I Just Don't Understand

I just watched a video of a young man (if you can call him that) holding a dog from behind by his back legs and kicking him repeatedly in the stomach and ribs, then beating him over and over again while the  dog yelped and cried out in pain throughout this horrendous torture. Finally the dog wiggled free and took off running. The person recording, those standing idly by and the horrible one who performed this heinous act are sick and twisted. There are no words to adequately describe these people. I'm embarrassed to be part of a society that so cruelly disregards life, be it human or otherwise. 

I. Just. Don't. Understand. 

This is not the first time I've watched a disturbing video and felt sick to my stomach, angry to have come across it in the first place, but unable to ignore it. The victim in this one just happened to be an innocent dog, but sadly, I've seen similar videos of humans beating up defenseless humans. I'm not talking about a UFC fight with two consenting adults bashing each other's brains in by choice. I'm talking about the McDonald's employee who decided pulverizing another woman in front of her toddler was a good idea and threatening to kick him too when he tried to defend his mother. I'm talking about the kids who take bullying to a level so awful that the bullied would rather kill themselves than endure any more torture. I'm talking about the every day ordinary average Joe who watches dogs or chickens or tigers or children fight each other - often to death - and enjoys it.

I. Just. Don't. Understand. 

There is pain and suffering and natural selection and sickness and death all over this world. It is all in God's hands.  Why do we have to go and contribute to it by adding more unnecessarily?  I'm certain that God's plan doesn't entail some asshole human beating the ever-living crapola out of a poor puppy.  God doesn't demand that we hurt or kill or destroy anyone or anything. I don't need to quote a bible verse or scripture to know that. It's natural law. Seriously.

I'm not well-versed in politics, and I am not a big fan of war, however, I see the need for military defense and I am so grateful to those who risk their lives to protect our freedoms and keep us safe...but the violence as a result of defending a country is not the same as the senseless violence of cowards who think it funny to see another innocent life suffering. 

I. Just. Don't. Understand. 

I'm not even scratching the surface of all the disturbia that exists in this world. I'm barely shedding enough light on the specific cases I've personally seen. I'm just saying I don't understand any of it. 

People, there is nothing funny about another life suffering. Period. 

On What Dan Wrote...

This post is inspired by Single Dad Laughing's post, which can be found here: http://www.danoah.com/2010/09/you-just-broke-your-child.html.  My post is just another take on a similar experience.  I personally  enjoy Dan's blog, and I often agree with much of what he writes.

Once I saw a VERY TINY little girl, maybe 2 years old, mistreated in a Kohl's shopping center parking lot. I watched her run out of the store happily and very quickly. Her mother reached out and grabbed her by the arm, yanking her off the ground and smacked her on the bum/back of her legs yelling "I told you not to run out into the road!"  The little girl yelped and started to cry and as they made their way to their car, the mother screamed at her "Shut up! Shut up!" over and over again. Turns out I was parked directly across from them, and I sat in my car and watched as she threw and forcefully buckled that baby into her car seat. I got out of my car, and after the mother had closed her daughter's door, I DID speak up. I said something along the lines of "mam, you need to calm down, she doesn't deserve to be talked to like that..." The woman GLARED at me and said something I didn't catch under her breath, and I continued to walk into the store...but not without noticing this woman UNFASTENING her child.  About 2-3 minutes later she had FOLLOWED me inside...where she proceeded to yell at me, accuse me of being racist, swear at me, and shout many more horribly unpleasant comments about how "yall people" don't know how to raise children.  I was in line with a return. The store associate was afraid and called a manager. Other customers were trying to calm the woman down; a grandmotherly type even approached her with open arms to take the baby.  The entire time she was flying off the handle, she was holding her daughter who was scared and crying. I did not engage with her other than to say (paraphrased) I apologize for not minding my own business, but I felt sorry for her daughter and it was a gut reaction to what I saw. Most of the people in the store were her race, not mine, but they all seemed to be concerned for me, and several people remarked this (clearly) has nothing to do with race and even apologized to me!  Management escorted her out and made sure she left the premises and then asked me to move my car to a different spot, having Security walk me to the parking lot in case she was still out there. Then they gave me a discount on my purchase b/c I was evidently shaken up by the whole thing. Anyway, I told this story to my closest friends later...some of them were not surprised I said anything, but a few of them took a different approach, saying I could have handled it as a "teaching moment" and offered the lady some help or even just a sympathetic comment like, "looks like you are having a rough day; is there anything I can do for you?" At the time I didn't get it...but I thought about that day for quite awhile after it happened. Ultimately I decided this: the woman must have told her daughter NOT to run into the street, but the little girl DID anyway. The mother reacted out of fear for her child's safety and frustration from an already challenging shopping trip. Whether her reaction was overkill or not, it was probably not MY place to judge her, and if I'd been in the same position, I would have been furious at someone who butted in the way I did. I, however, would have chosen a different way of handling the situation that neither involved physical force or the phrase "shut up," but hey, to each her own...and I would never have a public fight with a stranger in front of my child...

As a mom myself, I have been in Target on more than one occasion with my 4YO son having a complete and total MELTDOWN in the checkout line over not getting a toy or something from the $1 bin or even just a pack of TicTacs! I have had to scold him for touching things or running off after I'd asked him not to SO MANY times. I've had to enforce a consequence (you lost the privilege of getting an ICEE on the way out b/c of your behavior), and endure the screams and stomping and even the angry little fists beating into my sides, BEGGING me for that stupid ICEE, and I've felt the sting of onlookers passing judgement, making assumptions and shaking their heads at me in those most embarrassing and vulnerable moments.  But the hardest part for me isn't the worrying about what those people think; it is the trying to get my child to learn appropriate behaviors!  I do not care one iota what some random person takes away from an encounter with me and my temporarily demon spawn!  Rather, I care about what message caving in will send said demon spawn about me as a parent or him as a child. The reality is I'm not going to reward bad behavior.  My kid throws a tantrum, he gets nothing.  He throws a bigger tantrum about getting nothing, he still gets nothing, and he may get an additional consequence.  He doesn't like said consequence, well too bad.  If this interaction consists of several harsh statements out of my mouth to my child, well, it happens.  He isn't broken.  Trust me.  

