I think role model moms should be standard issue to all new moms. Being a mom is hard. It is by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Not because of all the work it entails but the sheer force of the all-consuming energy that unconditional love tolls on your mind, body and spirit. Having done it twice, I really think that most of us spend the first four years of of our children’s lives in a fog induced by sheer love meeting complete desperation and exhaustion. I mean, I know I didn’t have a full night’s sleep until year 8 and it was only once.
The thing is when we come up for air from the insanity of new motherhood, we need to look for a mom role model.
I don’t mean someone to emulate or keep up with. Believe you me, I’ve had more than my fair share of those in my parenting lifetime. I’m not even referring to those amazing mom friends who hold your hand and lift your soul when you are neck deep in diaper blowouts, colic and regression. Though those broads are worth their weight in gold, for the listening and nodding agreement alone. If they can offer helpful advice and be a gentle sounding board, bonus.
When I say a role model, I mean a mom you meet who has older kids who are turning out pretty damn good. She might know a thing or two. Sure, she might not have cloth diapered but her oldest just started college and that kid’s got all of his shit together. This mama knows how to get things done the right way. I was fortunate to meet one such amazing woman on my oldest daughter’s first day of kindergarten.
You see, it was my first child and I didn’t want her to go to school all day. I wanted to cherish these final moments together. Plus the kid was still taking naps and who was I to take that away from us. Her sleeping peacefully while I gently stroked her head and silently sobbed because she was leaving me. Looking back now, on the precipice of puberty, I wasn’t wrong.
Anyways, I digress. This other mom, let’s call her Maureen ( because that is her name and she is too awesome for me not to refer to her by her real name), had a little boy who also happened to be only going ½ day. We.were.the.only.2. ( It’s Catholic school, people. Most of these mamas have plenty more and full day it was.) But not us, we wanted our kids home with us.
I walk into the corridor to wait for my daughter and I see this lovely woman, blonde and beautiful. Obviously, she has her shit together. She was not wearing the yoga pants and t-shirt with spit up on it that I was and her hair was so not in a ponytail like mine. We started talking and she was a little teary eyed and all I thought was dear Lord, what are they doing to our children that this obviously seasoned mom was brought to tears by. That’s when she told me that not only was this her youngest child’s first day of kindergarten but her oldest child’s first day of college. You see the irony, first and last and last and first all in the same day. I got a little choked up myself. I just wanted to hug her but I didn’t because that would have made me seem deranged, right ? Well, maybe I did, who can remember, the brain fog was strong with me in those days. Either way, I knew I loved this woman instantly.
Her heart was as big as anything I had ever seen and she was is (she’s not dead or anything) just a really lovely person. She had kind eyes and an unspoken kinship that put me at ease. For once, I felt like I could shut up and listen and not tell the other mother what month of life my child achieved a basic life skill (good thing too because I was getting tired of pulling out those motherhood aces up the sleeve: Bella walked at 10 months and Gabs totally potty trained herself by 18 months. Ok, see that was the last time.)
From that first day, I knew we would be friends and when I met her other children ( she has four) I realized that I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. Her kids are kind, well-mannered, smart, well-rounded citizens of the world. Her kids blow my mind, ergo, her mom skills are the bomb.
Six years later and she is still my mom role model. I hope one day I can be the same for some other new mom because God knows, I am not the youngest mom in the class, ever.
Do you worry about your child’s grades? Last week we attended annual Parent/Teacher conferences for our girls. They are always fairly uneventful. We go, the teachers tell us how good our girls are doing and we all go home and pat ourselves on the back. There are never any surprises.
We usually have a report card for the first quarter in hand before we ever meet with the teachers. It’s hard to argue with high honors. Mind you, we don’t necessarily want constant approval. In fact, I think parent/teacher conferences should be like managerial review meetings. Tell me 3 great things about child and then give her 2 goals of improvement to work towards. I want my child to feel challenged, not complacent because I know complacency and boredom is a recipe for trouble and failure in the long run.
This year my daughter’s 5th grade teacher threw us a curveball. She had our girl assess herself. Not surprising, my daughter marked herself “average” on all accounts. Average because we have expectations for her education that are based on more than just grades. Our expectations include love of learning, understanding concepts and being challenged. Grades are just a superficial quantification of learning. We know this.
I was raised to always strive for my best. I competed with myself. I still do because my toughest competition is myself and I want to be motivated by myself not out of envy or jealousy of someone else, it’s not healthy. This is what I have instilled in my girls. This is what my parents instilled in me.
Do grades really quantify an education?
When I was a child, I remember bringing home straight A’s and my dad asking why they were not all A+s. I remember feeling deflated. This turned me into a perfectionist and left me feeling unsatisfied in a lot of ways because I always felt like I let myself down and worse like I had let my parents down. I never wanted my girls to feel that way.
