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.

Quite a while. The end of the first 30.

I parked in the 5 minute parking spot and rushed across the street, nearly bumping into the democrat booth that stands on the corner of the farmers market.

"5 minutes" I Muttered under my breath as I weaved through the crowds of people strolling down the street.

There were only two booths that I NEEDED to get to. The perfect farmer booth and The artichoke booth.

The perfect Farmer booth has vegetables that are so beautiful, you wouldn't believe. They should grace the cover of a magazine clutched in a skinny bitches hand. The tomato would rival the skinny bitch they are so glorious.

The farmer booths don't have signs. So I had to look for the perfect onions and the older farmer with the rough hands.

I found him and rushed up to the booth. I grabbed two onions, a pound and a half of tomatoes, cucumbers, bell peppers, jalapeños and he picked out a cantaloupe for me. I paid him $8.00, thanked him and rushed over to the artichokes.

After paying for my 9 artichokes (My favorite) I forgot about the strawberries and turned around, apologized for nearly running over an old woman and grabbed those too.

In 30 days I have become a farmers market connoisseur! .....Okay, maybe not a connoisseur, but most definitely a customer.

I am nearing the end of my 30 day "cleanse" of carbohydrates and refined sugar and the results are...well I am not sure.

I am full of energy, but to myself, I appear to be the same fat that I always was.

In fact according to Brandee's scale I have not lost a pound. I gained one though and that was a complete and UTTER fiasco in our household.

'OH MY GOD!" I screamed as I left her bathroom "I have GAINED a pound. gainedafuckingpound!"

"OH my." Mandy muttered

Emma rolled her eyes and Brandee stated "UHOH." because she knew what would ensue.

I flopped to the couch and I threw a hissy fit.

But this was all in the past. A week ago to be precise and I have moved on from it. (sort of)

Monday was a hard day...

In fact it was  a horrible day in existence. And I will tell you why.

ALL I wanted was a milkshake, with cookie dough and brownie bites with whipped cream all over it. Like bathing in it. UP to my nipples in whipped cream and cookie dough!

That  morning I got one glimpse at a sonic cup and my mind was filled with cookie dough thoughts.
OHMYGOD!

The whine fest began.

"I NEEEED IT!" I whined to Shane as gobs of children played around our feet.

"Mommy. No. You. Don't." He poked at me with each word.

"I do I dooooooooooo. I am going to die!"

"Ohhh myyyyy." He laughed at me

"I'm still as fat as I was when I ate good things. GOOOOD delicious things!" I whined and fell into his very tall body.

He laughed and hugged me. "Think about your dresses momma."

"My dresses. Yes..I love my dresses. Kim bought my dresses, I have to fit into them."

"Mmmhmmmm." Shane murmured into my hair.

"But."

"No."


On Wednesday night, during SYTYCD, once again ALL of the commercials were for pizza.

I love pizza. It is full of everything that I love. Bread, cheese and extra cheese.

I ended up throwing myself on my bed and kicking my legs while pounding my fists into the mattress. "I want PIZZAaaaaaa!" I wailed.

Shane laughed.
Emma stared at me.

"I waaaaant it and it wants me! I am still fat anyways, Jesus loves me fat. It is in all of the songs."

Shane laughed some more. (he always laughs at me) I looked at him "Buy me pizza!" I demanded

"No." he said, like Hitler. His face turning serious all at once.

"No." Emma echoed from the couch.

I gasped at the both of them and growled as well.

"Mama, if you want things to change, change them. And you are doing it." Emma stated.

"UH!" I gasped. But I was proud of her too.

Shane and Emma ended up snuggling me. One on each side. They made me laugh and calmed me down from my pizza craving.


I received my 2 dresses in the mail on Friday and I held my breath as I slid them on.

They fit.

I ordered one of them 1 size down from where I started and another 2 sizes down.
They both fit me, and I twirled and clapped my hands and flitted around my house like a fat butterfly...okay, more like a dinosaur. But whatever.