I've watched my demon spawn transform into an angel when he thinks he is going to get something he wants.  We may have pinkie-sworn in the car before going in that he would not ask for a toy or a treat this time; we are going in just for cat food, or we have to pick out a birthday present for a friend, or oh my goodness, this is our third time here in 2 days b/c I keep having to leave in the middle of a tantrum!  It doesn't matter.  Inevitably, he is going to ask me for something, and sometimes, most times, I am going to have to say the dreaded "no."  It would be worth the $1 bin item to prevent a tantrum...and I admit I have gone that route once or twice, but I absolutely CANNOT buy my kid a toy EVERY TIME we go to the store.  Period.  Not only do I not have enough money (the least of the reasons why), but I want to teach him principles like earning things and gratitude and patience and how about just some decent manners???  

So I have snapped at him.  I have grabbed him firmly by the arm and even squeezed his little cheeks between my thumb and fingers.  I've glared at him with evil eyes and steam coming out of my ears, my face red and the veins popping out of my neck.  And I've used my meanest mean-mommy voice to get my point across that "THIS IS NOT A JOKE! You better SHAPE UP, DUDE, or else you just wait til we get home!"

I have not said "shut up" to him.  I've never spanked him in public.  I have screamed at him with all my might when he has run out into the street before.  I was afraid then, that he would be hit by a car.  

At the time I called out the woman in the Kohl's parking lot, my son was about 9 months old.  He was my only child at the time, and regardless of my background as a nanny, things are MUCH different when the child is your own.  I'd yet to experience my baby walking and capable of running right into danger.  He was still in that "he can do no wrong" stage of of babyhood, you know, the one where he goes to slap your face and you gently catch his hand and chide "show mommy a gentle touch" over and over as you lead him to stroke your cheek instead.  To that point, the worst thing he'd gotten into was his own tube of Desitin he'd managed to grab during a routine diaper change.  He certainly had never run out into traffic!

Now he has.  And he has also dumped paint all over new carpet, intentionally, and he has broken toys that we warned were fragile.  He repeatedly jumps on the couch, despite our pleading for him not to, and let's not forget that he plays WAY too rough with his little sister, resulting once with her falling down half a flight of stairs.  He screams at the top of his lungs when he doesn't get his way, and almost every night there is a bedtime battle. He splashes so much in the bath that we worry about mold and water damage in the walls.  He demands to watch HIS shows on TV and FREAKS OUT if we switch to something we all might enjoy.  He whines and cries and he even throws tantrums in Target.

  

I'd be lying if I said I have never told him to leave me alone.  I'd be a fool to pretend I don't lose my temper when I've had more than my share of whining in one day.  I wouldn't claim to know how to handle every meltdown with grace and calmness.  The truth is I don't.  And I believe that is okay.  

Yep, I said it.  Sometimes it is okay to freak out on your kids.  Sometimes it is right to teach them a lesson with a threat of a consequence, or multiple consequences, or imposing complete and utter misery on their lives if they don't SHAPE UP.  On the rare occasion you've been to the bathroom by yourself more than once in a day, it might not be the best idea to tell your kids to leave you alone, but lordy-lordy, if you need them to leave you alone, by all means, TELL THEM.  You are a human being...with your own feelings and needs and thoughts and ideas and favorite TV shows and potty times.  Your children do not dictate your life, but you DO guide theirs!  Guide, not dictate, but if you have to pull out the (figurative) iron fist for a week to get things back in order, GO FOR IT!  And good luck to you!  I've been there, and I know you'll need it.  Both the luck and the iron fist...

But just so I'm clear...that same demon spawn is the most beautiful boy in the world.  His smile lights up my heart in a way that nothing else can, and angels sing in the sound of his laughter!  He is the sweetest little cuddle bug at night, and secretly I never want him to sleep in his own bed ALL the time.  I love to hug him and hold him and smother him in kisses and take little pretend bites out of his neck and inhale his little boy smell of sweat and peanut butter and hand-sanitizer.  I love to inspect him from head to toe and catch a first glimpse of a new freckle or a fresh boo-boo, and I feel like I can tell the moment he has grown even a millimeter taller than the day before.  I love his voice, and when he sings, I never want him to stop.  And we have the best conversations.  Just tonight we were driving along and he noticed the car in front of us had tail and brake lights that were shaped like eyes.  He wanted to count them, and so we did - there were 4, and then he said they were like laser blasters, and I laughed and told him how funny it was that he said that b/c the license plate on the car read "LAZRS" (it really did).  So the conversation moved on to Nerf guns and zombie strikers, and that is just how it goes.

I love him.  He and his sister are my greatest gifts. I have been blessed beyond my wildest dreams with the most amazing son, and I would not trade all the tantrums and whining in the world for him to be anyone other than who he is.  And I am very lucky b/c I know he will learn how to control himself and behave appropriately and make good choices, and someday we will go to Target just for his friend's birthday present without a scene or incident, and that will be a great day that we buy an ICEE on the way out, a reward for his good behavior.  B/c that's how I roll.

To Dan, a "Single Dad Pleading," you are quite obviously a wonderful father, but I don't know you.  Nor do I know what your day was like before you got to Costco.  Just like I didn't know about the woman at Kohl's.  And I realize your piece wasn't directed at me b/c I'm a great mom and I know it.  I'm not disagreeing with your feelings or advice or sentiments or even your passion and "heatedness," which personally, I find to be an excellent quality in your writing.  And quite frankly, we all have instincts that tell us when something just doesn't seem right.  Maybe it was when the boy's face went "expressionless" that sealed the deal for you; maybe THAT was the moment you wrote the story in your mind of what you were witnessing.  That's what I did.  For me it was when the woman yanked the little girl up so hard I thought her shoulder would have dislocated. Instantly, I felt sad for that child.  I wanted to rescue her!  

But you know what?  Despite the fact that I think that mama was bat-shit crazy to follow me back into the store, her baby on her hip, and her mouth spouting off, she did 2 things that told me a different story from the one I wrote in my mind there in the parking lot. And maybe they were little things, not even on most people's radars, but I've combed through every detail of that experience and these 2 things changed my mind about her as a mama:

1. She brought her baby back in with her.  That means she took the time to take her baby out of her car seat, and she carried her back into the store.  That was a calculated move.  She didn't just run after me and leave her kid in the car.
2. She came in with the full intention of telling me to mind my own business (in much different words), and she made her point very clear.  Even though I don't agree with her approach, I don't doubt for one second her ability to protect what is hers. 