I never ask why a grade is not better. I am always proud of them and I ask them why they think a grade is what it is but mostly I just keep my eye on it and make sure that I put a little extra time in reviewing homework so I can find out and gently help them gain confidence and mastery in whatever the deficit or concept that is lacking is in. This has worked pretty well for us. I know that there is more that I can do but, for now, this is how the Big Guy and I address grades.
Imagine my surprise at the parent/teacher conference when the aforementioned 5th grade teacher, chuckled at my daughter when she answered “average” and then corrected her by saying, “if the other students listened/paid attention even 1/3 as much as you do you do, I would be happy. You, my dear, are most certainly “Above average!” My daughter looked confused, as was I.
I know, you are thinking, just shut up and be happy but what you don’t realize are few things 1) I was getting my masters in early education when I had my first child 2) I worked in education for 10 years 3) that teacher just completely undermined the expectations we had set for our daughter 4) in an instant, the teacher has lowered my daughter’s expectations for herself by making her effort seem overdone.
I’ve never liked rating/grading scales in education because really, what do they measure? It’s a moving scale. This is why we put in place expectations of our children, other than grades themselves. I want my children to feel proud and accomplished for thinking, for learning for craving more knowledge. It’s not just about a grade. I don’t want my children to be afraid to feel challenged. I want them to be exhilarated by it.
And before you start thinking I’m one of those mom’s who thinks their children are “gifted”, I don’t. I do think they are smart and capable of more than the expectations the school is setting for them. Of course the school is only responsible for passing grades, it’s my job as their mother to advocate for them and teach them to expect more from themselves than just “average”.
My daughter said, “average” because she knows that the effort that she is giving is not her best. Granted maybe a well-behaved child, who listens, pays attention and engages 97% of the time is better than the average student for that teacher, but it is not better than my daughter’s average and my daughter knows that.
I found myself to be completely annoyed by this teacher. I think she could have told my daughter that she thinks she is doing great without going so far as to say, “compared to the other students” because I’ve not taught my daughters to give a flip about what others are doing. I don’t teach my daughters to gauge their success by someone else’s failures only by their own feeling of satisfaction.
As a mom, I believe my number one purpose is to love my daughters but it is also my responsibility to encourage them to go after their dreams, honor their commitments and think for themselves. I’m doing my best but it’s hard because parenting is not an exact science.
What do you think? Do our expectations for our children distort their expectations of themselves? Is it better to encourage our children to strive for their own personal best?
How important do you think grades are to your child’s education?
Pumpkin spice cheesecake is the epitome of autumn to me.
It encompasses all that is amazing about fall; the colors, the smells, the tastes and triggers the memories of coming home, being home and being loved.
Every fall, the world transforms into a menagerie of splendid shades of greens, yellows, ambers, browns and reds. The leaves are dying, but to me, it feels like the world is coming to life in all it’s vibrant glory. I was born in the fall and it holds a special place in my heart.
I live for the crispness of the cool autumn mornings, the soft afterglow of that illuminates the world on an autumn afternoon and the sky, ever clear holding court with all the stars in the heavens. There is nothing that I don’t like about autumn.
I love the warm colored clothes that we pile on layer after layer. I love the sound of leaves crunching beneath my feet as I walk through the park. The smells of chili and soups being made. I love my children running towards me with slightly red noses for hugs after school. I love cuddling in close to the Big Guy to stay warm. There isn’t really too much that I can say bad about autumn. I love it all.
I enjoy those last moments of clarity before the chaos of the holiday season begins. When I think of fall, I think of all the good things that are about to transpire; my birthday celebrated with loved ones, sipping coffee and making real connections with all the amazing friends who live in my computer at conferences, back-to-school, Halloween, pumpkin carving and trick-or-treating with my little girls, giggles echoing into the crisp night air.
I think of my niece’s first birthday party, I think of Thanksgiving and all of our family ( both sides) talking, laughing and bonding while the smells of turkey and pumpkin pie waft through our home. I get the warm fuzzies knowing that in just 3 short months, after months of rehearsals, my daughters will take the stage to perform in the Nutcracker. My heart is full and it leaps with joy each time they perform.
Autumn reminds me that Christmas eve is right around the corner. A night spent playing charades, exchanging hugs and hearing stories told to my girls from the lips of their Great Aunt Maxie and their Great Grandmother of their childhood in Canada. Seeing all that love and watching our girls excitedly force themselves to sleep contrary to what all the excitement of Santa dictates, knowing that the next day, there will only be more warmth.
I love receiving the homemade gifts that my girls hand make with love each year because I know the time, effort and love that goes into every second of it’s making. I love watching their faces as they open their gifts. The laughter and excitement. I love the big breakfast of gravy and biscuits or creme brûlée french toast. The smell permeates our home like an old familiar friend. And from there it’s another couple weeks of family, food and love and that is what these first crisp mornings of autumn remind me of.
