Saying Goodbye to Bella

My son's dog has passed away.

Bella was 15+, a basset mix rescued from a shelter in PA when my son was 9.

Hounds are outdoor dogs, not pets...
Or so this former country-girl thought. 

My old gal, Amanda, had passed in February. I'd been promising my son a dog for almost a year. In July I attended a writer's conference in the area and stopped in to the shelter where my friend had gotten her springer spaniel. I was hoping to find a similarly sweet and intelligent friend for my troubled son.
We'd already been on quite a journey. The tantrums started at about age 3. He was recently 9, and rather than diminishing with age, they'd grown worse. There was more to come, but we already knew something was wrong. We just didn't know what, or how far we'd have to go before the road would turn for him.

When I talked to the folks running the shelter, he asked me, "How do you feel about basset hounds?"

I rolled my eyes. I had hounds as a kid, and they were noisy, slobbery, boneheaded doofuses, better kept in outdoor kennels than in the house, due to the difficulty of housetraining. My experience with hounds told me they were hunting dogs, not pets. He told me that she'd been returned to the shelter by a family that didn't look after her properly, that she was shy and sweet. I relented and agreed to meet her, knowing I would be bringing my son back later to look at puppies. Smaller, fluffier, easier, trainable puppies.

She came into the visitor's room looking anxious. She went immediately to the windows, staring out as if looking for someone. Looking for her family to come back for her. The family that had returned her, bone thin and shaking. She still wanted them. And my heart melted a little.

I brought my son in, as planned, careful to explain that he was free to choose a PUPPY. That he should meet her, but he didn't have to choose her...
It was a lost cause. She was brought into the visitor's room and LAUNCHED herself at him. Wagging, wiggling, facelicking happiness embodied in a bony hound dog. "I want THIS one, Mom."

It took us SO long to get weight on her.

And so it began.
She came home, only to hide under the kitchen table and bark and growl at my husband. She managed, with her six-inch legs, to get on top of the kitchen table to raid the butter dish. She refused to eat at first, forcing us to get creative in concocting dishes she would nibble at, until she eventually decided to eat properly. She was so thin at first that the vet wouldn't spay her- and by the time we got enough weight on her, we discovered that my dog Charlie had been a bit frisky and there were pups on the way.

I was worried sick... She'd just gotten healthy, and the vet had revealed that her stated age of 3-4 years was inaccurate- by then she was close to 8.

She successfully delivered 11 pups, but 4 did not survive past the second day. Of the seven remaining, we were able to find homes for 5. Two of her girls remain with us to this day.

Bella with her girls.

In the past few months, I noticed a change. She was moving more slowly. Returning to her picky eating habits. Having more digestive upsets, which have been common with her, on and off, the entire time she's been with us. (We've consulted the vet before, and he told us there was nothing to be done; she simply had a sensitive digestive tract.)

A long story short... She was an old lady- past 15 now by our best guesstimate- and she was tired.

She loved the outdoors, even in winter, but summer sun on grass was her favorite.

She spent her last day lying in the sun in the grass. At some point she wandered out by the kennel to be near her girls, content to lie there. We brought her in that evening and she had cuddles on the porch and fell asleep in one of the recliners. Fearing the evening air would be too chilly for her old bones, I moved her inside that night, into her crate with a fresh blanket. When we got up in the morning, she was gone.

This has been a journey. She was with us when my son was expelled from school in the 5th grade. When he was throwing his tantrums (Which we know now were expressions of anxiety.) When he told me he never really wanted a dog anyway, but cried when, out of sheer frustration, I threatened to find her a new home.

She taught him that some tasks- like feeding the dog and taking her out- must be completed regardless of feelings or mood. That some things are more important than our own internal turmoil. That when someone, or something, is depending upon us, we must set aside our personal challenges and rise up.

She helped him grow, helped him mature, and helped teach him empathy. She was always there with her floppy, silky ears, and her sneaky way of climbing onto the couch when she knew she was supposed to go into her crate for the night.

She was slobbery and smelly and noisy and stubborn- everything a hound dog is. She was also, for 8 years of his life, my son's friend and companion. She was a good dog, and she will be missed.

Rest easy, old Girl. You've earned it. 

Attack of the WHAT???

Dear readers, I am, at this very moment, having an emotional meltdown. Over a video game. With real tears trickling. It's not pretty. It's an ugly cry, and it comes from down deep, because this is more than "just a game." This is the full circle. This is the infinity snake catching up with itself. The mobius strip making the connection... It's just a game, to be sure, but to me... it's more.

Some of you, if you know me in real life, have heard me talk about Minecraft. About the connection forged between myself and my troubled tween. My son has been playing Minecraft almost from the beginning. He played the truly early stages- the first releases of the game. He would get SO excited when updates were released. He, quite frankly, drove me half mad with his chatter about creepers and endermen and zombies and mobs and mods and downloads.

Redstone was a complete mystery to me. It still is to some extent. I didn't understand the appeal of this blocky, weird game, until one day, seeing the disappointment in his face when he caught me rolling my eyes at just one more rendition of "Me and Brody got cornered by these zombies but his wolf was fighting for us and then this creeper came along and..."

For an instant, I caught sight of just how deeply my little boy, whose father had just walked out of all our lives, was hurting. I decided to appease him in the only way I knew how- I asked him to teach me Minecraft.

It was the beginning of an era. With a lot of frustration and some swearing (mostly me) and some "Geez, Mom, you're REALLY bad at this!" eyerolling comments, he introduced me to the game. And then, in an effort to understand it better, I did what I do best - research. Research took  me to Youtube, to explore the gaming channels... and that's when I discovered a whole other dimension of minecraft- Mods.