Maybe those 2 things don't make her parent of the year, but as I went over the story I wrote in my head, I noticed those details standing out more and more to me.  If she had not come back inside to tell me off, I would never have witnessed those 2 details.  If she had just smarted off to me in the parking lot and then gone on her way, I would have marched my self-righteous know-it-all-first-time-mama-self into the store feeling proud and triumphant, I sure told her, she'll think before she treats her kid that badly again, right?  At least in public?  Oh yeah, I would have been proud of myself.  I may have even started a conversation with someone in the returns line about this crazy lady I saw on my way into the store.  

But she did come in after me.  And she defended herself, quite well I might add.  And had she only said one thing to me - "butt out" - I would have thought a bit more highly of her, only b/c the scene she made was ridiculous, but I'll say it again, to each her own.  And when your kid runs out into the street, IT SCARES THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF YOU.

And when your kid asks for an ICEE after behaving horribly all day, it might make you tell him to leave you alone and be quiet.  I'm just sayin'...

What I'm NOT saying is that your post isn't completely necessary or filled with relevant, seriously important stuff that ALL parents should work harder to remember.  B/c we should.  All of us.  We should all "take joy in everything that our kids are."  I agree 100%...except that unlike in The LEGO Movie (which I just took my son to tonight), everything [in life] isn't awesome.  Real life has real life moments.  Good ones and bad ones.  The bad ones don't destroy the joy...they help us to appreciate the joy even more...

That's all folks...







P.S. After I finished my post, I went back to SDL and noticed Dan's original post was written in 2010.  So I did some digging, and I found this anniversary post from 2011: http://www.danoah.com/2011/09/congratulations-you-just-broke-your-child-one-year-later.html.  Coincidentally, our experiences both took place in the same year, but my piece today is a reflection looking back as opposed to his, which was a reaction at the time it happened.  I think these 2 perspectives are different and complimentary, yet both really interesting and enlightening.  I especially love Dan's follow-up post b/c it gives a lot of insight as to why he was so impassioned at the time, of which I was unaware as I was writing my piece.  I'd like to thank you, Dan, for sharing your experience as well as your thoughts a year later, and while you were angry at yourself for "doing nothing," I've beaten myself up a million times for interfering. Ultimately, we both did what we thought was best at the time, and neither of us is any worse for it, but rather we both reflect more deeply and express much gratitude for what the experiences have taught us about ourselves...

  

Another Letter to My Son

July 10, 2013

Dear Jack,

Lately it seems all we do is fight.  You have become a master at pushing my buttons.  I try to stay calm, but you push and you push and you push, and often I cave to the frustration.  I yell at you.  I scold you.  I punish you.  Sometimes I resort to spanking you.  I refuse to read your bedtime stories or I deny you a TV show.  I threaten to cancel a play date, and I've even made up fun plans we weren't actually going to do just so I could take them away.  And while you sit in time out and cry on the stairs or scream at the top of your lungs from your room, my heart is breaking, and I'm screaming on the inside too.

I love to read you stories at bedtime.  My favorite part is when you have memorized a book so well that you read it to me using the same voices or intonation that Daddy or I have used when reading it to you.  I love that you want to read lots of stories, and even though it can take forever, I find myself enjoying that time with you so much that I keep giving into your requests for just one more...

I hate to take that away from you...but even worse, I hate to take that away from me.

I really understand the whole "this hurts me more than it hurts you" concept of parenting.  We can be having the loveliest day together, and then like a switch was flipped, you turn into a little monster.  I'm not even exaggerating.  One time you got mad at me for refusing to buy you a HUGE container of gummy bears at the grocery store, even though I told you we had some already that you could have when we got home, so you threw the container into the cart so hard that it broke and the gummy bears went flying everywhere.  In the past year going to Target has been like playing Russian Roulette with our day b/c if you don't leave with a toy, there is a likely chance you will fly off the handle and have a complete and total meltdown; therefore, we try to avoid taking you there at all costs.  And then just the other night you punched me in the stomach b/c I said we were not going to watch one of your shows during dinner.  I sent you to bed without dinner, which turned into about 4 hours of war.  That was a tough night for all of us.  Sometimes when you behave so poorly, Mommy and Daddy have a hard time interacting well with each other b/c we are both so frazzled, and so we end up arguing too.  Of course all of your blood curdling screams kept your poor little sister awake, and we all know her cry is the WORST...add it all up and The McQ Zoo was not the fun, happy family we like to think we are most of the time.

I feel very guilty about going back to work.  I am a hard-working, dedicated employee too, so even though I wish I didn't have to work, I do a very good job and I'm not a slacker.  That part of who I am just intensifies my guilt b/c I am often torn between something I need to get done for work and something I'd rather do with you.  Often work wins b/c it pays the bills.  Then I feel bad b/c I parked you in front of the TV for too long, or I let you have fruities for breakfast, or I didn't make you brush your teeth...all so I could take advantage of a few minutes to finish something up or send an email or make an important phone call.

And while I took advantage of those few minutes, you took advantage of me.  You whined for 2 more packs of fruities and I caved so you would stop whining.  You asked for 2 more shows, and I caved b/c I needed a bit more time.  Then when I finally get up from my computer, I find you have mixed your fruities into your apple juice and purposely poured half of it onto the floor...or some similar sort of "Mommy, look what I did" act.  So now instead of being free to play with you, I have to clean up the mess and decide on a consequence, which sucks even more b/c ultimately I know it is my fault that it happened in the first place since I gave you the opportunity by not watching you closely enough while I worked.

I worry that I am failing you.  I worry that our fighting will drive a wedge between us too deep from which to recover, and sometimes I am afraid that you won't love me as much as you love Daddy or GRandi or Grandma b/c I so often have to "teach you a lesson."  I cry sometimes, mostly at night in bed, thinking about how different our year with you as a 3-year old has been from our year when you were just 2.  Suddenly you are fresh, talking back and having an attitude, sassing me, and again, pushing my buttons over and over.  Your tantrums are spontaneously ignited with no rhyme or reason other than the basic you don't get your way accelerant.  No longer are you my sweet little baby, but rather you have become a feisty, testy little boy.

But your heart is still gold, and I know that.  I know who you REALLY are, Jack.  I know logically that you will always love me no matter how much we fight, but I thought I had at least until you were a teenager to feel this much heartache in our relationship.  And I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU NO MATTER WHAT!  If you don't notice anything else in this letter, read and comprehend that, my son.  None of these fights make me love you less.  And although I yearn for the sweet little baby boy who would never even think to hit me, I wouldn't turn back time to change the amazing little big boy you have become.  These are the growing pains of parenting.