I’ve already started craving all the autumn dishes, the warm fuzzy feelings, and so here is a recipe sure to make your stomach and your heart happy. It will satisfy.
International Delight Pumpkin Spice Cheesecake
Ingredients
For the crust
2 cups of graham cracker
1 stick (8 tablespoons) butter, melted
4 tablespoons sugar
4 tablespoons brown sugar
For the filling
12-ounces cream cheese, softened to room temperature
10-ounces pumpkin puree
¾ cup International Delight pumpkin pie spice creamer
Place the graham cracker crumbs in the bowl. Add the melted butter, sugar and brown sugar and combine.
Spoon the crumbs into individual plastic cups (or into a 8 x8 casserole dish). Place in the refrigerator to set while you are preparing the filling.
In the bowl of a stand mixer with the paddle attachment, beat the cream cheese until light and creamy.
Add the pumpkin, pumpkin pie spice creamer, and pudding mix. Beat until completely mixed, scraping down the sides and bottom of the bowl to ensure that all ingredients are combined.
Add the sweetened condensed milk and mix again until thoroughly combined.
Change your stand mixture attachment to the wire whisk. On slow speed, fold in Cool Whip.
Allow the mixture to sit in the refrigerator for about an hour to firm up.
Spoon pumpkin mixture over the graham cracker crust and refrigerate until ready to serve.
Garnish with drizzled caramel for an extra decadent dessert or with a dollop of whipped topping.
Serve with a smile and enjoy.
What is your favorite thing about the autumn season?
This is a sponsored conversation written by me on behalf of International Delight. The opinions and text are all mine.
Birth Control, Smirth Control! What a Friday it’s been. My boobs are sore, I’m so freaking irritable that my mom offered up one of her precious panic attack halting Xanax,I’m exhausted and annoyed and craving fruit like it’s crack and I’m Whitney Houston. But for some reason, my Mom is hell bent on asking me..”Are you pregnant?” This only further irritates me. Hell really hath no fury like a woman on the verge of menstruating.
“No,Mom! It’s that time of month…why else are you throwing Xanax at me?”
But then I started thinking, as I do every single month, because I like to play russian roulette with my reproduction…am I pregnant?
Birth Control
Due to the stress of my life, after many years of EVERY kind of birth control under the sun, I gave up birth control almost 2 years ago. I’ve tried various pills, the patch ( that left a crusty bandaid rash..Ooh so sexxy), the Nuva ring ( which slipped out with increased cervical fluid, effectively defeating its entire purpose), vaginal inserts coupled with condoms ( why yes, it is very attractive when my vagina was frothing like a rabid dog. Why no? My vagina does not have a hangover and I did not insert an alka seltzer into my vagina for this occasion.) Hell, there was even a day in there where I considered getting an IUD (desperate times, desperate measures, my friends.) So when my doctor told me that I’d have to relinquish and go to a natural method, let’s just say I not so much gave it up as had it pryed from my cold dead hands by my gynecologist. Apparently, when you are over 35 and crazy stressed, birth control pills can cause you to stroke out or some shit like that. Well, you know what else can make a woman over 35 stroke out? A surprise baby!
Every single month, I spend a good 3 days wondering…”Am I pregnant?” It’s really not ever a possibility because between “other” forms of birth control, abstinence, knowing my ovulation, only seeing my husband on the weekends and being prone to exhaustion and migraines…it’s more of an irrational fear. But still, every month it’s the same thing. 1 day of wondering where the hell my period is? 1 day of thinking,Oh my God, maybe this could be the illusive little boy ( our unicorn). And the 3rd day, praying to God that I’m not pregnant.Then like magic, with a choir of angels singing in the background, I am visited by the gift of eve.
Why do I do this to myself? Maybe it’s that 2.5 dream that’s been beaten into my head since I was a child. Maybe I really do want another kid? Nah, I think I just like having the option and I’ve always liked living my life on the edge. Keeps things interesting. The smell of a friend’s newborn is all it takes for me to develop a sudden onset of amnesia. Luckily, my girls snap me out of it by throwing an epic bedtime tantrum, reminding me that I’m STILL wiping asses and co-sleeping. Worse still I’ve lost half my hair from stress and my mom won’t be around to supply me with Xanax after the summer break.
Motherhood is f*cking hard. Like really freaking, punch you in the lady balls and pull your hair while running away with your big wheel and your sucker hard. Sometimes it sucks and sometimes, it’s even harder than that. But we moms, we soldier on. We push it all down, pull up our big mom panties and do all the sh*t we don’t want to do because if we don’t no one else will. Facts.
I mean does anyone think women specifically like to randomly clean up everyone else’s shit and wake up 47 times a night with cranky babies, finicky toddlers and sick children? The answer is no, Karen. Estrogen does not make us better at or even like any of those things. We love our children but all the inconveniences of motherhood…not so much. We need a release, one that won’t cause society to call us narcissistic, selfish or bad moms.
