get used but instead tucked away safely waiting for someday. Flowers we never cut and enjoy at our table for fear they will die. Well, I am tired of waiting for SOME DAY. I want to live my life all in TODAY. I don’t want to be afraid of breaking or damaging something before it’s appropriate time because if I keep living like this, I am wasting my life waiting. We’ve all done it. I’ll reward myself with this when I accomplish this. I will do that when I deserve it. You deserve it now. Just do it. Stop waiting, life is short.
I should have learned this lesson when I was in labor with my first baby. I refused to use the breathing technique until I was in full on transition labor at which point I couldn’t focus or catch my breath. I was in a silent moment of complete overwhelming terror and I had no way to get out because I had rationed my “breathing” for a “special” occasion, as if breathing itself was a luxury that I did not deserve. That’s my life in a nutshell. Hurriedly being stoic and never feeling the full weight of my joy.
So when I decided to make this summer the throwback summer, I thought I was doing it for my girls and I was, mostly because I wanted them to experience just playing and having fun and enjoying summer without a schedule but it’s slowed me down. I’ve been sitting and listening to my children laugh. I’ve been noticing the rhythm of the birds singing. I can feel the calm that the water brings as it splashes up into us when we play in the pool. I am breathing, all day long because that is what you are supposed to do. Air is free. I am walking more slowly. I am invested and present and you can’t believe how it changes your perspective. I have given myself permission to be happy and enjoy my life.
Today, I planned to make enchiladas, Mexican rice and refried beans for dinner. Usually, I hurry the kids out of the kitchen because it’s easier and quicker for me to do it myself. Today, I put on Mariachi music in the kitchen as I boiled the chicken. We were already running late but you can’t make chicken boil faster than it does. The girls were dancing, I was dancing and they were giggling and telling me to call them by their middle names, their “Latina” names. They said they were being full-on Latinas. They were really enjoying all of it and in turn I was happy to be doing it.
My 9-year-old loves to cook and she asked if she could help me prepare the meal. Again, normally, I would have brushed her off but today, I said yes. She was my sous chef. I mean when you think about it, this was a tremendous teaching moment and what kind of person would I have been to deny her of something so simple as helping her mother with dinner? So, she cooked the entire meal with me and it was the best meal I’ve eaten in a long time and I told her so. I mean this could be her passion. Who am I to deny her? The point is that it felt good to do this with my daughter, she felt good to be doing it and the food tasted great. A memory was made and I know my daughter didn’t feel rejected or dismissed. She felt empowered and accomplished and I had something to do with that.
There is a special contentment that comes from going all in. The other day, I was doing an assignment and I really put all of my time and attention into it. I didn’t hurry. I wasn’t thinking of all the other places I needed to be or things I needed to be doing, I was just present in my writing and it felt different. I felt the passion return. I guess my point of all of this is, be present and give 100 % at whatever you do; you are missing out on the best days of your life by running from shelter to shelter in life’s rain. Put your rain boots on and dance in that rain, jump in those puddles and don’t worry, you are stronger than you look. You won’t melt and you won’t believe how great true accomplishment, at something even as simple as listening to what your child is saying, will make you feel. I want to teach my girls to enjoy life, the simple moments because sometimes those that seem the most insignificant are the more unforgettable.
When’s the last time you allowed yourself to really and truly enjoy something without worrying about where you needed to be or what else you were supposed to be doing or waiting for special occasions?
2014/06/26
Maya Angelou Phenomenal Woman
I am having a hard time gathering my thoughts about the news that Maya Angelou has died. She was a great poet, writer and woman. My heart is completely broken at hearing she has died. She was a writer who inspired many of us with her words and what they meant. But she was one of my heroes of a handful of great women. I don’t have many heroes in this world but she was it. Through her words, she made me believe that I could do and be anything. She made the world a better place.
She was a renowned poet, historian and civil rights advocate. She changed the world and the ripples of her life well spent will be felt for ages. She wouldn’t allow herself any limitations because she knew possibilities are endless if we got out of our own way. So many of us stop ourselves from doing, being, getting what we want out of life out of fear of failure. Not her, she stood there and held her ground.
When I read, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, it spoke to me. I felt her pain. Our situations were different but I could relate to the shame, worthlessness and insecurity that she felt as a young girl. She became my hero when I read that book because I knew she was brave and strong and amazing.
Life is hard and not kind to all of us. Some children need someone to make them believe in themselves either by words of encouragement or words of inspiration, she inspired me to go after my dreams. Her words were soft and hard and truthful and honest and she could see right through life’s bullshit.
I read Phenomenal Woman when I was battling eating disorders and she made me feel beautiful at a moment in my life when I felt so ugly and undeserving.
She wasn’t afraid to face the impossible to become who she wanted to be. She shattered all the limits. She reached millions with her words. She touched hearts and broadened minds and now she is gone and all of her words that I have read since childhood are flooding my mind all at once.
I want to sob because it feels like I lost a wise grandmother who had all the answers to the secrets of the universe. It’s an unexpected and overwhelming sense of loss. She may no longer be with us on this earth but the world was a better place for having her in it for 86 years and I , for one, will keep her spirit alive by sharing her words with my daughters.
Some of my favorite Maya quotes

