March Madness

My husband and I not only share the same name, but we also share very close birthdays. Granted he’s two years older than I am, so he will always be my old man…but since meeting nearly two decades ago we’ve usually combined our birthday fun.

As fate would have it, our children are also two years apart in age and share very close birthdays. Luckily they still are the best of friends and want their birthdays to be celebrated together. So on an unsuspecting weekend day in March we have tended to unleash hoards of boys and girls upon our home and cul de sac where giggling and squealing can be heard from blocks away. Being unable to leave anyone out, and always justifying to myself it is the nice thing to do, we have invited each child’s entire class to join us for the fun.

And fun was had by all

Yes, I am stupid.

Yes, I know. I know.

This might be my favorite pic from today - before the chaos started

But regardless of when that chaos-filled Saturday or Sunday has fallen on the calendar, I have always found myself a little bit more sensitive during those six days between when my eldest turns a year older and my youngest turns a year older. Spending those days thinking about when I was pregnant, when we brought each of them home from the hospital…you get the idea.

Having had our double-birthday insanity this past weekend, where it seems both of my children were exposed to the puking flu, my kids are home, snuggling in bed with me despite having grown older and more independent in just the past few days.

My son having just turned nine on Saturday, my daughter getting ready to turn seven on Friday…and here we are cuddling as though time is standing still on a Tuesday night. Tucked away in our bed, legs and arms tangled between towels and wet wash cloths, stuffed animals and nerf guns.

Both of them want me. Both of them need me. Both of them are stuck to me like velcro as they battle a bug and beg their Mamma to rub their back or lay ‘just a little closer’ as they doze off clutching me with one hand and ice chips with another.

My six days of contemplation, where I get misty over where all the time went, and how they won’t need me soon, have turned into something entirely different this year. I couldn’t be wanted more. I couldn’t be needed more.

During one of my daughter’s puke sessions this morning she asked me to promise to always be there to help pull her hair back. As my son fell into a nap shortly after lunch he asked me who took care of all the kids who had to stay home from school sick if their Moms didn’t have Lupus.

Dads, grandparents, babysitters, uncles…all sorts of people.

I’m not glad you have Lupus Mom, but I’m glad you have it today because you are home with me when I’m sick.

The funny thing is…my Mom left Sunday night after having stayed awhile taking care of me. The past 18 months I can honestly say I want two people when I am sick ( in other words-all the time)- I want my husband and I want my Mom.

So as I spend the last few days thinking about how badly I want for these children of ours to stay children, for them to always need me and want me, I know deep down they won’t ever really stop needing their Mamma…just like I haven’t stopped needing mine.

When A White Boy Wears A Hoodie

Hoodie
My son wears a hoodie every single day to school. He covers his head faithfully and rarely hears friends say hello as we walk inside or adults saying good morning as he tends to be lost in his own world, muffled by the hoodie around his ears.

My son would do anything for his little sister and happily get her candy. He would even question any adult questioning him for no reason- as we have taught him to stand up for himself, speak out for what is right, and question authority. He would run from strangers. He would feel safe with a police officer.

I think.

My son, however, can do all of these things without fear. He is white. He ‘belongs’ in that suburb. He looks like every other white kid in the area and a ‘neighborhood watch captain’ would easily dismiss his walking down the street as a normal, every day occurrence. As would a police officer. As would the community.

As a white mother to a white son, I’ve never had to explain to him what he should and should not do when confronted by police. I’ve never had to talk with him about how the world views him or prayed he wouldn’t be next.

Yet we live in a world where people deny racial issues still exist. They do not even understand white privilege. They actively cry ‘reverse racism’ as if they are the victim. They even have the nerve to call those who fight for racial equality ‘race baiters,’  ‘racers’ and have attempted to spin and twist and re-write history as if THEY have lost out because Americans owned slaves and those slaves were oppressed for generations, after which they were then oppressed under Jim Crow and then under the institutionalized racism that continues to permeate our culture today.

Yet these NON ‘of color’ victims’ have started a very dangerous trend, a very risky trend, a very uninformed and downright stupid trend that has them looking like very scared white folk, realizing their hold over the majority-and power-is slipping.

You see, as ‘one of you’ I get to hear all about it from family and friends and neighbors and others who seem to think that just because I am white I ‘understand’ what they mean when they say ‘our neighborhood is changing’ and ‘that school has too many kids who don’t speak like our kids’ or ‘you know the high school only recruited him because he can play ball.’