This is your mom on drugs.
Close your mouth. If you’re a mom, you know what I mean. If you’re not a mom, no one is asking for your opinion over here in “we’re tired as hell, shut the f*ck up” mom land. Forever, moms have had their hidden vices (because society judges us too harshly) some moms survive by the grace of wine o’clock, others something prescribed for anxiety, some of us should buy stock in edibles and others of us, apparently, you granola betches love a good shroom microdose. I’m not judging, edibles are my actual chill pill and I feel more in control than when prescribed Xanax.
I never tried pot in high school. I didn’t do molly, acid or cocaine in college. If we’re being really honest, growing up where I did, drugs were offered in middle school but my dad was (still is) very strict with a no drugs and alcohol policy and breaking his rules was just too big of a risk for me to take for anything. Besides, when I was in high school and college, I didn’t need chill pills because, well, I had no responsibilities, no bills and no children. I slept when I was tired. Ate when I was hungry. I did what made me happy. That’s not the case anymore. I donated my body to this thing called motherhood and I’m pretty sure when I die, my parts will be out of warranty from the sheer exhaustion and years of abuse it has sustained. I mean they call it mommy’s little helper for a reason, people.
Anyways, here I am 17 years into motherhood and my favorite thing to do after the kids go to sleep is to pop a gummy, wait an hour and see what crazy culinary concoction I will create like a mad scientist to satiate my cravings. Thankfully, the Dory brain I get from a gummy or half of one pretty much eliminates any guilt because I can’t retain such useless emotions from one moment to the next. My cannabis gummy takes down my barriers and leaves me to prioritize only what is of the most importance. But don’t try to have a conversation with me. It’s pretty much like what you would imagine having a conversation with your succulent would be like! Yeah, edibles are not good for weight loss or having intelligent conversations but they are fabulous for sleep, stopping panic attacks, and chilling right the f*ck out. That’s why I’m chunky but overall pretty happy.
Still, I’m a mom and none of the baby books say that moms, in particular, should be celebrating 4/20. But then again, what do books know and most likely those books were written by overachievers who are trying to raise babies by some crazy, unattainable parenting standard. I’m here to tell you, those of us real ones, the ones who have served on the frontlines 100% recommend cannabis over child abuse.
The truth is that parenting is hard and no book can prepare you for the reality of keeping little people alive, never mind during a pandemic. Remember, I’m speaking as the mom of teens so they are pretty self-sufficient, once I put them to bed, it’s my time. My husband doesn’t get high because it’s not his thing so he’s always sober. I only mention that my kids are older because I didn’t get high when they were little because 1) it wasn’t legal 2) most of the time I was alone with them 3) it wasn’t as accessible as it is now. But all that has changed. And I’m not judging anyone. We’re all just trying to survive over here.
Here are some benefits of parenting on cannabis recreationally or medically.
Nearly 80% of new moms experience some form of mood disturbance after giving birth, including mood swings, sadness, and irritability. One in nine mothers is diagnosed with postpartum depression, a severe mood disorder that causes prolonged withdrawal from family and friends, inability to eat and sleep, excessive mood swings, and difficulty bonding with the baby. Marijuana has been found to successfully treat postpartum depression, offering a reprieve for mothers that are unresponsive or uncomfortable with traditional medical treatment.
An estimated nine percent of mothers are affected by severe postpartum anxiety, and an even larger percentage of mothers will experience anxiety over the course of their lifetime. According to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America, women are two times more likely to suffer from anxiety than men. Occasional marijuana use has been shown to decrease symptoms of mild to severe anxiety, as well as other related disorders such as obsessive-compulsive disorder and impulse-control disorder.
Bringing Partners Together
Couples who smoke together, stay together. Some couples report that smoking marijuana together decreases the frequency of arguments, and increases sexual satisfaction and intimacy with a partner. This can be especially useful for parents, as rates of relationship dissatisfaction increase two-fold when a couple has one or more children.
Alternative to Prescription Drugs
Prescription drug abuse among women has increased by 500% in the past decade. Now more than 18 million women over the age of 26 use prescription drugs for uses other than prescribed, and the rate of abuse is suspected to be higher in mothers than non-mothers. Marijuana offers many of the same benefits of prescription drugs, most notably pain relief, with a far lower addiction rate and fewer withdrawal symptoms.
Cannabis is not what it used to be. Getting your weed now feels like hitting up your local Genius Bar. It’s bright, white, sleek and modern and feels very exclusive and dirty but not really. All I know is that the dispensary is one of my happy places. In some ways, it’s even more magical than Disney.
Honestly, I think parents probably need to get high more than anyone else on the planet. We’re adults, with joint bank accounts, 2.5 children, bills, mortgages, tuition sandwiched in between taking care of our parents and our children all while trying our best to survive it all sober. Don’t we all deserve time, now and again, to just be a human being (apart from our parenting role) and gently float away for few hours to a place where all the beautiful things in life are amplified and all the stress and worry are muted? We do.