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

“You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.”

“My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style.”

“We may encounter many defeats but we must not be defeated.”

“You are the sum total of everything you’ve ever seen, heard, eaten, smelled, been told, forgot – it’s all there. Everything influences each of us, and because of that I try to make sure that my experiences are positive.”

“One isn’t necessarily born with courage, but one is born with potential. Without courage, we cannot practice any other virtue with consistency. We can’t be kind, true, merciful, generous, or honest.”

“Never make someone a priority when all you are to them is an option.”

“Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.”

“Nothing can dim the light which shines from within.”

“When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.”

“Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.”

“The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
‘Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.”
“I want to thank you, Lord, for the life and all that’s in it,
Thank you for the day and for the hour, and the minute. “

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
“Try to be a rainbow in someone’s cloud.
“If we lose love and self respect for each other, this is how we finally die.”
~Maya Angelou
You will be missed in this world but your words will live on in our hearts forever. There will never be another Maya Angelou. They broke the mold with her. Rest in eternal peace, my hero.
Maya Angelou April 4, 1928 – May 28, 2014

2014/05/28
When Mom’s Stop Being Nice and Start Being Honest

8:15 a.m. As I sit here, contemplating all of my work deadlines with my eye twtiching, staring out the window, as the aroma of Guinea pig piss wafts into my office and strangles me because some little person convinced me that she would clean the cage and LIED, I look around my office. My own little private space which has somehow become a natural disaster site since shoving all the stuff that we couldn’t get put away before the last round of visitors came to stay. I notice my yet to be unpacked spring break luggage. Did I take the swimsuits out? Oh, shit, I hope I took them out or else I am going to have to burn the entire suitcase, clothes and all. Where do I start? I’ve got on my yoga pants, I should probably exercise. Nah, I should probably clean the Guinea pig cage. Do the laundry. Wash the dishes. Go to the grocery store. Call the doctor about this f*cking twitchy eye.
This is what happens when moms stop being nice and start being honest
Seriously, this is my biggest question of every single day. I know that I start by waking up at 6:30 a.m. , forcing myself out of my exhausted fog that every insomniac suffer in the morning, and after a quick pit stop to brush my teeth, because I learned the hard way that little people are brutal, I tiptoe into my daughters’ room to wake them up. That usually goes a little something like, “Bella, Gabi…wake up sweeties.” I whisper this in an almost nauseatingly Snow White like voice. With a grunt, they pull the blankets up above their heads in protest. I think of it as the elementary aged kids version of , “Go Fuck Yourself, Lady!”
Then I try my Good Morning song that I have sung to them since Bella was a baby. (Sung to the tune of Good Mornin’ from Singing in the Rain) Good Mornin, Good Mornin..it’s great to be alive. Good morning, good mornin to you! And you and you! Good morning, Bella & Gabi, it’s great to be your Mommy. Good mornin, good morning to you! Boopboopitydo!” and I kiss them and they audibly grunt or they smile. In desperation, at this point, I usually pull off the blankets and tell them it’s 7 a.m. and we need to eat breakfast. Sometimes they move, sometimes they don’t. Either way, I head downstairs. Usually followed by two grumbling, mumbling “pissed off at the day” tiny tyrants. It sounds a lot like the Hamburgler is trailing me contemplating pushing me down the stairs. I am a little afraid for my life. I am already exhausted.
Then we play the I don’t want THAT! Game. I propose 27 different breakfast combinations and they promptly reject every single one of them. After 15 minutes of this. I say, fuck it and everybody gets Cheerios. Ticktock only 15 minutes before the SUV leaves the driveway bound for school. Come on Debi, You can do this. Get your head in the game. You can survive anything for 15 more minutes. You went through 13 hours of unmedicated labor. You did those 17 days without carbs (once). You didn’t kill anyone on that 3-day juice cleanse last month. You got this. Hell, you survived Dream Girls. You got this, GIRL! Finally, the youngest(who pretty much hates everything and everyone in the morning….so not a morning person. Give that kid a cup of coffee!) tells me just how damn awful those Cheerios were as she throws her empty bowl into the sink. It’s now 7:25 a.m. Only 5 more minutes, 10 tops.
“Go upstairs and brush your teeth! NOW!” I yell for encouragement.