During one of my 'fits of whine' one of my friends asked me "How long did it take you to get fat?"

"Quite a while." I answered

"So expect it to take quite awhile to get healthy. Accept it, divorce the scale and move forward."
So I am.

The first 30 days have been hard, because.... I will ALWAYS want delicious foods. I will always whine and throw fits.
But it has been amazing too.

 The next 30 days I will incorporate brown rice and beans. HOLLA!...cuz this fat bitch loves Mexican food.

Beanies rules of Common Sense Parenting.

Just the other day while conversing with a friend about parenting we both commiserated about how hard it is BEING a parent.

And it is.

In my profession I see hundreds of parents each day. All kinds. Not bad ones...not really. I think parents now a days try to make everything easy for their children. Happy. And that is not setting them up for real life. Real life is fucked up, and children need to learn a few things about coping with it all....in a nice way of course.

I get asked for advice a hundred times a year. I wish I could publish a book. It would be titled:

 

 

           Common Sense Parenting 101

or

(Don't parent like a douchebag)

Hey....Being in change of a human being was never meant to be all giggles and sunlight.

They did not float down from heaven on a cloud. They were not placed in your arms by a mythical beast. No...... They came kicking and screaming and bloody.

Parenthood is a battle that you should always stay on top of.

Children are not born with respect for you. You have to earn it, instill it and nurture it.

Beanie CSP Rule #1

 

" BECAUSE I SAID SO..."

You don't HAVE to make everything fun, it is perfectly fine to tell your children No. And the best part about it all...you DONT have to give them a reason for it at all.

YOU are the parent. YOU are in charge. It is a very poor mistake if you ever let your children think that they are.

"I want candy"

First of all this is rude. I am sure that you are reading this and thinking about how rude it is for a child to say that ...right?

Well it is.

It is also a statement and not a question like..."Mom, may I have some candy."
(I would be more apt to say yes to a politely worded question, then I would be if my child forgot their manners.)

You reply with a "No."

Do not console your child. DO not try to make them see it your way. You cannot. THEY are a child. with child brains and child candy wants.

"WHhhhyyyyy?" They whine.
"Because I said so." You reply. And that is enough.

There is a very good reason WHY parents have been saying that phrase for years, and this is it:
You are a parent and if you say no, that should be good enough for them.

What you are teaching them:  Do not question your parents answer.

If they are ALLOWED to question you when they are 3, what the hell do you think they will do when they are 13?

Beanie CSP rule #2

 "NO means NO"

 

When my children were small, I use to worry that they would run toward the street and I needed them to listen when I said "NO." And when I say  "Listen" I mean, their whole body freezes and they STOP whatever it is they are doing.

I cannot even tell you how many times I said to my children "What did mommy say?"
Their shoulders would sag and they would mumble "You said No."
"And what does No mean?" I would further question
"No means No."

The end. It does not mean "lets negotiate."

Granted I rarely said No to my children when they wanted to DO something creative like painting their bathroom by themselves. Leaving wavy flowers and sickly looking snails all over the walls.
.......Or dig a mud hole to crawl in and out of all day or add soap to the floor of the kitchen to make it an indoor slip and slide.

Whatevs.

But when Mommy DID say No. It meant NO.

So you are standing there and your child whines..."But I waaaaaant it."

"I said no."

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease!"  They whine. At first very cutely...then it turns into a growl. "PLEEEEEASE!" And within 2 seconds your child goes from cute little angel, to wildabeast.


Please for the love of God, DO NOT:

A) Give in and Say okay because you are embarrassed by their behavior. Who CARES. In fact when you stand firm, more parents (and teachers) will admire your tenacity.

B) Think up a reason why they should get it even though you have already said No. Like..."ummm you HAVE been a good boy at school...okay go ahead."