Honey, one of the hardest parts of being a mom is the constant battle between wanting to make you happy and wanting to keep you safe and healthy.  I can't make you happy all the time.  You just can't always have your way.  Sometimes I have to make decisions that you don't like.  I have to protect you, and that extends beyond just holding your hand in the parking lot, although that is one of my biggest rules.  It means I have to feed you good food, make sure you get enough rest, show you how to behave in social situations, how to be respectful and kind.  I have to educate you and ultimately raise you to be a grown up, a man, a contributing member of society, and I have to teach you about God.  A lot of this stuff is easy for me b/c I already am a grown up, and I know logically what to do, but then again, so much of it is harder than I ever imagined, and some of it, like God, I don't really know how to explain.  I want you to appreciate everything I do for you, but I know you are too young to really understand what that means.  I know it, but it doesn't make these trying times hurt any less.

And then I am torn again when I hear a tragic story about a family who has a sick child, or worse, a family who is mourning the loss of their child, and all I want to do is snuggle up to you in your bed, kiss you a million times, take you for ice cream every day, buy you every single toy you ask for, give in to whatever your little heart desires b/c I should be grateful that I am lucky enough to have the opportunity to do so if I want to b/c you are here and you are healthy.  I think back to when you were in the hospital for that surgery you never should have had; that was a horrific experience for me to see you in so much pain, but you were so brave, and I know I was your hero then.  Am I still your hero now?  I hope so...

You are almost 4 now.  The time is flying by and I cannot stop it.  You keep growing and learning and getting bigger and smarter, and I know a lot of that is just natural and out of my control, but so much of it is how Daddy and I parent you.  When you behave in ways we don't like it can be a hard lesson on us b/c it is often a reflection of ourselves.  Sometimes it hurts to accept responsibility for your behavior; I hate when I realize something you have done wrong is my own fault.  But then sometimes I feel defeated at the end of the day when I know I did everything I could do and yet you still behaved terribly.  It is a true challenge just to have faith in myself as a parent, and even though I do believe overall I'm doing a pretty good job raising you,  there are definitely days I doubt myself.

Jack, I am so incredibly proud of you.  Not a moment goes by that I am not totally and completely in love with you and thrilled to be your Mommy.  I feel sad that so much of our recent time together has been spent in conflict.  Our battles are so unnecessary, or maybe they are exactly the opposite, and totally necessary to help us both grow to be better people.  I honestly don't know.  I know that I pray God will guide us through these challenges and bring us out on the other side, both of us stronger and our bond deeper b/c we got through it...but then again, I am not naive to the fact that with each new phase of life comes a new something to get through.

One thing I can tell you without a doubt is that you are extraordinary.  You are a dynamite stick of energy and you already encompass the phrase "go big or go home" in all that you do!  You never give up, and even the magnitude of your tantrums impresses me b/c I see your perseverance.  I see it in how you taught yourself to swim again and how you learned to ride your bike.  I see it in your love of sports and in your karate!  You are brave and tough, but your greatest strength is your heart.  Despite our spats, I know that a kind-spirited, loving, bright and sensitive soul lives inside of you, and even on your worst behavior days, I can see the light in your eyes and know you.

And Jack, I already forgive you for whatever is to come.  And I hope one day, you will forgive me too.

You are my favorite boy in the whole world.  I love you a million 250 80 zillion 3 hundred 'o six...and then some.

Love, Mommy

Glass Half-Full

With our first breath of living, we are dying. Or maybe it is from the moment of conception; I don't know for sure. I just know that the journey of Life ultimately leads us to Death. For most, it is a slow process, and there is enough time between the beginning and the end so that our everyday thoughts are not consumed by its morbidity. But with each passing day we are living, we are one day closer to dying.  Glass half-full or half-empty?

 

I'm not sure if Death comes calling or if we arrive to it, but somewhere along the path of living, dying is an inevitable road block, not only taking its victim, but also disrupting the flow of what may have been smooth sailing for those who loved, knew, or maybe just knew of that victim. These days I find myself struggling with Death; I'm haunted by its realness. I'm saddened by its presence, as it fogs the clear vision of joy that truly IS my Life, as my glass overfloweth! I can't seem to shake the feelings of worry and guilt and confusion that are racing through my mind day-in and day-out, and as a parent, I grow more fearful of the possibility of losing my children at God's will, finding it hard to trust in Him to keep us safe and protected and healthy. Why me? Why us? Why not me? Why not us? How does He pick and choose? What rock can I hide us under so that we may not be found by Death?

 

But of course, I don't really look for hiding places along Life's journey. I'm not sealing my kids in a bubble so that they remain untouched by all that could possibly hurt them. I'm not peeking over my shoulder for anticipated evil or even just rotten luck. Instead I wake to each new day with a full and thankful heart because I believe in miracles, and even though Death is lurking, Life is happening - right here, right now. And if Death is going to come anyway, I want to experience Life to its fullest, most joyful extent. Logically, or maybe illogically, I know that is what I'm supposed to do. I know it deeply and honestly. I know it faithfully.

 

But recently Death has made itself known to me, reminding me of its authority, and beating into me my lack of control over it. I'm not depressed. I'm not ill or insane (although that may be debatable!). I'm just affected.

 

I normally take a glass half-full approach. I am usually optimistic, checking the flip side and seeing the silver lining wherever it may be. As I write this piece, however, I'm finding no resolution to my confusion about Death. I remain ambivalent, for while I fear dying, I love living, yet ultimately, they are one and the same.

 

I don't know what is on the other side, but I imagine it is a beautiful place filled with angels and soft voices, like dreamland, that place between being awake and asleep, where you only partially know what is happening, but it feels so good to keep your eyes closed. I like to think that our most confident, beautiful self is the self that lives there, despite the self we are when we go. I believe there is no pain, no suffering, and that once we submit to being there, we don't even try to go back. I tell myself we really will be "in a better place," just as we insensitively, but with the best of intentions, tell those who are mourning of the ones they have lost.

 

But I'm still not ready to go there...or to say goodbye to the ones I know who have already gone there...and most definitely, I am not ready to think that my babies or my husband could possibly EVER go there.