My 6-year-old has now gone into her specialized slowmo movements. It takes her three days to walk up the flight of stairs to her bathroom destination. I can feel my sanity breaking as a barrage of questions and indignant declarations assaults me.
Where are my underwear? I DON’T HAVE ANY SOCKS! I don’t want to wear my uniform. I want to wear shorts. I don’t care if it’s snowing. You hate me don’t you?MOMMMMMMMMYYYYYY! Why is the sky blue? Mommy where are my library books? Can you make me cold lunch? I need money for a field trip. Today is the last day. I hate you! Fine! You don’t care about me.
AAAAAAHHHHHHHH! (in my head) SHUT.THE.FUCK.UP.PLEASE!! GOD! NOW!
Did I mention that I had already set their clothes out on their beds for them while they were eating? They have just not even made it back into their room yet? It is now, 7:33 a.m. The SUV should have departed 3 minutes ago.
One kid is fully dressed but decides NOW is a great time to change her earrings. The youngest is still in her underwear, dancing in front of the full-length mirror in her socks. I say, “Put your clothes on. Now! We are going to be late.” She huffs and, once again, now in ultra slowmo puts on her pants and then her shirt. She brushes her teeth finally, dripping red watermelon toothpaste down her fresh white uniform shirt.
“Where’s my belt, MOMMY?”
Me: “The one hanging from your back belt loop?”
Indignantly, she turns and without missing a beat, “NO, not that one. This one is ugly.”
She has 10 belts; they are all exactly the same.
Meanwhile, her sister can’t find the back of her piercing and is crying hysterically because “obviously” I should have never let her take the damn earrings out because now the hole is closed up and it’s all my fault for giving birth to her. It’s 7:36. We are going to be late.
I flip into supersonic, greased lightening or is that greased chicken (which one is faster?) speed and I brush their waist length hair as fast as I can. As I put them into the only hairstyle we have time for at this point, the side-pony or topknot, my oldest puffs in exasperation because she wants it curled. CURLED? IS this kid crazy? Sorry, no curls for you!
The littlest one, still only wearing one fricking shoe, tells me to stop brushing so hard. She starts to ugly cry and now looks like a spotted leopard. Her sister comes in to soothe her and tiny tyrant says, “It’s all your fault, Bella! If you didn’t sleep on the left side of the bed, I could have been a morning person!”
ME: WHAT THE F*CK?
And then the big sister starts to ugly cry…AGAIN. It’s 7:43.
NO way in hell these kids are getting to school by 7:50 but we’ve got to try. We get down the stairs and they both decide that NOW is the time to go over every scratch of paper in their backpacks. I assure you that it is not. It’s 7:45.
We get into the car and as we pull out my youngest says, “Mom, I told Lily about your baby.”
Me: “What baby?” because honestly at 6-years-old her imagination has babies coming out of our ears.
Gabs: “The baby that died in your tummy.”
(Pardon the pun) DEAD Silence.
7:50 a.m. I drop the girls off at the school office. They both give me a big kiss and an, “I Love you MOMMY!” They walk into school, turning back one last time to blow me a kiss. My heart melts.
7:51 a.m., I pull away, I ugly cry and I pop a Xanax. This is Wednesday
If you’ve ever ugly cried after drop off, been brought to tears by a screaming kid who couldn’t find their library book or just not gotten enough sleep or had a twitchy eye and felt like you were doing it all wrong…please leave me a comment and share this post because I think we have all been here. Well, I hope so or my other eye might start twitching too.
2014/04/23
Best Things about Turning 40
When I was turning 40, I had been warned ad naseum about how my body was going to give me a great big “FUCK YOU” and I took it with a grain of salt because, let’s face it, I am a stubborn broad and you can’t tell me anything and for the love of Pete, please don’t tell me that I CAN’T do something because chances are that I will do it…JUST TO PROVE YOU WRONG. Seriously, it is a disease with me.
Anyways, bossy, stubborn bitch aside that I can be, I really didn’t believe there was a magical age at which your body just shuts down and it’s all down hill. Plus, I refuse to believe that my middle age is 40. Fuck that noise, I am living to 105. So middle age can kiss my ass until I am around 53.
Sometimes, life sneak attacks you, ninja style and that is kind of what has been happening. There was no giant weight gain. Come on, I’ve been gaining weight steadily since the great exodus of eating disorders in 1997 and the introduction of mood stabilizers in 2000. It was a combo for body disaster. Then I got pregnant and started raising babies and my life, in its entirety, became a steady, uncontrollable run away train. It’s just how I was function.