I pick Bella up from school today.It’s Thursday, you know, the day before Friday.The day by which the kids are exhausted from a week of no naps,its been Bella’s first week of walking through the big doors and down to class all by herself, and we’re still ,apparently, having issues with her feeling “left out” because kindergartners are still trying to get their bearings. At pick up, I was talking to one of the other half day Moms about setting a play date.Gabs had fallen asleep on the way and was pretty much out of sorts. Bella mosies up to us and instead of her normal reception of a flurry of kisses from me and Gabs running into her arms down the hallway all movie style like, she had to walk to us because , as I mentioned, Gabs was half asleep and I was in mid sentence.No big deal, right? Wrong! So wrong. We get into the car and immediately I see the sour puss in the back seat. “What’s wrong Bella?”Bella:”Nothing!” You know the nothing that most certainly means something, if not everything. Then she tells me, ” Mommy, no one would play with me at recess!” Me: (I’m more than a little frustrated with the situation because this is like the third time in 2 weeks)”Who did you ask?” Bella:”EVERYBODY!!!” Me:”What did they say?” Bella:”They said they were already playing with somebody and to ask someone else” At this point, I am detecting some very distinct disdain.She continues on hurt and mad; pretty much more upset and pissed off than I have ever seen her. I feel horrible for her. I mean, nobody wants to see their baby have hurt feelings. We get home. I am really concerned at this point. She is to the point of tears and she is literally fuming. I am pretty sure that at one point I saw smoke emanating from her tiny little ears. She is pacing the house and crying in frustration. She looked like she felt like I did when her sister had colic and I was walking my ass off just to soothe her. You know that at your wits end look? Breaking down ,can’t take the humanity anymore look? Yeah,that one. I keep trying to inquire. She keeps shutting me down. I heard something about wanting to punch someone and feeling left out.Oh and she shouted that she hated school.Not what you want to hear from your kindergartner on her 3rd week.By this point, I am frustrated because her reaction seems out of whack with her personality. So, I question some more. What did they say? Did someone touch you? Did someone hurt you? Who said what? But she is just getting more and more angry.My heart is breaking. I feel totally helpless, but know that there is no way I am letting my baby go to school just to feel belittled and left out. So, I email the teacher to see if she could help me out. I just need a person on the inside who is aware of the situation.I can’t stand idly by as my child is being broken down. The teacher emailed me back post haste assuring me that she would address the situation and that it is very common but has not noticed an issue with Bella . But she said she was going to look into it none the less. Thank God. But it wasn’t helping me ease Bella’s hurt..right now. So, I kept trying to talk to her and she was literally mad at me. Her hurt was turning into anger towards me, probably for making her go there in the first place.Finally, an hour later, she tells me that what really upset her was the fact that I did not kiss and hug her immediately when I saw her. She said she felt like I didn’t miss her. Apparently, the kids not playing with her hurt her feelings but the Mommy not covering her in kisses immediately upon seeing her was too much. I was the straw that broke the camels back today.Then, we both ugly cried..really hard for about 3 minutes, and then she took my face in her little hands and said “its OK Mommy. I know you didn’t mean it.” And I cried a little more and told her that she has to tell me these things because I would NEVER want to be the source of her pain. Then the two of us, looking like two matching red spotted leopards hugged and kissed it out, with Gabs , of course.Instantly, she forgave me and I will NEVER not kiss her and hug her the moment I see her for the rest of my life..even if I am talking to the president of the United States, the Pope, or Alexander Skarsgard, Sorry boys, my Bella needs to know her Mommy loves her!
In the simplest terms, regarding higher education, affirmative action (which stemmed from the civil rights movement in the 1960s) is the practice of considering a student’s background characteristics such as race as a factor in deciding whether to admit an applicant. This is typically referring to admissions policies aimed at increasing the number of black, Latino, and other minority students on campus. This is really important to me right now especially because I have a daughter who is beginning college in the fall and I want her to see diversity everywhere.
This is done so that colleges and universities can factor race into the equation when considering who to admit. This is not a free pass for minority students, it is a part of a holistic approach that reviews every aspect of an application, including grades, test scores and extracurricular activities.
The fact of the matter is that even though I believe that all people are created equal, not every one of us were dealt the same hand in life. Our experiences are very different, and race plays a huge part in how our experience plays out. Whether or not English is your first language matters. Ignorant, racist predispositions that society holds tight to are holding minority children back from evolving and succeeding in the United States.
Regardless of how many “woke” people want to say they don’t see color, they are the minority and worse still, in many cases, they only don’t see color when it’s easy or convenient or doesn’t affect them directly. I’m not blind to race or skin color. I was raised to see the differences, embrace those differences, and appreciate the differences. We don’t all have to look and believe the same to deserve human respect. We don’t even have to be friends for me to respect your humanity. You still with me?