The very first modded Minecraft "lets play" Youtubers I watched were Generik B, Chimney Swift, and BDoubleOO, playing "Attack of the B-Team." Their commentary was engaging. The gameplay was intriguing. Chimney, in particular, caught my attention with his infectious enthusiasm and his mischievous approach to multiplayer gameplay. Soon, my son started playing B-Team, too, and got me to play it. I eventually upgraded my computer to better handle the modpack. Together, my son and I discovered this world. We explored it. We built things together. We laughed. We shouted. We got frustrated. We created and destroyed. We argued and collaborated. We learned... and we grew.

These days, my son doesn't really play with me. For a while, we played servers together and built incredible things. He showed me his creative world in which he built some insane redstone projects. Even now, when he has a girlfriend and a life that is slowly carrying him away from the childish pursuits of Minecraft and further toward the interests of an older teen, he can still be drawn back in. We still watch Etho, another Let's Player, together. We discuss his builds and talk about how crazy his "sand worm" project is, and how cool. Even as my son is growing away from his early interest in Minecraft, I am building a small hobby channel and immersing myself in the community that nurtured that early interest.

And now, a new era is opening up. Attack of the C-Team will be a sequel to the early Attack of the B-Team series. Many of the same Youtubers who participated the first time around will be involved in this remake. To call my reaction "excited" is like comparing Mt. Vesuvius to a sparkler.

This new game is about more than Minecraft. It's just a game, after all. There may be mods in this pack that I don't care for. The changes with the update may not appeal to me. I might not be as excited to play once I see what's been added and what's been taken away. Knowing all of that doesn't dim my excitement one bit.

These past few years have been... difficult.
My kids and I have navigated some rough waters. Not only has the divorce caused enormous emotional upheaval, we subsequently lost my best friend and my sister. Both deaths were sudden and unexpected. The devastation was deep and is lasting. For the past year or more, I've been knocked off my feet with grief, just keeping my head above water. It's only been in recent weeks that I've begun to feel as if life might have a chance of returning to some semblance of normalcy, and that the gaps left by the losses might close enough so that the feeling of continuously falling into them will end and our feet might once again touch the ground.

While no game, no exciting news, and no new adventure can possibly begin to touch the depth of the losses we've suffered, there is a moment, after one has been walking through darkness for so long, that a flicker of light can be seen. There is a moment when you realize that the tunnel you've been walking through isn't endless after all, that you will step out of it. The sun will once again warm your face, and you will feel the breeze against your fingertips. Spring will come, even after the longest winter. What is lost to the past can never be recovered, but there will be new experiences and new joys and new chances to laugh and live and breathe together. There is healing, and that, my friends, is something worth celebrating.

My kids have both expressed interest in exploring this new modpack together. The idea of playing together again, and discovering the ways in which we've changed, as players and in our relationships, is exciting beyond words. The fact that they still want to play with me... It's a balm to the soul.
So, forgive me if I dance just a little too exuberantly at this announcement. If I get a little carried away, and get just a little too excited. It's been a long, cold, dark night. I'm ready for the sun.

Bring it on.

For the Sake of the Children

"For the sake of the children..."

How often do divorce parents hear that phrase? How often is it spoken by well meaning folks giving advice?

"Stay together if you can. You know, for the sake of the children."
"Surely it can be worked out. For the sake of the children."
"You really shouldn't speak badly of your spouse, for the sake of the children."

Although the first two did not pan out in my marriage- we were not able to stay together, nor were were able to work out a compromise that included him staying in contact with an old girlfriend, I have done my best to remember the third. My kids have big, absorbent hearts. They soak up everything that is thrown at them, whether it's love or judgement or dismay or dislike. They've grown stronger as they've gotten older, and gotten better at discerning between the opinions of others and their own realities. They're old enough, now, to understand the deviance between their father's protestations and arguments and his actions.

I rarely write about the failures of my marriage, not because there are any secrets, but because it's a cliche'd story of a foolish wife who was blind to her husband's wandering ways. I actually encouraged his online friendship with the old flame, secure in our 15 years of marriage, and in the thought that he'd long gotten over his high school sweetheart and moved on. I had a similar teenage flame, and while I retain friendly feelings, even affection, I recognize the folly in trying to go back and even since becoming single again have not sought to rekindle the old spark.

If left unattended, it can burn everything.

I thought we were happy. I thought he was content. I thought she was no danger to my marriage... And I was right. She wasn't. The danger to my marriage was not a woman willing to cheat with a married man, disregarding her own family and marriage in pursuit of a teenage fantasy. The danger was in trusting in our past to cement our future. Trusting in a man who had proven over time to have narcissistic tendencies, favoring his own desires and needs over those of his family. One of our most frequent arguments was over the fact that he resisted taking our daughter for an eye exam, insisting that she "could see just fine," yet had money for his yearly hunting trips out of state and didn't hesitate to spend freely when a new gun or tool caught his eye.

To be fair, we lived comfortably enough. We spent nearly 10 years renovating This Old Heap, as I have titled the 200 year old farmhouse we live in. He invested in our home. We went on an annual camping trip, which were some of our best times as a family. When he left, he readily agreed to my insistence upon retaining the house- where else would I go with our kids? Physical custody was never really a question- I'd been a stay at home mom for over 12 years.

This Old Heap, with siding added, doesn't look so bad.The upper half
and porch were the results of our hard work. My brother added the siding,
in order to make the house more economical to heat, so that the kids
and I could afford to continue living here.

What has made me sad, since the split, what has taken me through the stages of grief, from anger to bitterness, and finally to letting go and to peace, has been the abandonment.
When he left, I understood that our life together had come to an end. It had, in fact, come to an end months before. I hadn't allowed him to touch me since learning of his second round of cheating. I no longer trusted in the safety of monogamy. To be blunt, I didn't know what he might have picked up in his illicit travels and wasn't about to risk an STD. I knew, when he left, that "we" were over. And, although losing the love of 17 years was devastating, I was able to accept it.

