Always on my Mind

About 8 months ago, a friend of mine died from breast cancer.  She was about my age and had 2 daughters, the youngest the same age as my oldest.  We were not the greatest of friends.  We kept in touch via Facebook, but she wasn't the friend I picked up the phone to call (text, actually) to see about getting a cup of coffee.  If I ran into her in Target, we hogged the aisle talking, until we realized we would be late getting our kids from school.

She wasn't someone who was always in the front of my mind. . . until she died.  I find myself thinking of her all the time.  I think of her when I see her daughter at school, I think of her when I drive past the high school.  I think of her at the most random times of the day, when I least expect it.

Whenever I hear "Fight Song" I think of her;  that was her theme through her very courageous fight with cancer.

Today, I went to Tijuana Flat's for lunch with another friend and saw a poster hanging in their window.  "Add Fire to the Fight: Make it Pink for $1"  The very first thing I thought was, "Oh, Lisa". I was not planning on getting a taco, but I ended up getting 2.

There is a part of me that wishes I had been a closer friend.  When our daughters were in dance together, my favorite part was sitting in the lobby chatting with her; I always felt like I was hanging with the cool kids.  When B stopped dancing, our friendship sort of stopped too.  Had it not been for Facebook, I might have only kept in contact during our random meetings at Target.

In thinking about her constantly, I find myself feeling guilty.  Who am I to be allowed to feel so sad for someone I wasn't that close too?

I think Lisa will always be in my mind, reminding me to value every friendship I have and to get annual mammograms.

Thank you, Lisa, for the friendship we had and the thoughts of you that live in my head every day.

#LiveLoveLisa

Is This the Little Girl I Carried?

Sitting at dinner tonight, I looked at B and was amazed at this beautiful creature sitting in front of me.  We are slowly entering the dreaded "Teen Years" (cue threatening music "Bum-bum-bum!!") and more often than not I find I am nitpicking or nagging her for one thing or another.  It's not fun for me and based on the looks and attitude I get, I think it's safe to say it's not fun for her either.

Looking at her tonight, though, I was catapulted back almost 13 years to when she was born.  Suddenly my almost 13 year old was a newborn again.  While I was staring at her, I wasn't seeing her as she is today instead I saw her as the tiny baby snuggled in my arms.  I saw her as the yellow baby, wearing shades and a diaper lounging under the bilirubin lights.  I saw her inch worming on her back instead of crawling and I saw her smiling at me with her huge, gummy smile.

Almost 13 years ago, I never imagined I would ever I would ever feel annoyance at her.

"Just you wait," friends with daughters have told me. "The teenage years are worse than the toddler ones.  And you have 3!!"

"Maybe for you," I'd think to myself, while nodding my head politely. "That will never happen to us."

Ha!  

Don't get me wrong, B truly is an amazing kid.  She does well in school, she's friendly and polite (to people other than her sisters), she is loving and silly, but she's also a teenager (almost- we're nearly 2 months away, is it close enough for me to call her that?).  As such, I am no longer the one who knows everything, but rather the one who knows nothing.  My "sage" advice actually isn't (even though I think it is) and my ideas on how she can do things to make it easier for herself are met with blank stares. 

Lecturing her a few weeks ago I told her (again), "I was just like you when I was your age and I don't want you to make the same mistakes I did.  If you just listen to me, it will be so much easier for you."

She was silent.

"B, don't you think so?," I asked.

Silence.

"Are you giving me the silent treatment?," I asked, a little bemused since she's never done that before.

Silence.

"I guess you are giving me the silent treatment, but in this family we don't do the silent treatment, we tell people how we feel."

"Really??," she exclaimed.  "You really want to know how I feel?"

"Yes.  Yes, I do," I replied, bracing myself.

"Maybe, just maybe I need to make my own mistakes!  Maybe, just maybe, I need to fall down so that I can learn how to pick myself up!  Maybe I'll learn if you'd just let me make my own mistakes!," she shouted.