The bottom line is that the goal of race-conscious admissions policies is to increase student diversity, in order to enhance the educational experience for all students. It’s a counteraction to white privilege. Schools also employ recruitment programs and scholarship opportunities intended to boost diversity, but the Supreme Court litigation was just focused on admissions. Remember a few years ago when there was a scandal about celebrity parents paying their children’s way into college? Yeah, see, minority children don’t do that. They can’t do that. We have to work for it. We know that education is the great equalizer and to be educated is to have power so we are determined to do our best.
To be completely honest, when I was a teenager applying for colleges, I hated the thought of affirmative action. Not because it wasn’t for me. Nope, I was the exact kind of kid it is meant to help. I was a very smart, capable, involved, first-generation student from a blue-collar family who worked my ass off to get into my top choice schools. I did it. This little freckled Mexican got into Harvard and every other school I applied to.
But I never ticked that fucking “Hispanic” box, not even once. I refused to because I didn’t want all my hard work being diminished and reduced to charity by some ignorant asshole who was jealous that I got accepted and he didn’t. I didn’t want people saying, “Yeah, but you only got in because you’re Mexican.” No bitches, I got in because I’m really fucking intelligent, and I worked twice as hard as anyone else I knew. Yeah, I’m humble too.
My pride made me lose out on scholarships that I could have gotten had I just checked that box. But I couldn’t do it. I’m still paying for that mistake, literally. I refused to let anyone think I needed their charity. I was just as good as any middle-class Caucasian student only my skin wasn’t alabaster, we lived pretty close to the poverty line and my dad’s first language wasn’t English. But how could I, at 17-years-old, accept that as my destiny? I couldn’t.
You can only live for so long hearing that “Mexicans are coming over here stealing all of our jobs, living on welfare and not paying taxes.” In my house, none of that shit was true. We were taught to work hard for what we wanted. In fact, if I’m being completely honest, that is pretty much across the board for us Latinos, at least for every Latino I know.
We are not taught to take handouts. In real talk, most of us would rather starve than take handouts. We don’t take your jobs. We take the jobs we earn and deserve, and, in some cases, we even take the jobs that most won’t take because we’re taught from birth that family is everything and hard work is honorable. So, with no shame at all, we put our heads down and do the hard, back breaking work to feed our families because that is the point of everything.
When I heard that the Supreme court overturned affirmative action, I was conflicted. But, I wasn’t surprised at all. After the events of recent years and the blatant racism that plagues this nation why would I be shocked that SCOTUS did this not so covert microaggression against minorities? The more I thought about it, the sadder I got because what a boring and unseasoned life we would live with no diversity?
Our Gen Z and Alpha children, they truly don’t give a shit about color. They see it and they respect it, and they move the fuck along. My daughters don’t discriminate against anyone because of the color of their skin, their religion, their sexual orientation, their pronouns or birth gender. My children don’t care who you love or how you celebrate that love. My girls, they judge you on your character and even then, they let it go. They believe in second chances and know that people are fallible. They choose joy and love over hatred. They make better choices than the generations that came before them and they move along. If you try to challenge their beliefs, they’ll hear you out but if you’re wrong, they will stand up for what is right and what is fair. All this to say, I hope these children stay this way and change the world.
I think affirmative action still needs to be in place because minority students are still getting passed over and shut out of colleges and universities across the country. Look, my children have had the good fortune to go to the best private schools and have every privilege there is to help them achieve their dreams of university and a career. They have choices. My girls also have upper middle-class parents who paved their way. They want for nothing. They have resources, 3 meals a day, a refrigerator full of food, air and heat. Comfortable beds and don’t have to worry about things like translating for their parents or figuring out where they’re going to get money for school lunches or clothes. They have a stay-at-home mom with 3 Master’s Degrees who makes her own rules and chooses her collaborations. They have the life they have because their father and I worked tirelessly to give them that life because someone gave us a chance to work for our dreams.
But that is not what my childhood was like. I did have to worry about where I was going to get money for lunches, books, clothes and field trips. When I was growing up, there were six children raised on a factory worker’s salary and a stay-at-home mom’s love. When I went away to college, no one helped me. I had to pay my own way. As a 17-year-old, had to figure it all out. I had no support system, and it was very difficult for me. But I still made it. I went hungry sometimes and sometimes the cultural differences between inside my home and outside made me feel like I was from a different planet. In retrospect, I realize that I had to work twice as hard because my situation was different from the middle-class Caucasian kids that I went to school with, which is not their fault, but it wasn’t mine either. Being different shouldn’t be a character flaw.
Being a minority in the United States means being born with stigma and shame because the majority will make you feel like you are less than, no matter what you do. Affirmative action was an attempt to level the playing field. It wasn’t perfect but it was something and some kind of effort is better than none; if only to make us feel like we are seen, and someone cares enough to hold their hand out to help us up. It’s not a handout but a hand up. We’re not about stepping on the majorities back to get to the top. It’s about us all starting from the same point and being afforded the same opportunities to compete for opportunities, despite the differences in our skin color. That’s what affirmative action is about.