What I couldn't, and can't accept, is his continuing disregard for his children.

A father should not have to be ordered by the court to support his kids.
A father should recognize that children have ongoing needs, and that the "gift" of a house to the spouse who spent over a decade forgoing an income in order to raise the children does not buy them clothes or shoes, or food once he has decided to move on.
A father, even if he is financially strained and/or unable to be with his kids physically, should make a consistent, on going effort to maintain communication and a relationship with his children.

As I sit here reading this over, considering the words I am dropping onto the waters, to allow to drift out into the world, I am considering whether it's right for me to share these thoughts, to express the hurt and the anger. I am considering whether it's the right thing to do. I'm wondering if I should simply delete the post for the sake of the children.

The year he left, they both returned to public school, in order
to allow me more time to build my business. Because they're amazing,
empathetic hearts. #SoBlessed 

But, I feel to do so would be disrespectful to my kids. Although I try to use my words carefully, they are not stupid. It is not my thoughts or experiences that have molded their opinions. It is their own.
My kids love their dad, but they understand his limitations. They have a realistic view of what they can expect from him, both physically and emotionally. They take whatever opportunities they have to talk and spend time with him, but don't actively seek him out in defense of their own hearts. In spite of his assurance that they can "call him any time," they know that he is simply not able to be there for them in the ways the need him to be.
I can not, and will not, pretend that our circumstances are otherwise, or that by not sharing this post, reality will somehow magically alter. It is what it is.

I will, however, share this post, in hopes of reassuring other moms and dads who are dealing with this kind of situation- with a spouse who is not abusive or addicted, but is simply uninterested in doing their part as a parent. While abuse and addiction are horrors I am grateful we have avoided, abandonment carries its own consequences, and the scars are deep and painful.

If you've been abandoned by a spouse or parent, my messages to you are:
You're not crazy. Even if he didn't hit or yell, it's not ok to abandon children who depend upon you for support and emotional connection.
You're not alone. There are many of us out there.
You don't have to let this make you bitter. Anger is justifiable, but dwelling on the unfairness isn't healthy. Seek out healthy relationships, for you and your kids. Build supports into your lives. Let the person go- there's no sense clinging to someone who doesn't want to be there.

If you've read this far, thank you, for listening. May God keep and bless you and your loved ones. If you're a parent, remember, please, that divorce is not about your kids. It's NEVER about your kids. You really are responsible to be a parent, even if you're divorced. Even if you don't like your spouse anymore. Even if he or she is a raving lunatic- you're still responsible to BE A PARENT.
Your kids need you, and that is all that matters.
All of it.
Your kids are ALL OF IT. Never forget that. For the sake of the children.

Godbless.
~*~*~*~*~

“To be in your children's memories tomorrow, you have to be in their lives today.” ― Barbara Johnson

Been a while...

Hasn't it? It's been a while since I've revisited this page. The reasons are many and mostly mundane.
Holidays. Thanksgiving, and Christmas, while lovely, did take up a lot of my time and attention. I'm happy to report they were among the best we've had in the past 3 years. The kids were happy. I was relaxed. We all just enjoyed one another's company.

It was lean, as always. Their gifts required careful planning and saving, but the looks on their faces when they opened them, and the use they've put them to in the weeks following, have made it all worth the effort. I rarely see Babygirl without her phone (an unlocked, off-brand that works with our text-and-talk plan, with which she can pick up wifi when she wants "data.) Thing1 carries his camera- a beginner's DSLR with more knobs and twiddly bits than I could navigate- with him nearly everywhere.

And me? I got the precious hours spent with my kiddos. I got to welcome Thing1's girlfriend to spend time with us. She's got a very special place in his heart, and I'm dreading the day they split, and hope it won't be too high a drop from the clouds he's riding right now. Ah, young love... So precious, so poignant... and so fleeting. They've been friends for years. Dating for weeks. I don't know how long it will last, and, like, I'm sure, the adults in my life when I was young and in love, I'm not telling him that the ending will be inevitable and bitter-sweet.

The goofy pair at Halloween. 

They are too young, their lives yet unripe for the stresses of marriage and babies and commitments. (and yes, we've talked, extensively, and continue to talk about the more serious side of this floating infatuation he's in now. About respect. About care. About safety and using the upper brain to control the lower one.) Let's let it suffice to say that he knows, at the very least, to keep it covered or keep it zipped. I hope that, when they part, they will retain the depth of friendship they've enjoyed since he crushed on her in the second grade.

On a lighter note, I also got a gift from my kiddos, unexpected and beautiful. I had shown Babygirl a pattern online for an apron made of an old pair of jeans, and she tried her hand at sewing, with a little help and encouragement from her brother. The result was that I now have a beautiful apron, which I love. It has pockets. I love pockets. I also hate having flour all over my clothes when I'm done baking, and this is not only a beautiful gift, it's also functional. It's easily the favorite thing I've received for Christmas since I was 13 and got a Brooke Shields doll. (Hey, don't laugh! I'd just seen The Blue Lagoon, and Brooke was my heroine.)

You'll have to excuse the mess. It was the end of Christmas Day's
dinner and we were still cleaning up when Babygirl insisted on snapping this photo. :)

Life, especially life with the challenges of mental illness, is no easy task. I could say the same, of course, of life with Crohn's, or diabetes, or lupus. I don't think I have some special burden; just the same burdens that many carry, in different forms. Some days it's not easy to get up and get out of bed and keep moving forward, especially with the uncertainties of freelancing for a living. The income is sporadic, and a client's disappointment may mean the loss of a job. I have to strive, with everything I write, to stay on point, to stay relevant, to stay connected and to express the client's expectations and desires. That sort of constant effort can be exhausting, but it's also what keeps me moving forward. It gives me purpose.