 

My heart is aching for the loss of someone I hardly knew, but whose random, kind words touched me so deeply that I was affected.  I despise that she has met Death so early, so young, so unfinished. She was full of joy for what her future held: loving and raising a beautiful child and watching him grow into a man, and an upcoming marriage to that sweet boy's father, who loved her with all of his heart and soul. I could feel his love for her in his written words; I could see, as they gazed at each other in a picture, the light in their eyes, bright, cheerful, radiant. I could sense they were meant for each other, meant to be together forever...

 

But even "forever" on their journey through Life has been met with Death. And although Death is what is inspiring this post, I believe her Life is what affected me...her thoughtful, joyful, expression of interest in a single moment of a random day in my Life...

 

I am sad, and I grasp desperately at bits and pieces of joy that I've stockpiled in my memory to refer back to in moments of despair and uncertainty - a video of my son dancing at the zoo on a rainy day, my daughter saying "mama" for the first time, my husband laughing with me at a shared joke...

 

I didn't know she was sick. I didn't know much about her at all other than we were classmates years ago and she was a genuinely, kind-hearted person. But a simple comment she took the time to post on my facebook page in response to a picture of my baby girl laughing was enough to affect me. When I noticed a few days ago comments of prayers going out to her, I instantly joined in and blindly offered her my own, feeling connected to her by just those two sentences and that smiley face icon she’d posted on my “wall.”

 

I know Death is a part of Life. I get it, but I don't have to like it. I don't have to embrace it and act all tough about it or be ashamed if my glass half-full feels a bit closer to half-empty.  Even an optimist can take a day off.  I'm reminded that the only way to know joy is to know suffering. It is a hard lesson, the lesson of Death, but it is a Life lesson.

 

I am affected so deeply by Death that I want to soak up every detail of Life! I think of how short Life can be and how vulnerable we all are on its journey, and I don't want to waste a single breath.

 

When we first discovered our daughter's heart was beating, after being diagnosed with a "non-viable pregnancy," our doctor told us "this is what faith is." Never have I understood those words more than in that moment. I carry that faith with me every day in my full and thankful heart. Despite the suffering in the world, and regardless of our journey to Death, Life is a miracle! 

 

Just as I am affected by the tragedy of Death, I am equally affected by the miracle of Life, and that, my friends, is a glass half-full.

 

 

Sweet Dreams

(Feb 7, 2013)  Based on the volume of my son's screams during what has become his usual bedtime tantrum, it would not have surprised me to see police at my door tonight. We live in a town home community, and the walls only have so much between them to buffer noise, and had I been on the other side, I may have wondered what the heck was going on as well!  As it was, my neighbors did not call the police, and for that I am thankful.

But Jack did tell me I was going to jail.  He also shouted at the top of his lungs that I was going to time out, and then he proceeded to wrestle with me over brushing his teeth and again over washing his hands, hitting me in the face multiple times and kicking me as I tried to pick him up and place him back on his step-stool to continue our night-time routine.  I'm exhausted, and as I type this, I notice my writing also seems tired, and I doubt I can adequately describe the chaos that just was putting my child to bed.

Two years ago, I wrote this, a piece dedicated to my beautiful boy, documenting his spirit and spunk as well as boasting about the love and kindness in the heart of my then 18 month old.  I explained that his alter-ego, Destructo Dan, is how we adoringly referred to him when he was feisty and mischievous, and that out of that spark within him bore the nickname, Jack-Bo, which we still call him today.

Jack-Bo is still loving and kind-hearted.  He has a sweet and thoughtful spirit.  His overall personality is still very much go-with-the-flow and laid-back.  He tends not to get worked up over things as much as some of his peers, and sometimes when he does, he is usually quick to recover and move forward with life.  He is very brave, extremely tough; he loves to "tackle with Daddy" (and also unsuspecting friends!).  He is tall, trim and strong.  He truly IS physically advanced, riding a bike without training wheels this young and hitting pitched balls with a real metal bat.  He also loves to play basketball and dribbles quite well, and football is another sport in which he shows some natural talent, often effortlessly throwing spirals.  This athleticism he gets from his father, certainly not from me.

From me he got a steel trap mind, a memory that doesn't forget.  He got my eyes, which are officially green now, and of course he still has my chin.  We have the same hair color and texture, the same mouth shape and his baby teeth look just like mine did.   In fact, he is basically a clone of me at age 5...but of course he is only 3.  It never ceases to amaze me how mature he can be for his age, referring to both his appearance and his personality (at non-tantrum-throwing times).

Fast forward to a few days later, and here I am writing about how once again, the tantrum at bedtime was excruciating.  Tonight was another "battle over brushing," and thank goodness he had a bath so I got to skip the hand washing!  The age of 3 is torture.  We did not experience the "Terrible Two's" by any means.  I think that when 2-year olds are frustrated, but unable to communicate well using verbal language, tantrums are how they act out, thus the whole "Terrible Two's" concept.  But Jack communicated beautifully at age 2.  We always understood him, and we were very close, connected by such a deep bond, and he just didn't seem to get frustrated much, but rather he continued to be our easy-to-please little Jack-Bo.  Other than some regular tears over going to pre-school, I can honestly say the kid never cried.  

Now, on the other hand, not only is he a great communicator, but he is also a smart-ass!  Yes, I said it!  He is F-R-E-S-H.  He is basically a manipulative genius who can smooth-talk us into almost anything just by utilizing his natural charm.  Oh, he is sweet.  He is precious.  He has eyes so big you can see deep into his soul.  He is sincere and kind-hearted, and when he swears he won't cry at bedtime or promises he won't hit you again, you believe him.  Because who wouldn't believe that sweet little, innocent angel-faced boy?

But how quickly he forgets those promises when the time finally comes to execute them, and we are reminded instantly that he is still just a normal tantrum-throwing toddler.  Of course even his tantrums are exceptional in our eyes!  Exceptionally awful, I mean.

Enter Miss Lander.  Our darling "Baby Girl" has brought a new dynamic into our crazy zoo.  She giggles when her big brother makes faces at her or kisses her.  She adores him, and he reciprocates 100%.  They are buddies, and it is beautiful and heart-warming to watch as their relationship grows, sweet siblings.  Lander is much more dramatic than Jack ever was as an infant.  He rarely cried.  She goes from zero to pissed in about 3 seconds.  He never seemed to care when he ate, but he was always a good eater when it was finally time, sometimes settling down for a good half-hour to nurse.  Lander is more demanding, and when she wants it, she lets me know she wants, and it has to be RIGHT THEN.  There is no cushion, no gray area, no room for error with her.  Either Mommy delivers, or she freaks out.  

