Teenager.

Having a teenage Emma, is like tiptoeing around a sigh explosive....I never know when it is going to go off.


"Mom. Please don't do that." She muttered while shopping in Rue21.

"What?" I asked, honestly curious.  (Because you never know. It could be me simply breathing.)

"Dance."

"Ahhhh." I replied. Not even aware that I was. Oops. Strike 1 for mom during back to school shopping.

Emma is quite different from Shane, besides having a vagina. Emma is embarrassed of me ALL of the time.

Shane would have stood in front of me asked "OOOH Is that what we are doing? Are we dancing now?" And he would have white people waltzed me around the clothing store, bumping into everything and declaring to one and all that HIS mom was the most beautiful waltzer of ALL.

"Right." I muttered and then smiled. Because if Emma thinks that I am mad at her it makes her sigh.

Emma has been unique since the moment of her birth.

 First off, she was SUPPOSED to have a penis. Her name was to be Carter Louis and surprised us all when she squeezed out of my vagina (OH THE PAIN) and had one herself.

"IT'S A.......GIRL????" the nurse shouted

"WHAT!?" Emma's dad responded

"I TOLD YOU I PRAYED FOR A SISTER!" Shane squealed "GIMMIE HER!"

Baby Emma screamed as we took it all in.

My sister swears that I cried happy tears and said "OH THANK GOD" when they announced that he was a she, but I know that I said it because the torment of my vagina was over.

Epidural or not, I am convinced that my daughter bit her way out of my body.

That night I fed my little girl. She had on a yellow gown with a yellow bow In her thick hair....We stared into each others eyes and I asked her "What does one DO with a daughter?"

She let my nipple pop out of her mouth, yawned real big....and then she sighed at me.... it has been happening ever since.

I soon found out what one does with a daughter. AMAZING things. I absolutely loved having a baby girl....OH THE ACCESORIES! OH THE SHOPPING! OH the chance to teach a little girl that she is powerful and beautiful and above almost everyone......OH fuck....I don't know how to do hair....

But then I learned(ish)


When Emma was small we would chant "UTERUSES UNITE!" And plan how Emma the great mighty conqueress would change the world.

 This is not a post about how horrid my teenage daughter is. In fact, Emma Is quite amazing. She is highly intelligent, Well spoken, confident and kind.

THIS is a post about how I don't know what the fuck I am doing. And how hard it is to jump from the little girl who chanted with me to the little lady with boobs.

 I'm winging it.

Shane and I have always had the kind of relationship where, if he is upset he tells me why. We talk through it and make it better.

Emma is quiet. She claims that she is always fine, she reminds me too much of ME....And I know without a doubt that I am THE best fine faker in the history of the world.

"Em, you okay?"

"Yeah! Why?"

"Because my mommy senses are tingling."

*insert eyeroll here*

"I'm FINE mom." she says, "why do you always think something's wrong?"

"Because I am your mom and I don't want you to be EMO." I answer (I am always afraid my kids will turn into Emotionally drained children who wear black and mutter about Satan. It's a legitimate fear ya'll.)

She walks away and I whisper to Shane  "Will you talk with her?"

"Yes mamma. Nothings wrong with her, but YES I will talk with her okay?"

"Okay Shane. Snuggle me." And he does.

_________________________________________________

Over dinner I stare at Emma.

"WHY are you staring at me?" she asks

"I think I should have spanked you more when you were little." I responded.

"Wha....why?"

"Because then you would love me more. Look at Shane."

"That is true. I do love mamma more Emma."

"NO!" She argues "I LOVE YOU!"....and I smile.

1 point to me for forcing my daughter to admit she loves me. Score.
________________________________________________


Last night at 6:00pm

"Mom. It is Pizza time!"

"Didn't we JUST eat lunch I said with blurry eyes." We had been watching a supernatural marathon the entire day (and continued it until 1:00 am)

"Mom. Its 6:00."

"Okay...okay don't get crazy. Get dressed. You are coming with me. I need someone to fend off the homeless while I grab the pizza and you're it kid."

I throw on a dress and Emma grabs some shorts. I hand her 2 quarters and we discussed our tactics.

Once there, Emma clutches her quarters and grabs my Chewbacca bag. "Watch my six kid." I say as we head to the doors.

I decline a window washing and nod my head to Emma. She approaches and doles out the quarters. Why quarters? Because I am broke and it is better then thin air or a Fart.

Inside we stand in line and I start to sing. I cannot help it.... I have musical Tourette's.
This time it is Tribute. (of the best songs ever despite what Emma says)

Emma shakes her head and I sing louder. She laughs and looks up. "OH.MY.GOD."

"What."

"Look what you made me come out in?"

I look at her. She is wearing cut off jean shorts, shanes t-shirt that she has knotted around her waist and my Chewbacca purse. Her hair is pulled back into a bun with wisps of curls that surround her noggin and she is wearing her black, thick nerd glasses.