Then there are the comments on blogs and national media calling the NAACP racist, the United Negro College Fund racist, and those who support our President racist because we have the nerve to notice these overwhelmingly white people are angry and saying things and doing things they would NEVER do if the man occupying the oval office were caucasian.

They say all these things while innocent children, carrying candy in a suburb, are shot for walking down the street while black. As Jackie Summers writes,

“This isn’t some fresh new hell; it’s torn open old wounds most would prefer to believe have healed.

The concept that you are suspicious.
The concept that you have to justify where you are and what you’re doing.
The concept that there are people who are so afraid of you, they feel they’re protecting themselves and others, by killing you, even if you’re unarmed.
The concept that those charged with law can show up, knowing exactly what happened, and choose not to uphold it.
The concept that it requires a national outrage to incite justice.
The concept that there are those who would vociferously defend the murderer out of one corner of their mouths, and accuse the murdered from the other.

For no other reason than the color of your skin.”

Yet if you were to read a Right Wing blog today, you would think THEY were the victim or horrible racial attacks. The last I checked, white children like mine, even in hoodies, even walking in a suburb with candy, were not being shot for walking while white.

It is far from time for the white, right-wing to drop this act of victimhood in the American stories of racial inequality. It is embarrassing. It is ignorant. It is offensive.

Trayvon is not the first black child to die, he will not be the last. We owe it to every child to move the discussion on race FORWARD. Forward means NOT back to eras that have long past and have long ago put an indelible mark of hatred and evil on our nation that some on the right seem to think have been made up for, erased, or should be at the very least whitewashed, refusing to feel guilt for something they had nothing to do with. I don’t feel guilt as a white liberal, I feel anger. I feel anger that some conservatives say they see no color, claim to operate on an even playing field, and refuse to even discuss racial implications in any debate for fear they will have to be honest with themselves, our history, and the glaringly obvious fact we have NOT come as far as we would like to think.

We owe it to children of color to know the world MY children have grown up knowing. Where they don’t need to be told that they have to make allowances for other people’s racism because …’That’s part of the burden of being black. We can be defiant and dead or smart and alive.”

It is time to change the conversation, and it starts with the adults. I have no right to send my son to school tomorrow morning in his hoodie without fear, when so many other mothers will be sending their sons off wondering if they will ever come home.

 

Science & Art Combine to Bring My Son Closer to the Cosmos

Answering questions about native Americans #AutryMuseum
For those who may not know, I have a bit of a science geek son. He’s eight-years old and could (and sometimes does) spend Saturdays in his pj’s happily watching Professor Stephen Hawking documentaries and Through the Wormhole with Morgan Freeman. Mythbusters, UFO Hunters even. But mostly, if he had to choose, he’d find some documentary that just showed planets and solar systems and the vastness of outer space. Black holes make him jump up and down in front of the tv or computer, he can rattle off theories about dark matter and how a star is born, and he will talk your ear off about the Big Bang and his own ideas about how Earth came to be.

But with this geekdom, comes the soul of an artist. He cries on airplane rides as he stares out the window because it’s all “just so beautiful Mom.” And he lounges with his arms behind his head, stares up at the sky, and makes me promises.

Big promises.

When he was four Jack informed me he was going to retrieve the Mars Rovers, Spirit and Opportunity, from the red planet and bring them back to me. He firmly believes they must come “home.” He remembers that promise, and talks about it frequently as though it’s just fact. He will someday find a way to bring those rovers back to Earth.

I believe he will do this. I believe he has the mind and will to accomplish this simply because in his heart, their home is here near us. Not just on Earth, but at the NASA Jet Propulsion Laboratory in California.

I have this amazing mix of a sensitive, scientist man-child. Who expresses himself through writing and art, yet gets very upset at the idea we have yet to get a person to Mars because human eyes must gaze upon the beauty of this vast red and dusty place. He actually gets so upset about this, and so excited at the possibly and joy of being able to one day see outer space he gets tears in his eyes. He wants to explore the heavens above so badly but is trapped in that “but I’m only a kid” world and he wants to gaze upon the amazingness that is space so badly he has trouble telling me why it’s so important…other than “but Mom, can’t you see how beautiful it is?”

Enter a simple art assignment at school, where he got to combine his two loves and create (along with his 3rd grade class) a silhouette of himself and his own depiction of a planet he imagines. Innocently I tweeted, as many proud parents do, his very first gallery debut. His art, hanging on the wall of our local comic book shop Brave New World Comics, and the lovely wine and cheese (and cookie and milk) event for the school.