There was one weird exception to the conservative Supreme Court majority’s decision ending race-based affirmative action in higher education on Thursday: military academies. Apparently, using race as a factor in admissions to military academies can “further compelling interests,” Chief Justice John Roberts wrote.
The distinction suggests that there could be value in using race to diversify some American institutions i.e., the U.S. military’s officer corps but Roberts’ overall decision says loud and clear that it would be unconstitutional to do so at public and private colleges and universities.
I feel that the U.S. government is sending the message that they don’t mind our minority children dying in service to their country in the name of equality and justice that they can’t even fully receive themselves. By the same token, they can’t be afforded that same luxury at the collegiate level. This sends the message to minority parents that the U.S. government finds our children to be disposable and unworthy of educating. I call bull shit. Don’t tell our children they don’t deserve your help to better their situation while simultaneously telling them that they are perfectly okay to die for the same country, that refused to care whether they lived in poverty and ignorance.
According to Huff Post, Liberal Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson wrote in her dissent, “The Court has come to rest on the bottom-line conclusion that racial diversity in higher education is only worth potentially preserving insofar as it might be needed to prepare Black Americans and other underrepresented minorities for success in the bunker, not the boardroom.” What the fuck America? What the actual fuck?
Affirmative action is about equality, that is it. No one is trying to out do the majority, we just need our kids to get a fair shot at achieving the same things in life as everyone else. What are your thoughts? Do you think affirmative action in schools is a good thing? Or is there something more progressive or maybe even more effective for leveling out the collegiate playing field for all students?
My girls, I’ve not said it enough lately but they are amazing to me. They amaze me with the things they say, the thoughts they have, the heart they love with, their little bodies that give such great big hugs and make me feel like I am better than I deserve to be..like I am more than I could ever imagine. They inspire and humble me on a daily basis. This post is dedicated to my littles. Their honesty and wit, humor me and simultaneously blow my mind.
Last week , Gabs, my beautiful little 3 year old decided that it might be fun, even hilarious to take a royal blue Sharpie ( that I obviously forgot to pick up after a day full of packing and marking boxes) and drew stripes on her perfect little porcelain complexion. I don’t mean a small line, I mean full on William Wallace “Braveheart” style war paint. There wasn’t much to be done but soap and warm water. I was perfectly willing and able to take it to goggle if that didn’t do the trick. I had my little Gabs in the shower with me and I said, “Gabs, why did you do that?” Gabs:” Uhhmm, me wanted to.” Me: “But Gabs what if it doesn’t come off?” Gabs: “Me no care!” Me: “Gabs what if you’re like 13 and it’s still on your face and you have to go to school with it on your face?” I must admit at this point I was just curious to see what my feisty little munchkin was going to answer. All this was going on while I was washing her face with some new L’Oreal face scrub I had just bought and I was praying..a lot! And then she answered again “Me no care!” Me:”But Gabs, what if people stare at you?” She shrugs, clearly annoyed with my line of questioning, Gabs: ” Me will say “What cho lookin at????” And then I giggled and we enjoyed the rest of our shower singing the Gabbi Gabbi, Bo Babbi, BananaFanaFoFanni….Gabbi song ( she loves that song). All I could think was, how amazing she is. She really doesn’t care what people think of how she looks. And then I said another little prayer, this one with my eyes closed tight…” Dear God, let this never change! Let her always see the beauty in who she is.Let her recognize the amazing that she is just being who she is.”