Parenting is, in many ways, the same. We all carry our personal burdens, but the children we're responsible for must be shepherded, fed, clothed, sheltered, and led. Their disappointment doesn't lead to the mere loss of a job; it can leave lasting scars that destroy lives and carry forward into new generations. The time I've put in these past few months, the efforts to put together a simple holiday celebration and to invite in those who are connected to our family by the unfamiliar strands of teenage ardor, seem to me to be the most important job I could've been doing. I may be putting things too high, thinking that these  hours will have a stronger impact on my growing young adults' lives than they will. I could be wrong about Thing1 and his lovely young partner. They could go on to marry and have children of their own, as my own in-laws did, marrying when she was just 17 and he was 19. Fifty years and counting, they're a walking love story.

But for now, all I have is experience to go by. All I have is my own memories of young love, and memories of the hours contentedly dressing up a Brooke Shields doll while Mom prepared the meal and Dad smoked his pipe in his chair while watching the Macy's Parade. Those are the memories that reassure me that my son will come out of this relationship changed, with new experiences and a new perspective. Perhaps with new scars, but ones that will heal and that will shape him, and make him, in the end, a better man. Those are the memories that assure me that my own kids will look back, one day, and remember the holidays as a happy time with their family and loved ones, something that they will want to recreate for their own children.

All we can do is keep moving forward, and doing our best.
I hope, if you're reading this, that you had a beautiful ending to 2015 and that 2016 brings you new joys, new experiences, and new hope.

God bless, Friends.
A belated, but sincere, Merry Christmas to you and yours.

~Mary

“There is no such thing as a "broken family." Family is family, and is not determined by marriage certificates, divorce papers, and adoption documents. Families are made in the heart."-C. Joy Bell

The Three Bears and CPS- A Mixed Up, (but true) Fairytale

Once upon a time, friends, there was a family. They were a nice family, neither too hot nor too cold. Quirky. Charming. Fun.

The Bear Family, aka The Wild Things.

The family consisted of a Mama Bear and her baby bears, Babygirl, and Thing1. They used to live with a Papa Bear too, but an old girlfriend, a trip to Vegas, and a midlife crisis later, Papa Bear moved away, to be heard from only sporadically.

The three remaining Bears were a bit sad, but they had lives to live, and overall, were living happily ever after in their old farmhouse in the country.

Babybear Thing1 went each day down the lane to the Big Bad Wolf School. Big Bad had reformed. He no longer eats children, instead, he set up a school to teach them The Ways of The World. Baby Bear Babygirl had already finished learning The Ways of the World, and had graduated from the Big Bad School, earning herself a place in the hallowed halls of the Forest College.

Little Bear, Little Bear, come to my school...

The Bear family had a long, complicated history with Big Bad's school. They'd escaped, for a while, into the neighboring realm of Homeschooltopia, but when Papa Bear left Mama Bear the sole provider of the porridge, they'd returned.

BB Thing1 did well for a time, learning important things like the Pythagorean Theorum, which will come in handy one day if he's ever confronted by the Pythagorean Virus. But BB Thing1 was unhappy. Mama Bear wasn't sure what the problem was, if he'd been infected with the dreaded Mathitus, or was struggling with some other malady. The Bear family sought advice from the Magical Doctors of Healing, who tsk'd and shook their heads and waved their wands, all to no avail.

The Mythical Pythagorean Scrolls reveal the Secrets of Maths, if you can translate the runes.

Mama Bear continued to parley with Big Bad's staff, She wanted BB Thing1 moved into special classes. Big Bad huffed and puffed. He wanted Thing1 in school, period. No special classes. No extra servings of porridge or injections of Math. Only if the Magic Doctors of Healing specified special classes would he (reluctantly) relent.

Mama Bear received word from the Magical Doctors that they had turned down her request for Special Classes. Not warranted, they said. Sorry, they said. Common Core is pushing too many of our Forest Children into Special Classes, and they are overcrowded. Nothing we can do.
Mama Bear was dejected, but determined to make Big Bad listen to reason.

And then came the call. Agent Goldilocks, from Forest-Child Protective Services, wanted to talk to Mama Bear about BB Thing1's education. She'd received a report, she said, about Thing1's attendance. It wasn't up to Forest Education Regulations. This was a problem.

Mama Bear nearly panicked. She was so angry she shook. FCPS didn't have a great reputation. They often took Forest Children from their homes, forcing them into Big Bad's school, removing their options and making them take the potions the Magical Doctors of Healing prescribed, whether or not those potions actually had any effect in the past. Mama Bear knew she had to act fast, to save her Baby Bear.

Never... EVER get between a mama bear and her cubs. 

She called in her Sister Bear for help. Sister Bear came to Mama Bear's house, and swept through it like a hurricane, cleaning, straightening, and ensuring everything was ready for Goldilock's visit. Sister Bear called Brother Bear, who had dealt with Goldilocks before, and in fact had adopted Forest Children who had been in Goldilock's care. The Bear family came together to face this new threat, as they always had.

When the Sister Bear had left, and Brother Bear hung up the phone, Mama Bear was left to face the upcoming visit. She had trouble sleeping, shifting between fear, anger, and frustration. She couldn't eat or concentrate on her work of filling the porridge pots. What if Goldilocks wanted to take BB Thing1 away? What if Big Bad was right? What if she was a bad Mama Bear, and BB Thing1 would be better off with another Forest Family? Or living with Papa Bear, even though he only contacted the baby bears once every few weeks or so?