Little to no sleep, everyone’s needs put before my own, eating terribly, exercising seldomly and losing all sense of fashion and self. I essentially got to the place of overloaded, overwhelmed and barely functioning but I thought it was okay because, in the end, I was functioning. I made concessions here and there and lowered my standards. Life essentially beat the crap out of me and left me for dead…in fucking yoga pants, a ponytail and about 75 pounds overweight.
Sure, I tried to bring back the feisty broad that I once was…several times. Clear! I was putting the paddle to the sad little broad’s life but nothing. Sure, there’d be a revelation here and there and I’d start working out or watching what I ate, coloring my hair and actually treating myself like a human and then something would break, funds would get tight and there I went to the wayside again. It’s embarrassing to let yourself go, especially when you used to be proud of who you were; what you were; what you looked like and your tenacity. You begin to feel like you had it all and you let it slip through your fingers and then you feel guilty because look at what you have instead…your children. Sure, you look like a homeless fatty but damn it, you are a good mother. But are you? Really?
How great of a mom can I be if I look defeated at 41? What kind of example am I? Then on top of all of that, I noticed my hair falling out by the handfuls every time I showered (Stress is a cruel bitch), crows feet just waiting to delve even deeper, my skin is a desolate dessert, my hair is not only starting it’s own gray hair club the rest of my hair is taking on a texture that can only be described as witchy; it looks like the curls and the straight parts got into a fight and no one won. Plus, my eyelids and my boobs are a little lower and my skin looks decidedly less smooth. Plus, there is the overweight issue. The issue being that I yo-yo between starving, dieting and eating whatever the hell I want. ALL these are bad for me, especially since apparently, metabolism has taken an early retirement.
So I am doing research. I will not go gently into that good night of middle age. I want to look like I grew old gracefully but there is nothing graceful about the knock-down, drag out fight that mother nature and I are about to have.
Here are some tips that make turning 40 awesome:
Vaseline is a miracle cure for dry feet. I am not joking. Take a shower, wash your feet, get out, pat those feet well and slather them with Petroleum Jelly an then put on plain white cotton socks. Within 2 days I turned my pterodactyl talons into smooth baby feet. But you have to keep it up or the crypt keeper feet will come back.
Wen is a awesome. Yep, I saw all the infomercials but didn’t believe it. I wasn’t sure that I would feel clean without lather but let me tell you my crazy hair is getting prettier and prettier every day and more importantly I am only losing 5-10 hairs per shower versus the handfuls I was losing. Now, Wen won’t do shit for your grays so you’ll have to get a good stylist and colorist. Go on, do it. You are worth it. Make time and take care of those grays.
Moisturize like your face depends on it because it does. Sure, you need to keep your entire body moisturized because if not you’ll eventually get all ashy and itchy and that’s not cute but if you don’t moisturize your face, you will get wrinkles and look like the damn crypt keeper by the time you are 60. If that doesn’t scare you straight, I don’t know what will. Crow’s feet and laugh lines may be natural and some even tolerable but an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of botox.
Get up and move. I don’t care what you do as long as you are moving. I sit on my ass all day working and my ass looks like it. It’s not being 40 that made metabolism take early retirement; it’s sitting on my ass doing nothing physical. My metabolism gave up on me. The good news is that going from sitting on your ass to any movement at all is going to be an improvement.
Get your sleep. You know people say, “I can sleep when I am dead. YOLO!” Well, as a grown woman who has terrible insomnia and a predilection for mania, I can tell you that sleep is way more valuable to your happiness than your YOLO attitude. Not saying not to live outloud but you can be a lot more lively and vivacious if you get at least 7 hours of sleep, plus you will feel better and people will like to be around you. YOLO is for 21 year olds who haven’t lived life yet. They are too stupid to know what they are saying is complete bullshit. Now, go take a fucking nap.
Wiggle it just a little bit…or a lot. Have sex with your husband, as much as you like. Look, I hear that menopause brings with it some vaginal dryness so girl, you better go get your groove on before you have to buy stock in KY lubricants just to do the deed. Besides, I don’t know about you but if I go more than a week without sex, I get grouchy. Seriously, like I want to punch people in the face grouchy. Have fun. It’s not so serious. This man loves you. Sex and giggling go together perfectly, as long as you’re not doing it anywhere near his penis. That’s grounds for divorce.