My son's gallery debut!

My son’s piece sold to the highest bidder (his biggest fans Mom and Dad) and we enjoyed the evening.

Something extraordinary then took shape…I got word from New York City that one of my favorite twitter followers had seen that tweet, that innocent and proud parental moment, and she just happens to work at the Science House Foundation.

The Foundation’s mission “…provides funding to organizations that help to further science and mathematics education worldwide, and creates programs that provide schools with resources and educational experiences to spark the imagination.”

Then came a letter, with a check, officially acquiring my son’s artwork as their first piece to hang in the Science Foundation’s new space in Manhattan as they start a collection of “science art.”

Science & Art collide

Jack was glowing. His dreams were becoming a reality. He could combine his love of art and science and could not only show the world beauty, but discuss the vast universe. My amazing child could truly be himself: an artist, writer, and critical thinker with a love of science and all things in the mysterious cosmos.

Rita J. King of Science House tells me that is exactly their mission, to help kids realize they create the future. Well Rita, James, and the rest of the Science House Team- not only are you helping kids realize, but you are fueling their passion. Tonight Jack said, “Mom, I can make money…like a job…with science and art. This is like some sort of dream, isn’t it?”

No. No my dear it’s not a dream. It is real. It is fact- those solid, scientific tidbits of info you love so much. And it is beautiful.

In short, it’s you.

Thank you to the wonderful SCVi staff for inspiring my son to be himself, and thank you Science House Foundation for helping an eight-year old realize his future and dreams can combine science and art – and they are possible.

Surviving Yet Another Holiday With Smiles And Duct Tape

Sometimes it’s not the exact holiday you remember when your child has Tourette’s or OCD. It’s the tic or meltdown that comes with it.

After spending days deciding on his costume for this year, my son had to make sure it fit perfectly. And perfectly for him isn’t the same as perfectly for you and I. Oh no. He had to know exactly which shorts and pants felt exactly right under said costume. and how it felt zipped all the way up to the top. and now just half way zipped. And if it scratched him funny. And if it rode up on one side and not the other. And if he could run and bend his knees just right with it on, or if he had to stretch the fabric a bit when he walked. You get the idea.

Mr. Commando Dude who is too cool for his Mom

It’s trying on his helmet and mouth piece over and over, adjusting, re adjusting, and then melting down because it wasn’t curving properly over his mouth. Of course the $19.99 cheap costume wasn’t curving properly over his mouth, but try explaining that to him. After what felt like forever of going back and forth trying to fix it and him declaring Halloween ruined no less than four times, I found duct tape fixed the matter to his liking enough to make him ‘uncomfortable’ but not ‘with a tic uncomfortable’ and we considered this a win and moved on.

Frankly it's the shoes that make the costume

He then dropped off his helmet that I painstakingly worked on for hours after just a block of trick-or-treating…yup. You read that right. He wore it for maybe 30 minutes. Total. But honestly, I didn’t care. He was happy and having fun and that was all that matter. I would have taped a million cheap costume helmets to see my kids smile and be excited like that again.

After adjusting his sister’s cheap headband a few times I was thankful she was happy with how it looked and off they went. She didn’t want make up. She didn’t even want her hair brushed. She threw on her ninja outfit and was ready to rock.

And here is our ninja girl angry she couldn't bring her ninja knives to school

Of course there was also the shoe situation…his were uncomfy after breaking a few days before and his Dad, thankfully, fixed them ‘PERFECTLY’ – she just threw on her pink crocs and took off running. In fact, they both took off running this year so fast I was thankful to have been handing out candy at home.

But now that I think about it…one more thing about that ‘shoe’ situation….why did my son make such an ISSUE over me fixing his helmet and didn’t even blink at his Dad fixing his shoes? The tools which help him run! I swear he just trusts the way his Dad fixes things more than the way I fix them because the man has tools. Whatever. I bet you some of those tools are mine.

While I am glad another holiday is in the books for my kids filled with memories and fun..I’m also glad we continue to find ways to accommodate and beat his Tourette’s and OCD, and not let it beat us. Sure, we all get a bit aggravated sometimes, but we NEVER say it’s his fault and we NEVER make him feel as though there is anything wrong with his body’s needs and his discomforts, doing what we can to make him comfortable in a world he would love to organize and make feel unscratchy and comfy.

But then again, given the chance…wouldn’t we all??