Then of course there is sleeping.  Jack has always been what we call the "Ultimate Sleep-Fighting Champion," consistently battling over bedtime and naturally a night-owl like his Mama.  But Miss Lander is a sweet dream where bedtime is concerned.  Naps well too!  I cannot even express how relieved I am that she is so different from Jack in this way.  God knew what I could handle...

Lander is also just the world's happiest baby.  (Except for when she's not!)  She smiles infectiously, and she bats her arms up and down and kicks her little feet excitedly when she is pleased with attention.  She flirts with everyone, and all of our friends and family comment on how sweet and happy she is.  She is this way 95% of the time.  The other 5% she is completely freaking out as I mentioned above.  I'm not sure what this means for the teenage years, but I am up for the challenge!  ;-)

And as challenging as things may be with my Drama Queen and USF Champ, I wouldn't change them for the world.  My kids are awesome.  And I'm doing the best I can with them, loving every minute of it, and dreading how quickly the time flies by as they grow and change daily.  Jack is no longer a baby and hardly a toddler, but rather a little boy, my "big kid" now, and it both pains and excites me as we enter the next stage with him.  Lander is 6 months, and it feels like just yesterday I was still waiting for her to be born (probably b/c she was 16 days late!), and yet now she is sitting up and eating solids and (OMG) she has two teeth!  

Last night I strapped Lander onto my back and took a walk around the neighborhood with Jack riding in his Power Wheels truck.  We went to get the mail.  During our adventure, we stopped for a few make-believe trains, and Jack had to get out to check under the hood at least once.  Lander babbled and kicked her feet and grabbed at my hair as she happily tagged along, and when we returned home the fun continued as we played basketball in our driveway.  It was a beautiful night, mild temperature, pretty skies.  We were out there, just the 3 of us, for a solid 2 hours, waiting for Daddy to get home, and enjoying a leisurely Friday.  "This is a fun day," Jack remarked to me.  Yes, it was a fun day.  One I'll not forget.  Ever.

I'm not sure what the cops would find if they were called during one of Jack's bedtime tantrums.  Maybe they would arrive to see him finally giving in and defeated, standing with his mouth open as I brush his teeth with the blue Sponge Bob toothbrush, his face still flush and his tears still fresh.  Or maybe they would be in time to witness his wild outbursts and manic behavior, kicking and screaming and fighting with all his might.  Or, better yet, perhaps it would take them longer than the 5 minutes all of that lasts and they'd find us in bed, reading stories and cuddling, the tantrum well behind us, at least until the next night.  No matter what, they'd find us loving our boy...

And they'd find Baby Girl sound asleep in her comfy crib, sucking her thumb, and snuggling with her stuffed animals and Pink Earth Bunnie, her bottom up in the air with her legs tucked underneath.  And they'd hear the sweetest little breathing sounds and sighs...

I'm all over the place in this post.  Maybe it is b/c I am emotional, maybe just tired.  I know it is a bit mixed up, but I think my overall point is the same as always: to record some memories and reflect on how wonderful my life really is.  So often I begin a piece emphatically with a problem or challenge only to talk myself down from the ledge throughout its composition.  Once again, the writing proves to calm me, providing my own personal therapy and helping to remind me of the important things in life.  Thanks for being a part of this journey.  Thanks for reading...

~The Zookeeper

 

A Scene to Ponder

If she hadn't been asking for help, for money, I probably would not have noticed her.  She was a young black woman with an average frame dressed in jeans and a dark shirt with a vest-type jacket over it.  Her clothes were clean from where I stood and not distracting or noticeably worn.  She looked healthy, and she had her hair pulled back appropriately for a humid day.  There was nothing striking about her appearance, and had she been walking down the street pushing her stroller, she would have looked no different than any other mother in the crowd.

But she was not walking down the street.  Instead she was positioned on the sidewalk next to a group of University of Georgia buses   She was sitting IN the stroller, her baby cradled in her arms, and she was mumbling to the people making their way into the Atlanta Falcons football game.  "Don't you people see me?  Help me out.  See my baby? My baby needs some food.  Come on, help me out."  There was no real sense of urgency or dire need expressed in her words.  In a way it was more like she believed the people owed it to her to help her out, and she was just going through the motions of asking.

The baby could have been anywhere from a few weeks to a few months old, a boy from what I could tell based on the blue sweater-type garment he was wearing.  He had no pants, but he did have on a diaper.  It was not too hot or cold outside; it was warm with a cool breeze, so there was nothing significantly unusual about the way he was dressed, and if he had been in the stroller with his mother pushing him along, I'd have thought nothing of it.

But the infant was not being strolled along on this beautiful fall day.  Instead he was being exploited on the side of the road, resting in the arms of a woman who was begging for help from a crowd who would most definitely be in that location on that day with money in their pockets for spending inside the Georgia Dome.  Call me harsh.  Call me insensitive.  I may be neither or both of those things.  But most definitely, I am disturbed.

As we passed her, my husband and I, our 3-year old in tow and our 2-month old snugly wrapped onto my chest, I couldn't help but stare.  The woman's eyes did not meet with mine, and she made eye contact with no one really.  In that brief moment nobody approached her with money or even acknowledged she was there.  I asked my husband if he saw her, and he said yes, but when I mentioned the baby and the stroller he said those details did not register with him.  I made a few comments about how uncomfortable this scene had made me, but then we continued on our way to the game and I forgot all about it...until we were walking back...over 3 hours later...and the woman and her child were STILL there.  

This time she was standing next to the stroller and in the process of adjusting her baby in her arms when we walked by, still rambling the same requests for help, and I saw 2 men with conflicting opinions approaching her.  One said, "gimme a ten," and the other disputed the amount.  "Ten bucks, no way man!" but they still walked toward her.  

This time I was even more disturbed, for it had been over THREE hours and she was still there begging with her child.  I instantly had so many thoughts running through my mind, ideas of where she may have come from and how she could have gotten to this point in her life.  I wondered if she was a drug-user or if she was homeless, and I questioned how she could even have a child.  I was instantly so grateful for my own circumstances, which even at their lowest have always been better than hers, and I was saddened to think her baby would grow up this way, if he survived at all.  Part of me felt like she didn't deserve that baby, but then again, I didn't know her or what she had been through.  All I knew is the image of a woman on the side of the road, looking capable, healthy and of sound mind, using her baby to guilt people into helping her, was disturbing.  