All things in moderation. Eat healthy and be happy. Look, I have been slowly but surely eating myself into not just obesity but unhealthiness. I have fallen into the terrible habit of eating processed shit and sugar and not near enough fruits and veggies. That’s all changing. I feel miserable and look terrible by my own standards. So, I am stepping out of my comfort zone and I am going to try to supplement my daily food intake with some juicing. Thanks Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead for scaring the shit out of me. Anyways, I’ll keep you posted on how all this goes. Just remember, turning 40 is not turning dead. You’ve got this. You are fucking awesome. Now, go show those damn 30 year olds what a real woman looks like:) Never you mind her pregnancy glow.
Shit, is this my midlife crisis? When do I get my sports car and start flirting with 25 year olds? Who am I kidding? A 25-year-old has nothing on the Big Guy.
What’s your best advice to anyone turning 40?
2014/03/13
Babies, Birthdays and Letting Go
As a parent, how do you begin letting go?
Today, my firstborn, my first baby, the little ball of warm, fuzzy goodness that came into my world and flipped it upside down, the very same kid who turned me into the woman I was always meant to be, made me a mother. That beautiful, amazing, smart, funny, caring, loving little girl turns 9-years-old and my heart is full and busting wide open. I get a bit of an emotional wreck every year at this time. I know growing up means one day she will be a grown woman living on her own with children of her own, maybe somewhere far away from me. That thought is like a dagger to my fragile mommy heart…today.
When did this sweet, docile baby who clung to my finger for dear life as I held her in a crowded room or became inconsolable the moment I left her sight become this independent, headstrong, prepubescent goddess? She is truly everything good, kind and beautiful in the world. She’s made my life better since the day I knew she was part of it.
My little bean, even though she is not so little anymore, has made me into a better version of myself; a kinder and gentler woman. She deserves doting and inspirational. She deserves a mother who loves her completely and unconditionally with honesty and integrity. She deserves safety, advocacy and everlasting admiration. She deserves a mother who makes her feel like she can do anything in the world and knows that even if she fails, she should always try and even if she doesn’t succeed this time, she can cry on her mom’s shoulder and I will lift her up to try again.
My daughters are my life. I am not ashamed to admit it and on days like today, I am painfully aware of just how brief this part of motherhood lasts. Just yesterday she was being born, learning to walk, talk and I was the most important person in the world to her.
Today, she depends on me a little less to survive and our relationship is evolving and changing every single day. My role is changing. But there is one role that will never change, I will always love her more than everything and I will always try my damnest to help her achieve her dreams no matter how big or small. I’ve begun joking with her and her sister that I am in the business of making dreams come true for the two of them. This past weekend, that meant a kick ass Frozen birthday party.
It took me a couple months to prepare for. It took a lot of thought and perusing Pinterest but it was totally worth it. There was food and cake and beautiful decorations all punctuated by lots of love and family and best friends. My, not so little, little girl woke up on Saturday morning after a night fueled by excitement and anticipation. The house was transformed into a magical winter wonderland fit for a Queen. Her sister and she oohed and aahhed and then it was time for her metamorphosis into Queen Elsa.
Bella, you are my sunshine and my heart. I love you to the moon and back…I love you so much more than that! No matter what you do, where you go or who you become my love for you will never change. Happiest of 9^th birthdays, my wonderful girl. XOXO
Just know, my love, that the hardest part of loving you is the letting go.
2014/03/10
Every Child is a Choice
People like to say that a child is not a choice but I think that’s a lie. I think every single child is a choice. But the reader board at my children’s school screams loudly that a child is not a choice. I get it. They are pro-life. Being Catholic, I’ve seen the words a thousand times but I never really knew the weight of those words; not personally. They are the self-righteous indignation of people who’ve never had to make “that” choice. Children should not have to think about whether or not they were a choice. It bothers me that those words greet my children upon their arrival at school every morning because my children were never a choice for me, they were always a blessing. I always knew that I wanted to be a mother.