Stylin’

I think it lasted a year. Maybe two. In that time before they really could walk or talk and I had control.

Who am I kidding…even then I didn’t have control.

But I was able to dress them up in whatever I saw fit. My dream of frilly girl dresses and hockey jerseys lasted for such a short period of time that I’m not even sure many photos exist.

What I do know, is that my husband and I made a point to encourage our children’s individuality. Their creativity, and their own sense of self. That means that now, when picture day at school rolls around, I ask them what they want to wear and they choose. I don’t even try to sway them to the dress I would pick out, or the shirt I would prefer. This isn’t about me, and it never has been.

And I couldn’t be more proud of the independent, amazing, and totally stylish in their own quirky way kids we’re raising.

This is how @aaronvest and I's children dressed themselves for picture day ...hee hee hee

Rock on.

Dancing with the Stars: A Great Opportunity to Talk to Your Kids

@aaronvest your daughter would like you to tie her a ninja bow
I didn’t exactly plan on discussing ‘transgender’ with my children this morning. But it seems a movement of Christian mothers has forced my hand.

A group called the One Million Moms is apparently confused as how they will ever explain Chaz Bono to their children. Now, I’m not sure if their speaking skills are poor, or if their children are bad listeners, but whatever the problem these mothers can’t seem to grasp how to discuss transgendered with their wee ones. Why? ABC has cast Bono on this season of Dancing with the Stars.

Apparently this means some God-fearing women need to sound the alarm that Satan has entered their tv and for the sake of the children, this abomination must be protested. Or something.

On a recent news appearance these up in arms Moms spent the entire segment exasperatedly saying ‘But WHAT will I TELL my CHILDREN???!!!’

Might I suggest they start with the truth? And a simple definition? This really is NOT that hard.

I decided to have the discussion with my eight-year old son first, because I really didn’t want him hearing about any of this anywhere else. It seems if I left it up to groups like the One Million Moms or Fox News, he would come out of it thinking there is something wrong with being transgendered or gay or lesbian or bi. He might even do what kids do, and go along with what ‘everyone else’ was saying, so as not to seem like an outcast.

Being a responsible mother, I see it as my job to educate my kids on everything. The good. The bad. The ugly, and the very ugly- like hate groups parading as Moms concerned about the welfare of my kids.

But as always, my kids are smarter and more kind than most of the population.

So they don’t want him to be on a dancing show? Because he’s being himself?

Well, it’s not that simple. They think he is defying their God. And that you seeing him will somehow screw you up.

Me? Why me? That’s stupid.

But I know how I feel inside. And he knows how he feels. Mom, these people are really dumb.

Yes, I know. But they really think it’s bad.

If I saw one of them I would kick them.
The boy child has a battle to get to cc: @aaronvest

Then we had to have a discussion about why kicking and hurting someone is just as bad. That’s not to say I don’t sympathize with my son. He was frustrated just trying to understand why anyone would have a problem with Chaz Bono. In his eight-year old mind, kicking seemed reasonable for these people intent on hurting someone else.

The conversation with his six-year old sister didn’t fare much better.

It seems these days any talks about love or marriage or boyfriends or girlfriends elicit nothing but giggles from her. So much so that as her father descended the stairs this morning as we talked it over she giggled and hid her face and demanded we continue our discussion later.

I obliged, and then picked up the discussion again with a different tack…

…and we would never make fun of or laugh at anyone different from us.

Of course not Mom. And if I hear someone else doing it, I stand up to them and make a new friend.

Yes. Very good. So what do you think of transgendered people or the people who are upset over this man on this show?

Mom…this is so stupid. I don’t know why we even have to talk about it, except that it’s because they are stupid. Everyone knows that everyone is different. I’m different. This guy is different. Dad is different. Nicky is different. Everybody is different.

For the record, Nicky is our dog. But her words remain true. And to my children, making a big deal about our differences, enough so to bar your children from seeing or experiencing these differences, is so alien to them that I got a lot of eyerolls and ‘why are we even talking about this?’ looks.

So thank you One Million Moms and Fox News for making a big deal out of all of this. It gave me the opportunity to discuss the transgendered community with my children. It gave me the opportunity to remind them that everyone is different. It gave me the opportunity to discuss bigots, hate, and evil. And it gave me the opportunity to show the world that some of us mothers are not afraid to talk to our kids and we know exactly what to tell them: the truth.

A Kiss is Just a Kiss

Me Cool bought himself a new hat today
I kissed my son on the top of his head tonight.