"Ok," I said, calmly.  "Thank you so much for telling me that.  See now, had you continued the silent treatment I'd never have known all that, but now that I do I'll do my best not to tell you what I think will work best, but rather allow you to discover what works best for you."

"Are you mad at me?," she asked in a small voice.

"Not at all," I told her.  "You need to know that you can always tell me anything, even if you are afraid it might hurt my feelings."

"You're not mad I yelled at you?," she asked incredulously.

"Well, you were angry and while it's not a good idea to yell at me or Daddy for everyday things, I pushed you to a point where you needed to express yourself, so no, I'm not mad."

B is most definitely her own person.  When she was a baby it truly felt as though she were still part of me, but now?  She's clearly not.  Thinking about her not accomplishing the goals she has set for herself makes my heart hurt but I can't tell her what she needs to do to meet those goals.  Oh, how I wish I could, though.

She's right.  In order for her to learn, I have to allow her to make mistakes, but sometimes it's just too hard to let go.  

Fake It 'till You Make It?

If you realize that you are just as fake as someone else, do you continue being fake to keep the peace, or do you decide to be true to yourself, even though it will cause lots of iciness down the road?

Something happened this afternoon that is eating at me.  Because I use this blog as my (very open) diary, it's going down here.  Writing about this will make me feel better.  

Backstory:     Back in December, an activity was going to take place in the classroom that The Doctor and I didn't want L to be a part of.  We were worried that she would spill the beans on a certain secret and didn't want repercussions of that.  We asked for another assignment to be given to her and mentioned we would keep her home the day of the actual activity.  Instead, the principal cancelled the entire activity.

As you can imagination, this caused all sorts of backlash and word got out that I was behind the cancelling of the activity.  When I found out that people were mad at me, I figured I would stand up and tell them what we actually asked for, trying to disband the rumor.  Instead, it was like adding water to a flaming pan.

One person I thought was my friend was so very angry and she said things to me about who I am as a person and a parent that hurt my inner core.  I didn't say anything to defend myself because (1) if I did, I would have started crying and (2) she was so angry, there was no reasoning with her.

A few weeks after this, she was back to acting like everything was normal between us, but I know it wasn't.  How can someone be my friend and think so little of me?  She can't.  I haven't said anything to her regarding my feelings and instead have been friendly back.  I'd rather not kiss her cheek when I see her, I'd rather not say more than a few words to her and I certainly do not want to have conversations with her, and yet I do because faking it is so much easier.  We see each other all the time at school events and all of our friends are the same, it would make for a very uncomfortable situation if we were real with each other.

Skip to today:  For the last 2 weeks of school, each class does something called "Spotlight Reader" where each child reads a picture book to their class and hands out a little toy or something to go with it.  The kids love it and it's a fun way to end the year.  When I picked up L, she told me Spotlight Reader has been cancelled.

"Why?," I asked her.

"I don't know," she replied.  "Ms. Teacher just said it was."

"Well, did she give a reason?  Is it just your class?," I pressed.

"I DON'T KNOW," said L emphatically.  "Only the adults know!"

I walked into the office and the first person I saw was my "friend".  Her daughter is in the same grade as L, so I figured I would ask her.  My reasoning was if her daughter's class was still doing it, I'd know it was a class reason, not a school reason.

"Did you hear that Spotlight Reader has been cancelled?," I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Did you hear why?"

She told me it was because a child called the school saying that because the kids were not allowed to choose violent or religious books, it was discriminatory.

"Wow," I said.  "That's unbelievable!"

"Really?," "Friend" scoffed, looking up from what she was doing.  "You, out of all people, are shocked about this? Parents call the school to complain all the time and activities always get cancelled because of it."  All of this was said with her looking me straight in the eye.

I thanked her and walked out.