I’ve always spoken openly about my belief in a woman’s right to choose.The woman in question making the choice was always some theoretical woman in some hypothetical situation that resulted in an unwanted or unplanned pregnancy. I never thought I would have to consider those words, to be in a position to make a choice about my own child.
I’m not going to shock you with a story from my youth about how I found myself in a bad way after a night of young love or how too much alcohol at a frat party left me to make the most difficult choice if my life. No. That never happened. Though it does, all the time. I won’t tell you a story of being molested by a family friend only to find myself 13 years old with nowhere to turn and no one to believe me. That never happened either. But it does. I won’t tell you of a break in during the middle of the night where a stranger forced himself on a young woman across the world from her family, terrorized her before beating her and using her for his own pleasure and her defeat, before leaving her for dead only to find herself carrying her assailant’s baby. That never happened. But it does, every day. These women and so many more have a right to their choice.
What brought me to my choice was less sensational but still the most difficult decision I ever had to contemplate. When we found out that I was pregnant with our last baby, the sweet baby that I miscarried, we were not expecting to be pregnant. It was not planned. We were living with my in laws, confined to only a bedroom’s worth of personal space. I was 39 and all I could think of were 1000 reasons why being pregnant at almost 40 was a terrible idea. My biggest fear was that there would be something genetically wrong with the baby and if I were to die in 30 or 40 years, who would take care of that baby. But there was one overwhelming reason to have that baby, from the moment I knew I was pregnant, I was completely in love with this child and all that he could be and do.
I remember after a brief moment of pure joy after seeing our baby on the monitor the doctor began rattling off potential threats to the pregnancy and saying things like advanced maternal age and preparing me for genetic testing at week 11 to make sure everything was “ok” and talk of amniocentesis to know if we wanted to continue with the pregnancy. It all became white noise, the soundtrack of terror, as my heart sank and fear set in. What if I failed this child? The Big Guy and I left the appointment in shock and fear and it was all tinged with sadness. For a moment, it felt more like a tribulation than a celebration.
We went to lunch to discuss the inevitable. What should we do? We discussed all the possible outcomes and I was angry; angry that I had to even consider anything other than just having this baby. I was mad at a world that filled me with so much trepidation. I was pissed off that I had to think rationally about a life. I wanted to celebrate my miracle not weigh options like I was buying a house.
With my 2 previous pregnancies, all genetic testing and what ifs were never even considered. I vehemently refused because no matter what, I was having those babies. Now, I had to consider ever possible option; for the baby, for our children, for the Big Guy and I. I just couldn’t reconcile myself to anything other than having this baby and loving and caring for it forever. Concerned and worried, the Big Guy agreed. It isn’t who we are. Even though I am 100% for freedom of choice for women, there was no choice for me because, you see, it wasn’t some abstract fetus; it was a Bella or Gabi.
Even though I had never met this sweet baby yet, I already loved him because I knew what he would become. I knew the love my heart would feel. I knew how my heart would swell when they lay him on my chest for the first time. I knew how when he held me in his gaze while I fed him; it would be just the two of us. I knew a lifetime of kissing booboos and “I Love You”s would never be enough to encompass the love a parent feels for their child. I wanted that again, so much.
We left that lunch excited for the future. We were giggling and discussing what ifs and name choices and how we would announce it to everyone? We were terrified of what might be ahead of us but we were thrilled at the idea of another child to love, to watch grow up together. It was our secret miracle and we couldn’t wait to tell the family when we surprised Gabi with a big sister t-shirt at her 5^th birthday. All the worry I had, left me in the sureness of our choice. Then three weeks later, my choice was taken away. It was the worst day of my life.
Every child is a choice.
2014/01/30
The Problem With Education Vouchers is that Some Kids Don’t Belong in Private Schools
Okay, at the risk of sounding like a complete asshole, I want to discuss Education Vouchers. Our state has recently put into place a program that provides education vouchers for many children in the state to give them the financial ability to attend a private school of their choosing. Sounds awesome. Finally, children who were not wealthy could still have access to a private education.