C) Bribe them. "I have candy in the car." or "We have candy at home."
Doing any of those things is showing your child that what their parents say, they don't mean. And hearing the word "No" means whine a little louder.

Which means that later in life, when you say "NO you cannot have sex at 15 or NO you cannot smoke the Ganja" it really means "I can do whatever I want, my mom doesn't really EVER mean it."


What you SHOULD DO:

"I said no, do you want to open the door to leave or shall I?"

"What did I say? Its time to leave are you walking on your own or shall I help you. Choose."

"I said no. If you whine again you wont have any tomorrow either."

Each one of these options gives your child the CHIOCE on how they will react. It also establishes you as the ultimate decision maker. PARENTING WIN!

 If it helps, imagine that your little angel is asking for a crack pipe. Be THAT firm.

Beanie parenting rule #3

Suck it up and win.

 

 

Being a parent is embarrassing. When a child in a wheelchair goes by, they WILL point it out. If you see a huge gargantuan fat woman hobbling by with a cane, they WILL ask in a VERY loud voice why she is so fat. And most definitely without a doubt...they WILL throw a fit in a store before they are grown.

One time, when Shane was 2, he screamed in a store for an hour before he passed out on my tear soaked shoulder gasping and whimpering in his sleep.

People gave me dirty looks and made rude remarks. The store clerks asked if they could give him a lollipop In which I replied quite loudly because he was screaming at the top of his lungs "You seriously want me to REWARD him for this? NO THANK YOU."

It was embarrassing. My cheeks were bright red the whole time. But as I told my then 2 year old. "I have shopping to do." I did not drag him out of there and leave my cart because that would teach him that his little 2 year old self, had control over his mommy.

And that was NOT going to happen. Embarrassing or not. I would win. And I did.

When we got home he rubbed his eyes and laid against my chest. "I cwy." he mumbled

"Yes. You cried. But mommy had to shop." I kissed his head and he nodded. "If you cry again like that. You will not shop with mommy again."

He nodded, kissed me (leaving snot behind) and waddled off to play.

He never threw a fit in the store again, and was rewarded for it every time.

Beanie CSP rule #4

Mean it.

 

 

It is my firm belief that you children should ALWAYS be a little scared of you.

Sometimes you have to be the boogy man.

If I stare at my daughter too long for any length of time she looks away. Even if I am only admiring her beauty. "Stop staring at me! It scares me."

I gasp and I pout and I loudly moan "How saaaaaad! I am only trying to LOVE you."

But in reality, that fear of the mommy look was placed there by me years ago. I fought for that fear and I won that fear.

I am her parent. For so many years I have been the reason that she keeps her grades up, the reason she is a good girl, and I will continue to be that reason until SHE is her own reason to excel.

My children are no longer babies. And I feel like I have placed in them a firm understanding of evolutionary respect.

Now I get to tease with them and play with them and whine to them. We have hand slap fights and campout in the living room on hot nights.
But to this day, BOTH of my children know that when I say something. I mean it.

CSP for teachers

Modern day mothering

 

Every year in my classroom I get children that get the "hard to handle" label slapped on them.

I love these children. I itch to have these children in my classroom, and despite what others may think, it is not to boss them around or be mean to them.

It is to teach them what it means to have respect.

They don't know it. Either from neglective parenting or bad teacher-ing they have no idea how they should act.

So I take that opportunity to Teach them. This literally takes one on one teaching for awhile. But In my head, I have a system for this.

Last year I had a boy slap me across the face. I was aghast, appalled even. I cannot tell you the last time that a child hit me.

When Shane was small he did it once. ONCE.

I looked down at him and his face was twisted up. He wasn't mad. In fact he looked quiet scared.

I knelt down and looked in his eyes. "Do you think that you are allowed to hit me?" I asked him. This was an honest question. Maybe he hits everyone, who knows.

He shook his head.

"You are never allowed to hit me."

He nodded.

The next day he hit me again and then he hid his face. I knelt down and asked "Are you allowed to hit me?"