She kept her baby bears close, and prayed.

Goldilock's visit was rather anticlimactic in the end. There was no blustering, no huffing or puffing. Goldilocks reviewed Mama Bear's emails to the Big Bad school. She spoke with the Magical Doctors of Healing. Mama Bear revealed her plan to return to the realm of Homeschooltopia, to heal the bumps and bruises BB Thing1 had developed from being pushed and pulled between the Big Bads and the Magical Doctors. She feared Goldilocks would disapprove of the plan, and try to stop the Bears from fleeing to Homeschooltopia.

Goldilocks called Big Bad's tactics "bullying," and assured Mama Bear that "the school isn't always right." She told the Bears that their family "seemed very strong," and that they were doing just fine. She assured Mama Bear that Forest Education Regulations did indeed allow the family to move to Homeschooltopia, and in fact she thought the plan was a good one. In addition, she recommended a Forest Services Grant Program, that could help Mama Bear with some of the problems the humble home had developed, as a natural result of being 200 years old.

Agent Goldilocks represents The Law.
Big Bad was trying to use her to force Thing1 to attend his school without conditions or concessions.
Turns out, The Law was on the side of the Bears all along.

Goldilocks declared the case "Closed," and wished Mama Bear and her Baby Bears good luck.

The Bear family happily and swiftly packed their things to depart to the realm of Homeschooltopia, writing the necessary letter to tell Big Bad where he could stuff his school and his Forest Education Regulations Attendance Policy, that very day. They knew they had a lot of hard work to do, building a new base of education for Thing1 to climb to the Hallowed Halls of College from, but since their School would be an individual bridge for BB Thing1 to climb, the task isn't insurmountable.

The morals of the story are multiple:

1) Education is a fluid concept, and it is as individual as each family. Homeschooling is the right path for some. Private or charter school, or public education, for others. All options are equally valid. It's important that each Forest Family choose the right one for them.
2) While not all schools are run by the Big Bad Wolf Corp. (LLC), those that are require Mama and Papa Bears to stand up for their children's legal and educational rights.
3) Agent Goldilocks of the Forest Child Protective Services Agency isn't a villain, after all. In fact, she proved quite helpful to the Bears.

It is the job of every Mama and Papa Bear to champion their childrens' cause.

Your turn: Tell us about a time you stood up for your child, whether it was with a school situation, or another circumstance.

The Wild Things' story goes on, but the drama in this chapter has come to a close, for now.
Until next time, we hope that you, too, will live happily ever after.

The End.

Life is Wild. Try to Keep Up

So, this morning I got into a minor commenting skirmish. Shots were fired, but it was more along the lines of children exchanging taunts on the playground than snipers slipping through the brush. A minor scuffle, with both parties leaving the field intact, the only injuries being to pride and tempers, and even those were slight. Embedded in the snarkfest (which I fully admit to engaging in- not trying to sling the blame elsewhere here!), was a jab at my blog's name.

Hmm... doesn't seem to capture my better side, does it?

"Life with Teens & Other Wild Things" apparently implies that my children are "wild". Out of control. Undisciplined. Disrespectful. Bad Kids. Therefore, by default, I must be a prime example of that internet pariah; a Bad Parent. I should totally think about changing my blog's name, so people don't get the impression that my kids are wild. Wouldn't want anyone thinking I'm a Bad Parent, now would I?

Well, the truth is, I am a Bad Parent. My kids are Wild. And you know what? I wouldn't change it, even if I could.

My kids are two of the most empathetic, kindest hearted people I've ever met. Despite being mercilessly harassed for several years by her own bullies, the one and only time Babygirl fought another kid in school was when she belted a boy because he punched her friend, Sarah, in the arm. Babygirl returned the favor, and bopped him a good one. Normally, I discourage fighting. I've told my kids that the only acceptable time to hit someone is if they hit you first. No exceptions. Except... Sarah has autism. She's high enough functioning that she's in regular classes, but limited in her ability to understand and take part in social interactions. So yeah.

Thing1 isn't always as quick as his sister to see the softer side of things, but go ahead and attack someone's religious, political, or personal beliefs in front of him. Not necessarily beliefs he agrees with, or holds himself, mind you, but anyone's right to believe and worship as they see fit. I dare you. This dog will fight if you rattle his cage, and he will defend your right to disagree with him as strongly as he'll defend his own opinions.

Are my kids perfect? HA!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
When I stop laughing... I'll have to say... no. But then, how could they be? They sprang forth from imperfect parents, after all. (And, I will add that any parent who believes their little  princess-angel-cupcakes-sparkle-glitter-cannons are perfect is either delusional or lying through their professionally-whitened, impossibly-straight teeth.)

Oh, you have a perfect kid?
Let me introduce you to my unicorn. Watch out. He farts. 

I have good kids. Imperfect kids. Yes, they are wild. And that's ok with me, because their wild sides come out in good ways.

My parenting style has been haphazard at best. I've read so many books on parenting I could start a library... and I have a hash-mixture of different philosophies, advice, styles, and techniques. A few of them worked for us. A few were complete disasters. None were a perfect fit, but from the patchwork, I've pieced together a garment that at least covers the worst of our indecencies. Together, my kids and I have survived thus far. Not just survived. We've thrived.

We've been strong enough to face diagnoses of depression and anxiety. Rebuilding after a tornado that dropped a tree on our home and caused extensive destruction to our property. An expulsion from a school that was not prepared to deal with unique needs associated with the diagnoses. Homeschooling. The breakdown of a marriage and the loss associated with divorce. The loss of close friends and family members through death. Losses when friends moved away. A return to public school. Graduation from high school. The beginning of college.