[fusion_builder_container hundred_percent=”yes” overflow=”visible”][fusion_builder_row][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”]This is the face of little girl who doesn't let others determine her own self worth
Then there is my Bella, my 5 year old, this little girl amazes me on too many levels to mention but I must say that her superior humor and adult like wit is what makes me smile on a regular basis. This child is incredibly smart and has always been ahead of the curve in most things. But the things she says sometimes make me laugh so hard that it is almost guttural. For example, the other day she comes home and tells me that when she is star of the week, she want to take toothbrushes in for all of her classmates. Which is great but a little peculiar. Neither my husband nor myself are dentists, so why toothbrushes? Of course, I ask “Bella, why do you want to give toothbrushes to all the kids in your class?” Bella: “Well… ( she takes a deep breath and goes into a whisper) Mommy, I don’ t think they know how to brush their teeth!” Me: “Bella, I’m sure their Mommies and Daddies make them brush their teeth before they go to school just like I do you and your sister.” Bella : “I don’t think so.” Me; “Why would you say that?” Bella: “Because it doesn’t smell like they brush their teeth!” ( I’m thinking ,Oh Lord, I hope she’s not saying this to people). I ask, ” Bella, you are not saying that to them are you? Because that’s’ not very nice and you can hurt someone’s feelings.” Bella: “Oh no Mommy,I don’t tell them. I don’t tell Mrs. Lomie* either!” Me: “Well, Bella you don;t need to tell your teacher if your friends breath smell like they didn’t brush their teeth. That’s between them and their parents.” Bella:” Oh, no Mommy. I mean Mrs. Lomie*. Her breath smells the worst.I don’t even think she HAS a tooth brush.” At this point, I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry. I mean, I am perfectly aware my girls will tell the Big Guy in I first thing in the morning that we need to brush our teeth, usually proceeded by a “Pew WEE, don’t you brush your teeth!” Immediately, I tell Bella :” Please don’t ever tell Mrs. Lomie* that she needs to brush her teeth,OK?” Bella: “I won’t Mommy. But it smells like the dog pooped in her mouth. But I NEVER tell her, I JUST think it in my head!” At this point, I am stifling my laughter. Me: “That’s good Bella. Keep it in your head but never say it out loud to anyone at school. You will hurt her feelings.” Bella: ” I know Mommy.But I think it, right there in my head…every time she talks to me.” Poor teacher..poor Bella. It amazes me that at 5 she knows better than to say something offensive to others. I find it of high character that she knows to keep it to herself. Just beware that if you see this little girl and your breath is anything less than stellar, she’s thinking you need a tic tac but she has too much etiquette to tell you, so look for her to be holding her breath. That’s when you’ll know.
[/fusion_builder_column][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”]This is a little girl who notices the flaws of the world but chooses to see the beauty!
*Names changed to protect the innocent and unsuspecting perpetrators or gingivitis:)
Kindergarten hasn’t gotten any better for me; it’s gotten worse. This morning was the first day that I dropped my five-year-old off at school and didn’t walk her to her kindergarten classroom. I know. She’s been a kindergartner for 8 whole days, as of today. I should be over it. But it’s different letting them walk in by themselves. That’s really letting them go to kindergarten without you. That’s relinquishing control. It’s trusting that they are okay without you, that they will make it safely to class from the drop off point, that they won’t get overwhelmed and reach out for you only for you to not be there. It’s admitting to kindergarten that my baby is now a big kid. (more…)
The hardest thing we have to do as parents is teaching your child about loss. I have two daughters and my youngest is 8-years-old. In the last three years, she has felt the weight of the loss of a sibling, her beloved dog, a cousin and a goldfish. She has a great grandmother and a great-great aunt who are both in their late 80’s and we know more loss is on it’s way but I want to protect them for as long as possible.
Yesterday morning before school, we had the girls say goodbye to Teddy just in case the vet could not save him. I was a nervous wreck. My daughter collapsed into my arms and whispered through tear stained cheeks, “Mommy, please don’t let him die.” I knew in that moment, I was going to fight as hard as I’d ever fought to keep this little guy alive.
I found the best exotic pet vet in town, begged to be squeezed in as soon as possible and drove across the city with the weak little guy strapped into the front seat in a box, I gingerly seat belted him in as to not disturb him in his weakened state. I felt sick to my stomach. A million what ifs ran through my mind and they all ended with me breaking my daughter’s heart.
At the veterinarian’s office, Teddy was thoroughly checked. I was told that it was pneumonia. The remedy? Antibiotics and IV fluids. I was given more liquid antibiotics to give him twice a day until he was well. I left there feeling like I had dodged a major bullet. I had saved him and spared my daughter, yet another loss.
We spent the day holding him and talking to him. He quietly chirped and nuzzled into my chin. At first his breathing was labored but soon it quieted and he lay, softly against me where he stayed for hours before doing the same with my daughter.
This morning, she held him while she ate breakfast. The Big Guy and I took him briefly to administer his meds. He chirped loudly, which at first I thought was an improvement from his listlessness yesterday but then I began to consider that maybe it was pain that elicited his reaction.
My daughter kissed him goodbye and told him that she loved him before she went to school this morning. Then she said, “See you after school, Teddy Bear.” Only she won’t.
I came home and cleaned up the house a little bit and then I checked on our little Teddy. I picked him up and he was completely limp but warm. A first, I thought maybe he was fine just still because of the pneumonia and then; I realized he wasn’t breathing and he was not responsive.
I can’t even explain the reaction I had. I sobbed and lost my breath because I don’t want to be the one to break my daughter’s heart. I can still hear her whispering for me to save him. It lingers in the air like the faint smell of perfume after someone leaves the room.
Today, when she comes home, I am tasked with the unfortunate duty of telling her that her beloved longhaired Guinea Pig, Ted Koppel, has died in my arms from pneumonia while my daughter was at school. I hate teaching my children about loss because it is one that they will learn over and over in this life.
Now, it’s pick up time. Time to be there for my girl, after I have to break their tiny hearts and tear their world apart. I hate this part of parenting.