I grew up poor but was always at the top of my class. I worked my ass off because my parents stressed the value of a good education. It was important to our family.Had the voucher program been in place when I was a kid, I could have gone to private school and received a more challenging education than what my public school education could provide.
My girls attend a private co educational school because we place value and importance on education. We are by no means wealthy but we made the choice to prioritize our girl’s educations over other things.We made the decision to sacrifice in other areas. We go without some things so the girls can get the best education we can provide for them. Unfortunately, even though we are not wealthy we also don’t qualify for the education voucher but I was still 100% in favor of education vouchers because if it could help one kid who needed it to get to an education they deserved, it was perfect.
Here is the problem, the education voucher was a great idea in theory prompted by people with seemingly good intentions but in fact, it is failing miserably, in my own personal experience. You see when you attend private school, there are usually a battery of entrance requirements; interviews, stipulations, testing. Parental involvement is a must and if it’s parochial, so is involvement in the church. At out school, the staff know al the parents because we volunteer on a regular basis. We see each other several times a week and we are in many ways, a family. But when you attend private school on an education voucher none of that applies. None of it. None.Of.IT!! I don’t think that is fair at all but that’s not here or there because fair is a luxury life doesn’t usually afford us. This is not me being an elitist snob this is me stating facts.
Every morning at drop off, I see kids whose parents took the voucher and forced their kids to attend private school. Some want to be there but others don’t. I don’t begrudge a parent for wanting better for their child but if you are going to go in, go all in and be involved with their kids education more than just dropping them off at school. They are not required to be involved in school activities like the parents of traditional students. At our school, traditionally it is required that the entire family be involved. There are requirements and expectations in place for both parents and students.
We oblige because we want the education for our children and we want to optimize the experience because we are invested ourselves, financially and personally. What bothers me is that the parents of the children attending on vouchers are not required to volunteer at the school or attend the church. Since the voucher went into effect, our school rating has fallen. I think it has a lot to do with uninvolved parents who are not invested in the program because they didn’t have to pay for it and in effect, children who take for granted what they’ve been given. It’s just not that important when you don’t have to earn it or pay for it.
I’m paying a lot of money in tuition for my kid to go to what is becoming a subpar school while these other parents send their child to the same school for free. We bust our ass to meet the stringent requirements as a family in order to attend the school. Meanwhile, the parents of the voucher students don’t have to do anything. My issue is not with the children, my issue is with the program. There needs to be equal admissions qualifications for all families, vouchers aside.There needs to be academic standards in place as criteria for admissions. Some sort of academic testing should be in place and there should be an interview process in which the parents are made aware of and held to the same standards as all the other parents and students.
I think financial need should be a qualification but there needs to be testing to make sure they deserve to be there; that they can keep up educationally and that they actually want to be there. If they don’t qualify then they shouldn’t get to attend the school; voucher or not. Why should the kids whose parents have worked their asses off to provide them with a great education and who have worked hard since kindergarten to be a part of the school, now have to accept the new lower standard in education excellence?
What do you think about kids being accepted into private schools simply because they qualify for free tuition through education vouchers?
2014/01/15
Captain’s Log (Mommy’s Blog); Day 17/ No end in sight
It’s Monday and the kids are, as expected, home with me; under my feet, bickering and fighting. My husband is also trapped at home, no one is at work because the roads are impassable and he’s playing video games, hunched over in front of the television in the living room like a zombie in one of his games, oblivious to everything around him, including the bickering kids and the dog whining to go piss. Me, I hear it all and I really have the urge to kick him off his stool. Don’t worry, I warned him so when I do it, he won’t be shocked.