Doesn’t sound like a big deal, right?

Except something was different.

I didn’t bend down.

I just put my chin to my chest and kissed him.

I didn’t bend down.

I realize in just a few short days he will be entering the 3rd grade. I also get that he doesn’t want me to ‘do that kissing thing in front of the guys at school.’ Or in front of anyone else, for that matter. Unless it’s his family.

I get it. I understand what is happening here. But at least when I had these conversations I had to bend to see eye-to-eye. I had to hunch over to hug him. Lean down to help him get dressed. Bend to give him a kiss.

And then, just like that…I didn’t bend.

I should have noticed. He’s started blushing when people kiss on tv. He laughs harder at jokes his father and I get. The ones we felt safe laughing at, knowing no one else in the room understood.

He studies comic books longer, now reading and reading instead of just glossing over the pictures. He reads instructions to his sister, who is still struggling with big words. He’s quicker to help me if I need my cane, or something from the fridge. He asks me why I look upset when reading the news, and truly wants to understand some of the world’s more complicated issues.

And still, so long as not too many are watching, lovingly accepts a kiss on the head from his Mom…who didn’t have to bend to give it.

Night and Day

As I spent the week fretting over my son, my daughter was thriving without my assistance. And by “thriving” I mean taking the world by the balls and enjoying every minute.

Roll over!

New camp? No problem.
New friends? Easy.
Transition from the casual and unstructured days to total structure? Zero issues.

They are so different, my two kids. While they can play together without argument for hours on end and enjoy a lot of the same activities, they could not be more opposite socially and personality wise.

Take this family’s very first foray into the world of summer camp this week: my son had his bumps and adjustments-very typical for him regardless of how awesome the counselors or kids. My daughter had her counselor skipping back to the minivan with her, both grinning ear to ear and a handful of phone numbers in her hand for all her new friends for playdates.

And of course she was unable to stop talking 400 miles per hour for the entire drive home.

and then we did this game with these hula hoops

and then I played this other game with these other girls

and they all want to sit by me and be my friend

and then the counselor said she would be my partner so nobody fought over who could be mine

and then we got in the pool and I sang the motorboat song the loudest

and did you know we did these cheers too today?

Finally she takes a breath long enough for me to ask her brother how his day went, and I get a smile and a shrug.

it was good I had fun.

I catch his eye in the rear view mirror as his sister then launches, again, into every detail of her very social day and how popular she was and how great she did everything and how her entire day was larger than life filled with excitement and adventure and fun! fun! fun!

My son just shakes his heads and smiles.

Later, he confided in me that he thinks his sister has more fun than he does at everything.

Even when she had lunch there was something special mom.

He can’t put his finger on it, but he can feel it. They are like night and day.

But instead of it bothering him, or creating competition…he seems to gain strength from her. She might be younger, but even with something as simple as the kids going to a new summer camp, she seemed to lead the way.

I don’t worry about her like I worry about him, and it’s probably very unfair. My stomach lurches at the slightest issue with my son, but if anything pops up with our little girl I don’t hesitate to assume she’s fine.

She is fearless. Everything comes easy.

She doesn’t need my help.

Nothing showed this to me more than the events of this past week. The ease of which she transitioned to new situations. The ease making friends. The…just plain ease.

They say a Father will be tough on his sons and a Mother will coddle. I can’t argue this point. But what about how a Mother treats her daughters? I find myself tougher on my daughter. Expecting things I realize I don’t from my son.

It’s not fair. And I need to stop.

Where was my worry for her first week of camp? Where was my concern over making sure she dressed right and packed her bag right and had chapstick, just in case, or just the right fitting bathing suit…just in case.

No. With her I knew it didn’t matter, and I ignored the minor details I never would let slip with my son. Granted he has his quirks that do need attending to…but that’s no reason to simply ignore hers.

I’ve made her much more self sufficient. My own expectations of making sure this girl could take care of herself and be tough while dazzling a crowd with her charm…this is my doing.

I need to start concentrating some of that attitude into my son, who would prefer to stay in his comfort zone with Mom nearby.

Yes a lot of these traits are just their personalities, I do realize I have had a major hand in shaping them. I mean, of course I have…I’m their mother… it’s my job.

But when I see the stark differences in just this one little childhood experience, I realize I can do better. I can try harder, or…try to notice when I coddle one and not the other.

And in the meantime I will celebrate their differences and be thankful they are both good-natured and smart and strong…even if their Mom is a bit neurotic.