He shook his head

"So since you have hitting hands I will hold then until they are calm." I placed one of his hands on top of the other and held them in his lap.

He cried and moved a bit but eventually calmed down. He just stared at me. And I stared back, until he looked away. "I will win." I smiled at him.

The next morning when I entered my class, I smiled at him and asked him if his hands felt like hitting. He shook his head and sat in his chair. He had just come from another school and I knew nothing about his background.
All I knew, was that he interested me. All of the naughty ones do.

SO I took him by his hand and walked over to the wall. I sat down pulled him into my lap and hugged him. At first he was tense. You could tell he did not know what I was doing. This was unfamiliar to him.

I held him until he relaxed against me. "You are such a good boy. I know it."

He nodded against me.

"I love you and I want you to have fun here. But you cannot hit me and you should try your best to listen."

He sat up and looked at me "Okay I will."

"You have to remember that I am your teacher, and I will win...every time."

Our struggles did not end that day. It took him awhile to conform to my classroom rules and expectations. But the reward that we both received from mutual love and respect was worth every struggle and every sad face day.

Parenting is hard. Teaching is hard. but you hope to instil in your children mutual respect, love and the ability to move forward from you with ease and knowledge.


....And as Birdie and I sat down last Friday and told a soon-to-be parent how HARD it was to be a good parent, we both smiled at each other with the knowledge that WE DID IT.

We knew how difficult it was.... How we would discipline and then cry in our bedrooms alone because sometimes...You don't WANT to be the asshole, but you have to.

SOMETIMES disciplining your children, means that your life sucks for awhile.

It is hard, but it is worth it. And when they grow up you get to sit back and reap the benefits of your hard work and THIER good choices.

Struggle.

The struggle is real people. I saw it with my eyes, I smelled it with my nose..I peeked at it and weighed its worth in my head.

MY struggle is....

Da.. Da..Daaaaaaa....

Oh delicious chocolate cake, how I love you so.

My class had a 4th of July party on Thursday and one of the things on the children's  'MUST HAVE' list was chocolate cake.

Low and behold somebody brought one.

When I entered the classroom on Thursday Morning, I slightly perused the goodies with my eyes.
"Hmmm I don't want any of it." I thought to myself, quite proud and smug.

 

But that was BEFORE the piles of chips were moved and my eyes caught the gleam of chocolate cake with chocolate frosting (and on top of THAT were perfectly orgasmic chocolate flowers)

 

"UH OHHHHH!" I moaned to my co-teacher "Chocolate cake!!!!"

 

"Just have a little bit. It is a party."

 

I shook my head "I caaaaaaaan't! I am on a very restrictive 30 day cleanse of everything delicious."

 

She just smiled like un-fat people do "Its just a little bit." she cajoled

 

I shook my head and walked away.

 

By 9:47 I was CONVINCED that I should give in and have some chocolate cake so I asked an expert.

 

"Nico, do YOU think I should have chocolate cake?"

 

"Yeth." he nodded his wise head "And I should have thome too."

 

"Right? But...chocolate cake makes me fat and I am on a diet."

 

"But I love your beautiful."

 

SIDE NOTE: I taught Nicolas that it was very rude to keep saying that he loved my fat, so I told him that my fat was actually called 'Beautiful'.

END SIDE NOTE.

 

"I know you love my beautiful, but that is because you are a chubby chaser in training."

 

"Yeth I love chub." he giggled.

 

I sighed and decided that he was a genius, especially because he loves chub and thinks that I should have chocolate cake.

Also.... it was his birthday and all good people should give birthday boys what they want for their birthday. Nicolas CLEARLY wanted me to have chocolate cake and grow my beautiful.

 

My mind was set.

 

When Maria came in later I told her "I have made up my mind. I am going to have chocolate cake!"

 

"Good. You should. Just a little piece."

 

Spoken like a true skinny bitch.

 

I don't DO a little piece of anything.