"All the adversity I've had in my life, all my troubles and obstacles, have strengthened me... You may not realize it when it happens, but a kick in the teeth may be the best thing in the world for you."
~Walt Disney

We've been on this Wild Ride together, and as long as we cling tight to one another, we've made it through everything life has thrown at us. Together, we ARE Wild Things, and I am proud to carry that title, along with all the scars that go along with it.

I wouldn't change a thing about this Life with Teens, and other Wild Things. Our story might not be white picket fences and June Cleaver aprons, but nobody watches those outdated, white-washed shows anymore, anyway. Long live the Wild Things. We're here to stay.

And, if you'd like to check out another Wild Parent, swing on over to KzooDad's blog, where he shares his adventures with his own Wild Things, and I occasionally trade snipes with other commenters. :)
http://www.kzoodad.com/

Resolved

As hard as it is to believe, 2015 is almost here. The year is drawing to a close, and ready or not, a new one is upon us.

2014, undeniably, was rough. I lost a sister, very unexpectedly in August. Dropped out of college in the Spring semester. Had kids flounder in school.

Theresa never missed a moment of life. She was always
up for new adventures. She was my hero. 

There were also flashes of sun from between the clouds. I restarted college this fall. Thing1 finished middle school successfully in June and started high school in September. Babygirl entered a program that will let her graduate from high school early and she's looking forward to starting college in January 2015.

I'm not a big fan of resolutions, because they seem like a flash in the pan, something you declare with a lot of bravado in January, and fizzle out by March.

This year, however, I'm making one for myself: This year, I resolve to be more positive. To appreciate the incredible blessings we enjoy and to stay focused on the goals for the future. Since my marriage fell apart, I've been determined not to become "that person"; the woman who obsesses over her ex and his new life and hates him, using him as a scapegoat for everything bad that happens to her post-divorce.

In ancient times, a goat was symbolically burdened with the sins of the people,
and driven off into the wilderness, to cleanse the tribe of its guilt. 

I don't want to carry this anger anymore. I'm tired of being angry. Tired of his name bringing a flare of pain and disgust. I am angry, and have every right to be, about the way he handled our ending. His deception made the parting much more painful than it needed to be. His behavior since leaving hasn't helped. He's hurt my kids, and for a Mama Bear, that can be an unforgivable sin.

There comes a time, though, when you have to let go of old disappointments. Holding a grudge is like holding a hot coal and expecting it to burn the other person... you're only hurting yourself. What harm does my anger do him? None, of course. He's off living his life. Staying angry is only letting him still have a say in my feelings, whether he even knows it or not. I'm SO ready to cut those strings. My ex is no saint, but I've moved on and my life is no longer bound to his choices. It's time to embrace freedom, and like Elsa, "let it go". 

Do you have any resolutions for 2015?

I am so ready to see what a new year will bring. 

Five Reasons I Don't Want My Son to have Sex

There are so many blogs out there about why we don't want our daughters having sex. Many of the lists contain similar themes, many of which also apply to our sons: Because they're not ready. Because there are emotional connections that come with physical intimacy, that can really screw you up later. Because disease. And babies. And because they're not ready.

Can we stop this madness? Please?
What's wrong with our teens being allowed to be kids? 

We don't have as many conversations about, or with, our boys. And those moms who do say they don't want their boys having sex too young are often seen as women-hating slut shamers, who are trying to raise Mama's boys, forever tied to the apron strings.

In fact, anyone who calls for balance in this discussion with our teens about having sex is likely to be attacked by one of two sides: Those who believe teens should have lots of wild, crazy sex as soon as possible, with no regrets, because YOLO!, or those who think you shouldn't ever have sex until you're married, preferably in your 40s, with the lights off and as many clothes as possible still on. And don't enjoy it. It's for procreation, not for pleasure, you sick pervert.

You Only Live Once.
So... do it right the first time. 

What ever happened to middle ground? What ever happened to personal responsibility? What has happened to make our sons believe that they are less of a man if their belts aren't notched by the time they escape the confines of high school? Why do we make teenage sexuality so damn complicated?

I've been thinking about this since before my son decided that girls don't have cooties. I've been through this stage with Babygirl. My reasons, with both my kids, are pretty much the same. This isn't a gender thing. This isn't about slut shaming, or about not raising a rapist. This is not about trying to control my kids. This is about empowering them to make good and healthy decisions for their own lives.

My reasons for not wanting my son (or, for that matter, my daughter) to engage too early in the mattress mamba:

1) Babies are expensive. Duh. Yes, birth control is cheaper. A LOT cheaper. But. The failure rate for a male condom? 18%. EIGHTEEN PERCENT. That's very close to 1 in 5. Yikes.

Let's break this down, shall we?
There are somewhere around 400 teens in my son's high school. According to the CDC, about 35% of those kids are having sex at any given time. So, if the math plays out, that's about 140 kids. 18% of 140? Twenty-five. Mathematically, about 4 of those kids will be gay. (3.6% of the population identifies as something other than "straight".)

Assuming that the rest are boy/girl couples, that's an average of 10.5 girls. Let's round down to 10- that's ten girls per year having babies. That's about right, from my personal knowledge of my kids' friends and what's going on in the school in general.

I'd rather my son was not one of those ten baby-daddies who find themselves, at fifteen, in sudden need of a job to keep their new offspring in diapers.

He can't even drive a car yet.
Can you imagine this kid with a baby?? 

2) Romance and relationships. I love my son. I think he's just about the peachiest little dimpled bundle of giggles to ever have graced the world with a goofy grin. He's a great kid. A seriously great kid. I get compliments from other parents about how polite and kind-hearted my kids are. But. He can also be a bit of a douchebag. Hey, he's almost 15. His social skills, along with his brain, are not fully developed. His emotional stability is on-par with a lemur on crack.