About 20 feet down the street was an old black man in a tattered wheelchair...with no legs...also begging for spare change.  This scene bothered me much less.  With no legs he could not walk, likely could not work, and he was old and probably very much alone.  In my mind, he was a more acceptable pan-handler than the young mother who should have been seeking free childcare and job counseling at a shelter.  Okay, so maybe that is a bit harsh, but for some reason, I have less sympathy for her than for the man with no legs.  

All I care about is that baby.  That poor, innocent baby...already a victim of circumstance...

I don't know with any certainty my own opinions on homelessness or poverty.  I know I get uncomfortable at a stop light where unfortunate souls are peddling with "Will work for food" signs.  I feel nervous and try not to make eye-contact while anxiously wishing the light to quickly turn green.  I justify my lack of response by telling myself it could be dangerous to acknowledge them, and suddenly they are somehow a threat to me, and I have dehumanized them in my mind, reducing them to criminals as opposed to just people asking for help.

I remember when I was a kid, my mom and I saw a "homeless-looking" man at McDonald's once.  We lived in the suburbs, so it was not exactly a bad part of town, and it seemed odd this man was there.  He was an old white man with a long grey beard, and he looked pretty tired and worn out.  I don't recall the season, but I know my mom and I sat outside, so it had to have been a nice time of year; the man was wrinkly and dark-skinned from sun exposure.  While we ate we watched him inside sitting in a booth, and we talked about what we thought his circumstances might be. He was staring at a job application, and we assumed he must have been unable to read.  As we were leaving, my mother decided to ask him if he needed help with the application.  He politely answered her saying no mam, that he knew how to read and write but that he was stumped b/c the application required an address and he didn't have one to put down.  My mother talked with him a bit and we learned that he was a war vet who's only family was an estranged daughter.  I vaguely remember him saying something about how quickly he went from everything was fine to having nothing.  He spoke properly and kindly, and he seemed educated and totally sane.  I remember feeling so sorry for him and so confused.  My mother told him of a halfway house and suggested he go there and use that address and phone number for his job applications.  The man seemed genuinely grateful for her advice and concern.  On our way out my mom bought another meal and left the tray sitting on the next booth over most definitely where the man could see it...

I believe in general we should help those in need.  I believe those needs are relative and some are more important than others.  I believe that people who try to help themselves deserve the help more than those who expect handouts.  I believe the world is a screwy place where lots of people have been dealt a bad hand...but some people cash out early and give up while others keep fighting until they change their circumstances, be it for themselves or for their children.  

I believe that no matter what I have been through in my own life...and it hasn't been perfect...I will never be on the side of the road with my children begging for help from strangers passing by.  Maybe that is b/c I have an amazing family to fall back on.  Maybe it is b/c I am educated enough to always have a job.  Maybe it is b/c I don't feel entitled, but rather I believe in working hard and earning the life I want to live.  

Or maybe it is b/c I am so naive to what that mother has been through in her life that led her to that moment...all 3+ hours of it...

Regardless, the disturbing scene was enough to make me ponder the sad things in life and keep me awake writing tonight.  I realize that bad things happen sometimes, but I don't understand why God has blessed me with so many gifts while others are out there struggling to extremes.  I do believe that everything happens for a reason, and maybe the reason I witnessed this was so I would dig deep down and figure out how I feel about these sorts of issues, but then I think, what was the reason for HER though to be in this position in the first place?

I got to kiss my babies goodnight and tuck them safely into their comfy beds tonight.  I read stories to my toddler first and nursed my precious baby girl.  We had come home from a fun-filled day at the zoo with friends and had a delicious dinner that my husband cooked for us after his day at a job where he works hard to provide for our family.  I woke up this morning full of joy and gratitude.  I'm going to bed blessed and thankful.  

I wonder where that baby is sleeping tonight...    

Writing Leads the Way...

As another due date comes to an end, I am once again awaiting the birth of a child who I know will come when she is ready.  That is what I want...ultimately...for her to be fully cooked and prepared to enter this world as a healthy, strong human being, my baby, my 2nd born, my sweet Lander Lee.

And as we anticipate her birth, we gear ourselves up for some new challenges, mostly related to the toddler-hood of our 1st born, my sweet Jack Patrick.  Jack-Bo, as he is well known, is a mostly easy-going, agreeable, brilliant almost 3 year-old who keeps us entertained each day with his amazing abilities, unique sense of humor and genuinely kind heart.  But as in all families, some days are better than others.  Jack is still a toddler, going through toddler changes, testing toddler boundaries and discovering toddler independence.  He is finding his own way in the world more and more each day, but his is still only a toddler sized world, his exposure limited to what we allow and what we teach him.  We are pretty honest and open with him.  We don't hover or shield him from all the evil truths in the world, but we do "toddler-size" the bigger issues in life to accommodate his level of maturity.  Of course we want him to be a nice boy, to treat others with respect and to understand there are consequences for his actions.  He is no dummy; he is learning all too well the meaning of "consequences," as lately he has been going through a hitting, scratching and kicking mommy and Daddy stage when he does not get what he wants. Mostly this behavior is related to bed/nap time or else potential treats or special outings. Still, as parents, it is our job to guide him and teach him right from wrong, and help him find acceptable ways to deal with anger or frustration.

Sometimes when Jack is having a tantrum I relate to him so closely.  It is like his acting out is a reflection of exactly what I am feeling in that same moment.  I, too, want to scream out, and sometimes I do!  He has witnessed fights between his parents; he has even witnessed multiple arguments between myself and MY parents.  He has seen that relationships can be complicated and that we are not perfect, but he has also seen that life goes on, we all recover, and the love within our family never stops flowing.  That is a truth I am proud of living...

This morning I experienced a sadness that until today I had not felt yet as a parent: that of your child so angry that he tells you he does not love you.  Regardless of what I know to be true, that he DOES love me with all his heart, my own heart shattered during our terrible exchange.  To make matters worse, my expectations for  Lander's "due date" day were completely destroyed, and part of me hoped that she would not come yet so that there would be time to move past the hurt Jack and I were both feeling.  It all started when I asked him if he wanted to go to breakfast...

"I got a great idea, Mommy, let's go to the mall!"

"That IS a great idea, Jack!"  I'd be able to walk around, maybe kick start some contractions, and we could eat lunch at his favorite place in the food court and ride the carousel again.  Then I looked at the clock on the computer: 9:45AM.  "Okay, the mall isn't open yet, so let's..."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!  I want to go RIGHT NOW!"  He lays down on the floor kicking and screaming.