 Whether it is cake, pizza or sex. If I am ganna have some of ANY of that, I WILL have third-sies.

 

"Maria! I cant have chocolate cake! You are supposed to tell me no!" I whined at her.

 

"Why?!! You are very sexy. You dress sexy, your face is sexy YOU are sexy. It doesn't matter if you are thin or you are FAT. You want me to tell you what I do"

 

"NO! YOU are skinny and I don't take fat people advice from skinny people."

 

"I use to be fat! I wore a 10 now I am a 4."

 

I sighed and after ignoring her for 3 minutes,she left the room. Maria just ruined my life.

 

Then Brandee walked in. "I am going to have chocolate cake!" I announced to her.

 

"um....Beanie..."

 

"I'm just ganna smell it." I lifted the sealed cake and squeezed it, so that cool chocolate air could waft out and tickle my nose with chocolaty delight.

 

"Mmmmmmm It smells so delicious. Doesn't it look delicious?" I asked Brandee

 

"No not really. Um...double V Beanie."

 

"Fuck Double V!!!! UGH!" And I put the cake down. "I am going to eat my lunch and if I still want cake I am eating it!"

 

"Okay, I just know you will regret it." Brandee shrugged

 

I sighed because she was right.

 

For afternoon snack I cut into the cake to serve the children. As I plopped each piece of their plates the smell enveloped me.

 

"OH MY GOD." I whimpered

 

"Just have a little piece!" My co-teacher laughed at me. There was a parent in the room as well  "A little slice wont hurt you." she smiled.

 

Look at these drug pushers I thought, while cutting into another slice of moist deliciousness.

 

"Double V Double V" I shakingly whispered to myself. Two of my girls heard me and repeated it and soon enough the whole class was shouting

 

 " DOUBLE V DOUBLE V DOUBLE V!"

 

I smiled and took off my gloves. "I cant do this Luna, you do it."

 

I successfully did NOT give in to the chocolate cake (and the chocolate cake pushers) and on the way home I was indeed very proud of myself.

 

That pride followed into the 4th when I turned down alcohol and anything other then cool fruit and a delicious salad.

 

"Beanie you NEED to cheat every once in awhile." some people said

 

"Not 2 weeks into it." I answered.

 

I treated myself with raw sugar in my coffee that night and crossed another day off of my calendar. Quitting shit food isn't easy, and there will ALWAYS be people telling me to have a little bit. That it wont hurt.

 

But much like the METH that I have convinced myself that food is to me, a little bit WILL hurt. It will put me back to Day 1. And even though I am only 2 weeks deep in this, I am not willing to go back there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wallow.

When something hurts me, more often then not I have to focus on something that needs to be done.

 Some job, some errand, some scheduling...some...SOMETHING other then what is making my heart hurt.

I am too busy to wallow in disappointment, grief or sadness.
I am busy leading my family in.... LIFE.

To me, My strength is the most important characteristic that I have. It is not the wicked way I can accessorize or my unique ability to laugh at myself.

It is having the strength that it takes to be IT for my children. To take on the world, to fight against personal needs, desires or weaknesses.

There is nothing in this entire world that is more important then my children.
Their needs.
Their desires.
Their futures to become strong human beings that can contribute to future generations of strong leaders.

But every once in a while, I give myself permission to wallow...to grieve for something that once was. To remember the spark of someone's heart that fed my own soul.

Samantha.

Samantha's death was a tragedy. A fucking tragedy. One that breaks my heart to even think about.

Instead I will tell you a story of True courage. Samantha's courage.

Brandee and I were visiting her one day and I had my shoes kicked off and my feet were burrowing into her blankey.

She was laughing at something that we were talking about when I saw it.

"What THE fuck is THAT!" I screeched and pointed to the floor.

"What Auntie?" She said giggling at me, her hand covering her mouth.

"That thing that THING...I HATE it!!!" I growled.