So, entering into a relationship that includes the emotional fall out that comes with sex? Not the best thing for my handsome little bundle of hormones. He's still learning to navigate friendships. Romance is far more complicated, and that's an arena he's not ready for. The kid can barely keep a lizard alive. He's so not ready to make a serious emotional investment into a relationship with a girlfriend.


3)  Disease. Ok, so only 35% of kids are having sex. Chances of my teen catching a STD from his first partner might seem slim, but... 1 in 4 sexually active teens have an STD. Those aren't odds I want him to chance. If that makes me an over protective mom, so be it.

Incidentally, 1 in 4 girls, and 1 in 6 boys, will be a victim of a sexual predator before they are 18. A whole other conversation, but important for parents to know, so that they can take steps to protect their children.


4)  Brain development. I won't pretend that I begin to understand the complicated processes that happen behind my kids' skulls. I can't even tell you why they don't pick up after themselves or why they can't retain instructions I've given them for more than 3.4 seconds, but can recite the entire list of their favorite video game stars. And their birthdays.

The bottom line is that, though I don't understand much about the teenage brain, the experts at the American College of Pediatricians say that engaging in behaviors like sex before the brain is fully developed can change the way the neural hookups get established, creating addictive behaviors and tricking the brain into needing more stimulation to achieve an appropriate response to the release of dopamine and other "feel good" hormones.

Seriously. His brain is amazing, but... yeah. Not developed. 

5)  I want him to have a fulfilling sex life. A recent study showed that there are long-term consequences in marriage associated with behaviors that go along with teenage sex:

"Rhoades and Stanley hypothesize in the report that "more experience may increase one’s awareness of alternative partners." In other words, people who have a number of prior relationships may become dissatisfied more easily."

Yes, I admit it, this one has a selfish component.  I want my son to get married, 
and, hopefully, give me grand-babies someday.
He might not. I accept that too, and I'll love him, no matter what his choices are.
Bottom line? I want him to be happy. 

Does that mean that having sex as a teenager will mean that my son is more likely to be unhappy in his marriage? Not necessarily. And having partners before marriage isn't always a negative or traumatic experience, for men or women. For some, it's a learning experience. 

But... you never forget your first. Sometimes relationships, especially when teens and their emotions are involved, are complicated. Throw in some typical teenage lack of judgement, and there's a pretty good chance things could go south in a drastic way.  

Why would I want him to risk that, while he's young and impressionable and his hormones are raging like an off-shore storm? Why would I want him to dive head-first into such a momentous first, when the benefits of waiting are so well documented? 

I don't, of course. And, I say that with a caveat- I recognize that he's not my little toddler any longer, and I can't redirect or distract him, or simply tell him "No!" and put him in time out. This is not a choice I can make for him. This will be his decision, and, ultimately, he will make it without my input, and perhaps hopefully(!) without my knowledge. All I can do is talk to him, give him the information, assurance of support, and guidance he needs, and hope he makes the right choice for himself when the time comes. 

How about you? Have you talked to your son about sex?

Is Your Teen a Mean Girl?

Not long ago, a friend of mine from high school posted a Facebook status asking if anyone remembered who the "mean people" were back in high school, and names immediately came to mind. Twenty years later, I can't tell you the names of most of my teachers, but I can remember with painful clarity the girls who gave me sidelong looks and asked "innocent" questions like, "Why do you dress like that?" in a tone of amused disbelief. The adult knowledge that Mean Girl behavior is born of insecurity doesn't change the fact that the scars run deep.

 As much as I want to emulate Elsa, I can't just Let it Go.

Image courtesy of Wikipedia Commons.

I drove several of Babygirl's friends home from a concert the same week, and listened in on their conversation. To be perfectly fair, Babygirl didn't, herself, say anything "mean". She's usually the first to jump in and defend anyone who comes under attack. She is the champion of the underdog, the hero to the downtrodden. Normally, an unkind word spoken in her presence is shot down quickly, with grace and style.

Remember those days?
I do.

Image courtesy of Wikipedia Commons.

This talk felt different... It wasn't the kind of full-on cut down I normally associate with bullying. I wouldn't even go so far as to call what went on "bullying" behavior. The conversation was a critique of a peer's singing performance, and the comments wouldn't have been unkind, if not for the tone and very-public setting. If the same conversation had taken place with the girl, it might have been constructive criticism. I've often heard the same girls speak with each other with sympathy and empathy, offering support and advice. Not this time. I actually winced at hearing that the singer had a "Disney voice," especially when the disclaimer was added that,

"You can only do so much with a Disney voice."
"This song is too high for her. She's actually a Soprano 2."
*snort* "More like an alto."
"She's straining." 

The talk wasn't kind or helpful. It was born of a competitive spirit, and it happened behind her back, which made it gossip. Worse, the conversation was carried on at full volume, in a public place, where it was sure to be overheard, and possibly probably repeated to the singer.

If I tried singing Let it Go, the audience would be straining... to be first out the door.

Image courtesy of Wikipedia Commons

I heard the conversation through the hyper-alert ears of a Mom who was also once a teenager, who couldn't have imagined singing in front of a crowd on my best days. My heart hurt for the singer, imagining how she would've felt, overhearing her classmates' rather unkind critique of her efforts.

These kids are being taught by a world-class singer, Mr. G. He's traveled around the world, appearing in operas and stage shows professionally for years before settling down to raise his family and teach high school. I am grateful that my Babygirl has had an opportunity to study with this man. Even if she doesn't go on to become a professional singer herself, she has certainly absorbed the urbane quality of his confidence, and has learned to take pride in hard work and self-improvement through his lessons. Unfortunately, she also seems to have become familiar with the diva cattiness that is sometimes associated with the profession. When I mentioned later, how mean the conversation had been, she said

"It's just something that happens with musical people, Mom. We talk like that all the time."