Now, I could have said to her, "Look, you, for the last time, I DID NOT ask for that activity to be cancelled.  I offered to have L stay home that day.  All I wanted was a similar activity for her at another time."

I didn't though.

I knew my hunch was correct in thinking she still feels about me the way she does.  Why does she continue to act like we are friends?  We clearly aren't (again, my true friends think higher of me than this woman obviously does).  Why do I continue to let her act like my friend?  It is perfectly OK to not like everyone and it's perfectly OK for everyone not to like me (although, let's face it, I'm a pretty awesome person, so I don't know why someone wouldn't!).

When I see her next time, do I continue to be fake, or do I let my true colors show?  Fake for peace or be real and have ice?

To be continued. . . 

A Family of Jocks We Are. . . Not

Our sweet family is many things.  We are readers, we are talkers, we are great friends.  What we are not is jocks.  You won't find us on the basketball court or baseball field.  You won't find us playing a game of street hockey.  You won't find us playing touch football in the yard on Thanksgiving Day.  As  The Doctor so eloquently once put it, "We're lucky we can breathe and walk at the same time."  No, we are definitely not jocks.

This is what I told L last year, when she begged and begged for me to sign her up for soccer.  One day, as I was walking to pick up the Curly Girly Trio from school, I walked past the PE teacher, Mrs. J.  She stopped me and said, "You know Mrs. CGM, L really wants to play soccer."

"Oh, she's told you too, has she?," I replied, with a smile. "I know she does, but we are not an athletic family."

We had this conversation a few times over a few months.  One day, she stopped me and said, "Mrs. CGM, I know you keep saying you're not a family of jocks, but I'm telling you, L is really trying hard to be one."

I decided at the beginning of this school year to sign L up for soccer through the city's club, hoping that she would love it, even if she wasn't the greatest player.  She truly wasn't the greatest player and sadly, she had coaches who had no desire to help or encourage her.  She got more bench time than she got play time, but she loved every minute of being there.

During the Spring, the city offers another soccer program that is smaller, 8 on a team and 5 on the field.  One Mom from L's Fall team encouraged me to sign up L telling me it's a great way for the kids to learn the game.  After weeks of only playing a quarter of the game, I asked L if she wanted to play again and was met with a resounding, "Yes!  I love soccer!"

I signed her up for 5 on 5 and crossed my fingers it would be a better experience. Her coaches this season have been wonderful in encouraging her.  She is still not the greatest player, but her coaches allow her more field time than bench time and are teaching her what she needs to know during practices.

Other Moms cheer when their kid scores a goal; I cheer when my kid kicks the ball.  For so long, she would stay towards the end of the pack and when the ball came at her, she would shy away, but the last few games, I've noticed she is actually trying to kick and last week, she actually got an assist!

This morning, walking on to the field, I told her, "Remember how awesome you played on Thursday? Remember how you really got in there, during the second half?"

"Yes, Mommy," she replied with a smile.  "And I even got an assist!"

"That's right!," I agreed. "That's how you need to play all of today's game."

"OK, Mommy, and I'll try to get lots of assists," she said.

"Not just assists, L, go for the goal!," I encouraged her.

She looked at me and said, "Assists are good too, Mommy."

Yes.  Yes, they are. (But goals are better.)

I am sorry to say that L was not so aggressive this game.  She tried, but it looked like her heart wasn't in it.  Is it because 9:00 am is too early for her?  I know it's a bit early for me.  Is it because the team we were playing was made up of nearly half of her old team and she was intimidated?

I cheered (screamed) from the sidelines, "Go, L, go!"  "Kick the ball!  No, the other way!"  "Get in there!!!"  "Be aggressive!" Instead of her normal thumbs up, I got, "I'm trying!" and a shoulder shrug. Did my pep talk have the opposite effect?  Was I making this too stressful for her?

As we were walking off the field, L holding her cookies and juice and me lugging the chair and the bags and her ball, I asked her, "So, how do you think you played today?"