What I was looking at was this:

 

Only the one in the room was contoured to Sam's body.

 

"THAT is my radiation mask thingie." Sam said shrugging her shoulders and laughing.

 

"What happens with it? why do you have it? I HATE it!" I swore.

 

"THAT is what I wear when I have radiation. See the holes? They put that over my face and screw the whole thing into the table, you know, so I don't move." She shrugged like the fucking thing was not the most horrifying item ever to have been created.

 

I gulped.

 

I also fixed my face so that the absolute horror and shock did NOT show.

 

She laughed "It's pretty gnarly huh. I think that when I am done here I will take it home and decoupage it. You know, make something pretty out of it. It is what it is Aunty, but we can always make it pretty."

 

"I hate it. I want to kick it I hate it so much." I mumbled

 

Sam laughed " Well, I hate it too Aunty, but it serves a purpose."

 

That was Sam.

 

Optimism supreme.

 

*******

All I can remember about The day Sam died  is pacing the play yard with my necklace to my mouth, praying over and over.

I kept skipping and stuttering over the words.

Tears rushed from my heart to my throat and out of my eyes.

When the last child left we rushed out of work. Only taking enough time to call Samantha's uncle and tell him that I was coming.

Numb.

Disbelief.

No.

Not her.

We ran into the hospital and stood in line to be seen.

Elevators and hallways that turned into tapping feet and hushed breathing.
We made it to PICU and I pulled out my phone. Samanthas grandmother answered after 7 tries. "Laurie. She is gone. She's gone." A sob and a click and I threw my phone.

I was too late.

Too late to say good bye. Too late to sing to her. Too late to tell her how much I cherished her from the first moment that I held her in my arms in NICU.

Her grandmother came to me, to take me to her.

Squares on the floor.

Empty taps.

Shoes hitting hopeless halls.

Doors.
Doors.

Nurses and beeping and rooms painted with hearts.
Hearts filled with hope.
Hearts disguising hopelessness.

I was told to gown up and we entered the room.

And there she was.

Sleeping beauty.

Every atom of air that was is inside of my body left it.
Squeezed out by the utterance of one word.
"Sam."

The entire world tilted.
It darkened. It dimmed.
And my ears were filled with the sounds of sobs and of bodies hitting bodies in hard hugs of grief and revolutionary sadness.

Sam.

A box of tissues were handed to me, and the sound of the gritty cheap material grated in my ears.
The world filled up with tears and sobs clutched at my lungs.

Sam.

She lay in the bed. She looked peaceful. pale...final.
I hugged her grandmother and looked across the room.

Her uncle sat in a chair, legs spread head in hands and tears....tears and tears and so many tears.
I remember watching him when Sam was born. Waiting at home for news on her release from NICU.

Gulps.

Tears.

unbelievable shock.

8 minutes.

I was 8 minutes late.

At one moment I couldn't stop staring at the PICU sign.
Wasn't she JUST born?
Didn't I just gown up to hold her brand new tiny form?
Didn't we just scrub our nails and giggle with glee at the thought of my namesakes arrival.

Arrival.

Departure.

Too Soon.

My mind kept going back to the day she was born.
The way she giggled.
The way she ALWAYS cried when I left her.
How she loved hot foods and cooking.
How she looked like she was mine, from the moment that she was born.

Shock. Unbelievable sadness. But shock, still fills my heart.
My mind cannot even grasp it. I shake off the thought of her gone from this world.

Her words fill my head "I am not afraid to die. If God wants me, then I can accept that.I just don't want to die alone."

Sam was loved. But her story is tragic to me. So tragic.

Each and every time that something seems too hard....

When I am TOO tired....

When I give up hope...

I think of Samantha and that ugly fucking helmet. And I think If she can do that,I can certainly do this.

I can live for her.

I can laugh for her.

I can remember her.

I can love her always.

And sometimes, when I forget to laugh, when I miss her hugs and the horrible way she left this life,

I can wallow.