They’ve already texted to warn tell us that school will be canceled tomorrow as well but hey, the first grade teacher suggests that we get the kids started on that reading project that starts next week? Don’t just sit there on your ass daydreaming of knocking your husband off of his stool, woman; be proactive. Get the kids hyped up about the reading program. Who cares if they have been completely ignoring you for 17 days when you’ve asked them repeatedly to clean their rooms? Who cares if you are up to your eyeballs in laundry and have work deadlines looming? Who cares if you are hanging on to your mommy sanity by drinking wine straight from the bottle and eating sleeves of Y2K ration Chips Ahoy during snowpocalypse? Who cares? The reading program will solve all of your problems just you wait and see. Anyways, now the first grade teacher is looking like she might need to be knocked off her stool too. I’m making a list.
Maybe the 41 degrees below zero wind-chill weather has me a little bitter and the cabin fever isn’t helping but honestly, as of tomorrow the kids will have been home for 18 days straight. 18.DAYS! To pass the time, I decided to change the absorbent material that lines the guinea pig’s cage. You know the guinea pig that my 6-year-old begged for and promised to clean his cage and feed? Yeah, he is now mine, just like the carnival goldfish, Golda, who just won’t die and the puppy, Lola, who has turned into the most interesting dog in the world (if you believe my Instagram feed). Somehow amongst all the other responsibilities that I have, my person has become a wayward home for unwanted (or only wanted on occasion) derelict pets. Anyways, I digress. The point is the guinea pig, Ted Koppel, just shit all over me. Snowpocalypse and snow days can kiss my ass.
Captain’s Log; Day 17/ Ted Koppel shit on the mommy blogger.
**God, if you’re reading this, this is Debi. Please let the kids go back to school on Wednesday. I don’t think I have another day in me.
2014/01/06
Captain’s Log: Day 14 of Winter Break, Kill Me Now
Captain’s Log: Day 14/ The End is near.
It’s day 14 of our winter break and quite honestly, I can say I am more ready for my kids to go back to school than I have ever been for anything in my entire life, except for evicting them from my uterus in anticipation of meeting them for the first time. I.AM.NOT.THAT.MOM! I swear I am not. Normally, I just want it to go on and on and soak in all the moments but not this time. This time I want them to go back to school so that I can get back to a schedule and have my house back in some kind of order. This overwhelming feeling of doneness crept in about 2 days ago. 14 days is too long and I still have 2 more days and well, I’m running low on Xanax.
Look, it’s been great but this winter break thing has run it’s course. I’ve realized that I am one of those people that misses my children more when they are at school.I figured that out a couple months ago. See I used to always threaten to “homeschool” the girls if they misbehaved. Knowing full well that they’d never want to miss out on hanging out with their friends to be stuck under my feet. Then the 6-year-old started asking if I could homeschool her and I realized I was afraid. Very afraid. I started having nightmares of spending 24 hours a day, every day with my moody elementary schoolers. We were playing a game of homeschool chicken and I was about to bob and weave to save myself. Damn that little evil genius. Needless to say, I no longer utter the word…shhhhh (whisper) “homeschool” anywhere in a 25 mile radius of my children. Hell, I am risking my sanity just typing it.
I’m not crotchety. I swear I am not.I love holidays and snuggles and warm fires and fuzzy memories with my sweet girls but we’ve gotten a mountain of snow and I’ve got a bad case of cabin fever and now, in a cruel twist of fate, the weather forecast has issued a winter weather advisory for tomorrow night ( squashing my travel plans to Chicago for my nephews 2nd birthday….Boo! Happy Birthday Ayden, Titi Debi loves you!) but as if that weren’t bad enough they are calling for 6-12 more inches of accumulation Sunday night. SUNDAY.FRICKING.NIGHT! That will mean no one is going to school or work on Monday. No.ONE!!!
As I read the weather report I could feel myself getting all squirrely. I was like a trapped animal. My mind zipping from idea to idea to try to remedy and avert this crisis. It’s 10 below zero and I am fully prepared to borrow a snowblower and plow our way the 10 blocks to school.
Must.Work.Must.Clean.House.Must.Watch.Something.Other.Than.Cartoons.Must.Enjoy.The.Silence.MUST.SNOWBLOW.THE.CITY!
How is your winter break going? Are you soaking it all in? Or has your winter break passed it’s expiration date?
**Sorry Girls, if you are 25 and this is 2031 and you are finally reading this…I loved you every single day but 16 days is too long for a winter break. I think 12 is about right. You’ll see when you have your own.
2014/01/03