We talk like that all the time.

Mr. G has taught Babygirl to sing... to soar with her voice, above her insecurities and self-doubt. He's taught her to work hard, to practice, and that applause only comes with hours of practice and dedication. It's not his job to talk to her about always being kind and mindful of her conversations; that task is left to me... And, it seems, I still have talking to do.

Am I being too sensitive? Maybe. But my friend's question, which generated a conversation some 200 responses long, and the memory of my own Mean Girl ghosts from the past, seem to say not. The entire incident has left me wondering, if I could be a fly on the wall to conversations I had as a teen, if my words were ever unkind enough to stay in someone's memory. I wonder if I have former classmates who would remember me as one of the "Mean Girls", and if I've done enough to teach my daughter not to be.

How about you? Have you spoken to your kids about how their conversations affect others? Have you talked to your child about bullying, not just from a victim's point of view, but about how easy it is to speak unkind words that might have lasting ramifications? Are we doing enough to teach our kids what kindness and empathy mean?

Photo courtesy of LittleHeartsBooks.

Christmas Chaos With the Wild Things

So, last evening, we decided to put up our tree. It's a tradition for the teens to do most of it themselves.

We got the tree- And Thing1 did the manly job of trimming the base and putting it up. He did great, as always!

It's a beautiful example of symmetry and life. 

It didn't take long for the cat to take up her place under the tree. She's saving the spot where her presents belong, of course. 

The Pumpkinater has staked her claim. 

The kids had the lights and tinsel on in no time. 

Fabulous Decorating Services at work.

I love this angel. She's graced our tree through a lot of years. The bird was one of the kids' yearly ornaments. They each get one every year, so that when they have their own homes and trees, they'll have a start on their decorations. 

Apparently the Angel will be guarding last year's leftover candy cane.

The tree was finished. All was well. The kids went to take the dogs out while I sat, admiring the tree. It looked great... for about four minutes, before it came toppling down. Turns out we were missing one of the four bolts that goes with the tree stand.

Annnnnnnnd then the tree tipped over. This is me holding it up while Thing1 adjusts the stand. 

We got it back up... and it fell again. So now it's leaning up against the wall, until I can crawl under the tree and adjust the stand again. Just another typical Christmas with the Wild Things!

No matter what happens... I believe in the holidays. I believe in family. I believe in us. 

HAPPY 18th BIRTHDAY TO BABYGIRL!!

The Future Threat

“When did the future switch from being a promise to being a threat?” ― Chuck Palahniuk

Who wants my kids? I'm giving them away... Cheap! Free, even...

How many times have I said that over the years? No offers came forward, so I don't know if I would ever have followed through on the threat, but Lord knows I fantasized a time or two about giving them away!

The other day, I called my Mommy. (Yes, really. Shut up. She's my Mommy.) I talk to her several times a week, to keep her up dated on what's going on around here. She moved to Florida a couple years ago, when I was still freshly divorced and struggling to piece together a new life for myself and the Wild Things. She worries, so I call.

My mom, Gloria, with her sisters.
Mom's the second from the left. 

We got to talking about my sister, who passed very unexpectedly this summer. It's been a devastating few months for all of us, but it's been hardest on her kids. They lost their father last year, and now Theresa. Even though they're all grown, with kids of their own, nothing prepares you for facing life as an orphan. Mom mentioned that they've been struggling to settle her estate- not because of any disagreements, they've worked together beautifully, thank God, but because my sister didn't leave a will.

My beautiful sister, Theresa, and our Mom. 

I said, Who has a will at 53? She was just building a new life. Divorced just over a decade, and out of college only 5 years, she's been teaching littles in a school that has a mostly-disadvantaged population. All her time, energy, and love has been poured into those children, and she's been making a difference, making real changes in the lives of kids and their families. She never considered a future in which her own children would have to dispose of her worldly goods and settle her personal accounts. Not at her age. Not when she had everything going for her, and the pieces of her life were just beginning to fall into place.

"Do you have a will?" Mom asked. "You should, you know. You know, to protect your kids. Who would take care of them?"

The truth is, I don't have an answer to that question. I'm sure my ex would step up if something happened to me. He'd uproot my kids, move them half-way across the country, and turn their lives upside down, bringing them into his new life, his new home, and his new family, something they have no desire to be a part of right now. Not having a will leaves my kids' futures in the wind.

If living through a tornado taught me anything, it's that life can change in an instant.
Image courtesy of Pixabay

I love my family, but I'm reluctant to pick from them and say You. You are the one I would trust to raise my children, to make the decisions that would need to be made, and look after their best interests.

How do you make a choice like that? And yet, how do you not?

My sister didn't plan to leave her kids with the burden of dealing with her affairs. I own a home, my only real asset, and Babygirl is turning 18 next week. Would she be able to take on the responsibility of running a house and raising her 14 year old brother? Thing1 is a freshman in high school. They're close, but at 18, I can't imagine Babygirl being left to shoulder that burden.

These two, on their own??
I love my kids, but they're not ready for that kind of responsibility. 

The ex and I put off writing our wills years ago, because we didn't want to choose someone to look after our kids if something happened to us. The dilemma hasn't changed, but our situation has, and it's time I created a piece of paper I don't think I'll ever need, as insurance against a future none of us wants.

Mahatma Ghandi once said, “The future depends on what you do today.” 

How about you? Do you have a future plan in case the unthinkable happens? Have you designated someone to take over your parental responsibilities? How did you choose?