"You look beautiful!" I state quite angrily, because she does.

She sighs (told you) and points up....to the monitor where people are displayed.

"What?" I question putting my hand on my hip. "wait... that's not US!" I say as I look closer to the screen.

"Uh...YEA it is!" she says.

"No no that is a homeless little girl and her fat mom. WE.." I point to the both of us " are beautiful."

As I say that the fat mom mimic's my hand movements precisely. "OHMYGODEMMA THATS US."

I start to laugh so hard that apparently my entire body jiggles.

"NO." Emma states and then turns her face to start laughing.

"EMMA! We look like assholes." I laugh until I start to drool and I have to cross my legs to keep from pee-ing.

"Just get the pizza." Emma's head is down because she is laughing and apparently if she laughs too much her face will crack.

I grab the pizza and as we leave we are asked for a slice from the quarter man.

It pisses me off but then I felt guilty so Emma delivers him a slice. All of the way home I let Emma know that Pizza Place cameras most definitely lie and that we are beautiful queens.

She nods and laughs and assures me that she believes me.

"You know how people always think they look bad?"

"Bad self image?" she asks

"yeah, I have the opposite of that. Its a thing." I shrug
_______________________________________________________



The biggest challenge (SO FAR) That I face, is not letting Emma realize how much she is like ME. My theory is, If I tell her then she will change it. SO I quietly cheer every time I see a flash of my spirit in her.

I am very proud of my daughter....I am just confused by her as well. I don't know what the fuck I am doing. I am nowhere near the perfect parent.

My plan is to enjoy her when she lets me, give her space when she needs it and be here whenever she is ready to chant UTERUSES UNITE! once again.

To be taught.

To ALL of my fellow teachers:

Tomorrow starts a new school year.

One that will Undeniably cause you to sprout some silver hairs, learn Tibetan deep breathing stress techniques or laugh so hard that you surprise fart.  (I hope that you laugh more then you breathe like a whale, but lets face it, kids are stressful....and some of them, while quite cute, smell badly almost on purpose.)

I know that we all start out this year with a hopeful smile. We greet our new students with a baited breath and an empty slate.

Before your enter your room tomorrow, take a deep breathe and count to 3.

I know this year will bring about stress, and changes I am sure and surprises. But in every moment, there is an opportunity to teach. To become that person that a child never forgets.

To engage their minds, to open creativity, to make a sullen child silly.

All moments. All perfect.

There is a reason that we do what we do....

It is the magic of opening a mind, cracking a shell and becoming part of someone who is great.

And when your heart is beating because a child is driving you mad, I encourage you to count (once more my friends) to 3..... And try again, and again  and then once more...again.
Try it differently. Try it silly. Just fucking try.

THIS is a new chance to make your mark on the most precious commodity that we have.
 A child, one who will grow into an adult with the power to change the world.

Each year as I stare out at the sea of new faces, (sitting as still as they possibly can whilst mumbling "poop" into their neighbors faces) I wonder what surprise will emerge out of each of them by the end of the year.

Who will learn to lead the group?

Who will we need to help emerge from their shell of shyness?

Which child shall surprise me with their genius, and which one will make me laugh each and every day?

It all starts with us. With preschool teachers, who work together to create individual plans for each child who will leave into the next class...and then the next...and then mine.

The very precipice of where they take flight into the world of grander education.

I bite my nails (Not really, these babies are expensive) and hope that they remember everything that we have taught to them.... their manners, their education and the names of all of the star wars characters.

Please do not ever call us Day care workers. We are nothing of the sort. We teach. We are teachers.

In fact we form the very base of your children's learning and we sincerely hope, that when one of ours enters your classroom it is apparent in every way. We take this shit seriously, yo.


I wish us all the best this year. I hope that you will inspire a leader. Create an artist or discover the spark that can turn the most troubled child around, because for me....there is no better feeling then making a child become aware of how AMAZING they are.


And for them to be amazing. We all have to be.

XOXO

LIKE A LLAMA.

On Monday evening I lay in bed moaning.

I quite reminded myself of a wounded animal, except way cuter. My head was hurting, and I am not one to get headaches.

I had a pack of ice on my face and one eye on the Tele. My ear hurt, my neck ached and my head was pounding.

I was absolutely convinced that My Bells palsy was making a comeback.
I know that I am dramatic. OKAY. OVER dramatic about some things, but a re-flare of BP scares the living fuck outta me.

10 years ago, the first sign of the sickness was an excruciating ache at the back of the head.

For the next few hours I would wake up and look at Emma "Is my face moving?" I would panic movie my face in a myriad of movements.

"YES." she would assure me. And I would fall back into a fitful sleep of nightmares about not being able to say the word FUCK. (that happened, True Story.)

The next morning I woke up and phoned my Doctor. They scheduled me for an appointment.