"mumble mumble," she answered.  "Can I have my cookies now?"

"Yes, but do you think you played as well as the last game?," I coaxed.

"mumble No," she said, looking down.

"Are you still having fun?," I asked with bated breath.

"Yes, and isn't that the whole point?," she said, wisely.

You betcha, my little jock.

Schooled by my 6 year old.

Darn Daylight Savings

We are one week into Daylight Savings and The Curly Girly Family is just now getting back on track.  Our morning routine every day this week was the same. . . I would hear the alarm blare and the TV come on (The Doctor set it up to come on the same time the alarm rings so turning on the news is one less thing we have to do, after this week, I think we should set up a light to come on instead).  I opened my eyes, said good morning to The Doctor and rolled back over.  When I opened my eyes again, Good Morning, America was on and I realized we would be late, once again.  

In a panic, I would jump out of bed, quickly throw on some clothes and shout across the house, "Girls? Are you up??  Are you dressed??  Come on!  You have to eat!  We have to leave here in 20 minutes!!!"  

Just like in Standard Time, M and L would come ambling into the kitchen, their hair looking like rats nests and shoes and socks in their hands, not on their feet.  They truly did not seem to sense the panic I was feeling.

"Let's go!  Let's go!," I cried in a panic. "We have to leave in 10 minutes and you still haven't eaten!"

"Can I have eggs?," asked L every single morning.

"No!  No eggs!  No time!  You don't even have time for oatmeal or cereal!," I exclaimed, throwing a package of breakfast biscuits at her.

"What?  No chocolate!," L whined. "I don't like this.  I only like chocolate!"

"Tough! It's this or nothing," I said. "Do you want to go to school hungry?"

"No," she pouted. "I guess I'll try it."

That was on a good day.  The bad days this week had the girls eating their non-chocolate breakfast biscuits in the car.

During our "What's for Breakfast?" conversation, I was busy trying to put together lunch boxes.  Thankfully, I use bento boxes that I actually remembered to pack every night, so lunch wasn't so hard.  Morning snacks on the other hand. . . One day, I figured they'd get a snack at school (they informed me that afternoon I was wrong), one day they both got applesauce that they hated, one day one got goldfish and the other salted caramel pretzels (I mixed them up, I was informed by L whining, "I hate those pretzels" after school.  One day, I was so desperate, they got Raisinets and yogurt covered raisins.  I justified that with the fact that raisins are close to grapes, even if they are covered in chocolate.

We jumped in the car about 8 minutes before the first bell and I was grateful we live less than 5 minutes away.  The girls jumped out of the car with 2 minutes to go.  Every morning, they heard the same lecture, in the car.  "You're lucky we live so close to school!  Look at the time!  If we lived any farther away, you'd be late.  Tomorrow, you must move faster in the morning!" The only one who listened, was me.

We are now on Spring Break, which is great because it gives us a week to get used to the new time change.  It's not so great, because so much togetherness causes lots of cranky girls and fights.  We went out for lunch today and M and L were sitting across from each other.  L was doing a little dance in her seat and M kept whining, "Stop!!"  If you have kids, you know "Stop!!" is interpreted as "Do it some more, even more annoying", so L did.  Finally, as we were walking out, I said, "Look.  Spring Break can either be very long or very short.  It's your choice."  L said, "Of course it's going to be short, Mommy!  It's not our choice." I looked at her and said, "Yes it is!  If you choose not to fight, you won't be punished the entire break." "No, Mommy," she replied. "Every day is 23.  It's Daylight Savings. Of course it's going to be short!" I stopped walking, looked at her and said, "Wait a second. L, do you think there are now 23 hours in the day?" "Yes," she said seriously.  It took every ounce of strength I had not to laugh.  I tried explaining how the rolling of the clocks work, but by that time, we were back in the car and she was more interested in playing her video game than listening to me.  

Here's hoping we get back on track during Spring Break!