The nurse checked my Blood pressure and my temp and then I got on the scale.

I hadn't weighed myself in weeks. I looked down and beheld the blinking number.
"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME." I growled and got off the scale, backing away from it slowly.

The nurse paused in her movements of writing down the number and stared at me. Her eyebrow raised and a not quite covered up sneer on her lips.

I looked at her for a moment stunned that she was not used to the word FUCK being used in tandem with the scale, but whateves.

We turned and I stomped down the hall to a room where I climbed up on the crinkly bed.
I seriously climbed it. Like a mountain, the bitch was so fucking high.

"What are you seeing the doctor for today?" The nurse asked me while typing on the computer.

"My everything hurts." I mumbled back and swung my legs on the veritable mountain of a bed.

She asked for specifics. I gave them to her while still cussing out the scale in my head.

She left the room and my doctor entered.

I like my doctor. He is very tidy, plus he wears expensive shoes and I appreciate that in a man.

"Did you get that tummy taken care of?" He smiled at me

"Oh. The surgery? Yes."

"Ahhh very good. Lay down I want to check it out."

I lay down and he poked at my tummy. "Very nice"

I nodded and sat up "Thanks, I think so."

I told him about my pain and he peeked in my ears, he felt my throat and he made me do all sorts of weird bells palsy face things.

After my antibiotics were ordered he turned to me and smiled "Okay! Do you need anything else while we are here together?"

"YES!" I exclaimed

"Okay." He smiled and leaned forward.

I did too "I want to talk about my Fat!" I exclaimed.

He looked at me sternly, dropped his pen on the small desk and leaned back into his chair with his arms crossed. "THAT is a very touchy subject." he murmured.

"But I am the one who brought it up." I pointed out.

He rubbed his finger along his upper lip and stared at me "Okay. What do you need to know."

I told him about the diet that I have been on. No Bread, no sugar no processed foods. 6 weeks of eating healthy, clean and like a fucking llama. "And look at my chart. I have not lost a FUCKING pound!"

He looked down at the chart and then back up at me. "I see."

I leaned forward "This makes me FEEEEEL like My body is SUPPOSED to be this fat."

He shook his head, looked down at my chart and back at me. "Okay. I can feel that you are frustrated." He murmured

"YA THINK? Do you even KNOW how much chocolate I have not imbibed in? My GOD man, I have passed on chocolate cake! I had to chant for fucks sake..CHANT   so I wouldn't eat it. And I weigh the same damn thing that I did when I ate whatever I wanted. Yeah...I am frustrated!"

A surprised laugh shot out and he covered his mouth and apologized quickly.

"Nono...Don't apologize. It is comical. I am going to go eat a cake. An entire cake!"

He shook his head "No...Now lets see...what have you been eating? Give me an example."

"Ohhhhh OKAY! For breakfast I will eat a hardboiled egg. For lunch i will eat 1/3cup of cottage cheese and 1/2 cup of fruit. Maybe I will have a salad with chicken, olives and avocados....for dinner I will have an artichoke." I sat back and crossed my arms.

If I could have crossed my legs as well I would have, but apparently I am STILL too fucking fat and stubby limbed.

"Is this all you have been eating the whole time?"

"No. I used to eat a lot more like bacon and eggs in the morning but I am not so hungry anymore."

He stared at me. "Okay would you like me to tell you some options?"

"I would like for you to tell me what the fuck to do. Just tell me. Because the last doctor told me to eat like a Llama and my body says fuck off."

He just laughed then. Just outright laughed. Which made me more comfortable.

"First I have ordered you a lab test. Lets check your Thyroid."

"Fine. But I don't except that Punk Thyroid excuse."

"It does make sense though...so we will see. Lets talk about your options. I can give you a diet pill...."

"NO." I shook my head "NO diet pills."

"Okay good. Why not?"

"Because I am fat. I came by this honestly. I will fit into my fashion honestly too."

"You can go to our weight loss clinic which is $500 a month."

"No. Fuck no. I can barely afford this healthy llama diet."

He smiled "We can talk about surgery."

"Yeah...NO. No surgery." I shook my head " I CAN wipe my own ass. I am not a giant whale. And surgery does not fix the fact that everything tastes delicious. Surgery doesn't fix anything. It stalls it.    Fatties gan be fat.    If you shrink my stomach by force I guarantee I will loose weight and stretch that bitch back out."

He nodded "Do you know why people lose so much weight when they have surgery?"

"Because they literally CANNOT eat anything?"
"Correct. They starve their bodies almost to death. And that is not healthy."

I sighed.

"My advice is Weight watchers. It is the best. Have you tried that?"

 I nodded. "Of course. I am fat. All fatties try weight watchers."

"Well what about that then."

"I will think about it. About all of this." I murmured as I stood up.

I shook his hand, thanked him for his extensive time and left the same way that I came in. Glaring at the fucking scale and wanting some pizza.