"Jack we are going to go and we can have lunch there, but we have to get dressed...."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!  They ARE open!  I want to go RIGHT NOW!"  He stands up and begins slapping my bare leg.  When I catch his hand in the midst of the 3rd or 4th slap, he takes the other one and claws at my same thigh.

"Jack, this behavior is unacceptable; if you hit Mommy again you will have to have a consequence.  I said we will go to the mall and have lunch there, but we have to wait until it is open."  All through my calm lecture he is screaming and flailing about, either not understanding what I am saying in the first place or else just too far gone to reel himself back in.  He hits me again. "Okay, forget it, we're not going."  

He continues to freak out.  I tell him to go to his room to calm down.  He screams "NO!" at me again, so I scoop him up and deposit him in his room and close the door.  He screams and cries for another 15 seconds and then I hear him playing calmly.  I sit back down at the computer and decompress, my heart racing in disbelief at how such a situation even occurred. Somehow he immediately took my "the mall isn't open" statement to imply we would not go.  Either way, I cannot reward that type of behavior. I gave him several chances to HEAR what I WAS saying.  I even tried to ignore the first few slaps, realizing they were out of frustration, but in the 5 minutes that this all went down, I had to be the parent first and foremost...and sometimes that is the hardest job in the world.

Maybe 10 minutes later he came out of his room and said,

"Mama, I being a nice boy, is the mall open now?"  

I hated to answer as I did, but it was the right thing to do.

"I'm sorry Jack, the mall IS open, but we are not going.  You hit mommy and scratched me, and that behavior is unacceptable, so now we won't be going." 

Tears stream down his face as I am talking; he starts shaking and running in place and screaming again.  He presses his face against my leg and then hits me multiple times again, although with less force than before and intentionally making eye-contact as he does it, testing me. Then he throws himself onto his knees.

"I don't love you, Mama!"

I sigh.  My heart breaks.  I take a deep breath and look down at him on the floor.

"Well, I still love you."

That was the end of it.  15 minutes and my whole life changed with an experience so hurtful...but I managed to move on with the day, made other plans, picked up the pieces of my broken heart and kept on going.  And eventually, (not even another half hour from then), Jack came around to his senses and told me how much he loves me.  He hugged and kissed me and we got dressed and went out to run some errands.  He mentioned several times about going to the mall another day, and I said yes, we will try again another day.  We talked about how he hurt my feelings, and he offered to kiss my boo-boos on my leg where he hit me.  He told me his feelings were hurt too, and I said I was sorry that his feelings were hurt but that he still can't hit or scratch Mommy.  In the car we listened to his "songs" as he asked things like "Is this 'Dancin' in the Dark?'  Or Adam Levine?  Turn it up, Mommy."  He was completely unfazed by the morning while I was doing my best to keep the sadness I was feeling from surfacing.  Inside I was grieving for the loss of our perfect day together, one that would quite possibly be our last before his sister was born.  I suppose it seems over-dramatic as I sit here writing about it now, but I am 40 weeks pregnant and my emotions are on high alert...

And although our day was mostly pleasant after that, with only one time-out and a few basic reprimands, the evening brought on its own set of challenges as bedtime approached.  Daddy carried him upstairs as he hit and kicked, knocking a picture off the wall in the hallway.  We told him if he continued with this behavior he would lose his stories, and he chose to continue, so that was that.  Daddy restrained his little arms that were wildly flying at me while I brushed his teeth, and then we managed to wrangle him into this jammies, wash his face and hands and go potty one last time.  Despite his tears and pleading, the battle of bedtime came to an end with no stories read, but lots of prayers said.

Daddy took the dogs out and eventually went to bed.  I played some Words with a friend, and when my phone battery died I tried to go to sleep myself.  But as I cuddled up next to my boy, I began caressing his hair and rubbing his soft arm, patting his back and then I gave him a hundred kisses.  I just talked to him, while he was sleeping, telling him how much I love him, how proud I am of him, how Mommy and Daddy support him and want him to know we believe he can be anything he wants to be and do anything he wants to do.  I reminisced out loud about the first time I met him, the first time I touched him, BEFORE I ever saw his face, as his little head popped out of me and I felt with my own hands his thick hair swishing in the birthing pool until one last contraction confirmed his arrival into this world, and into my arms for the first time.

My whole life changed in that moment.  Jack was not the only one born, as I was born again too, as his mother, as the person I knew I was always meant to be.  My purpose was defined and concrete, even touchable, as I inspected each and every inch of his perfectly formed body, memorizing each curve and wrinkle so that I would never forget the day we were birthed together.

I don't know if it will feel the same this time.  I know lots of people worry about if they will be able to love their 2nd child as much as their first.  I do not have that concern.  I already love her just as much, and she is still safe and cozy inside of me!  And each day I love them both more and more; I cannot imagine NOT having enough love for both b/c I think with each child your heart grows, so there is always enough love.  The journey with each child may be different...the challenges greater with one over the other, the ease of one over the other as well.  I anticipate going through each stage of development with Lander and having to re-evaluate my parenting based on HER needs, HER personality, HER abilities and maturity level.  Not everything is the same all the time, not everything in life is fair.  Sometimes you have to bend in order not to break, and sometimes you have to break in order to truly heal...but the one constant is that I will always love my children with a customized love plan for each one.  I can't take the credit for the concept of a "customized love plan" for each of my children, but the person who pointed out its powerful meaning helped me to heal from some of my own personal struggles while also giving me confidence in my instincts as a mother.  So while I may not be re-born as a mother again during Lander's actual birth, I am just as certain that her mother is who I was meant to be.  I know I will inhale every bit of her being in those first moments and store those memories forever inside my heart right next to the place reserved for Jack, but in a newly grown partition just for her.

The reality that I am having another baby is setting in, and yet I am still in such disbelief that this is my life.  My wildest dreams have come true; I am married to my soul mate and I have the family I have always wanted.  Nothing else even matters.  Brett said it best in a conversation with Jack last night after a late work call.

"Daddy, who was on the phone?"  (Jack is in the bathtub.)

"One of daddy's workers."  (Daddy is standing and fiddling with things in the bathroom.)

"Work is mean.  I don't like anybody to go to work!" (Or something similar...)

"Well Daddy has to work to make money..." (Tries to explain that money is needed for food, toys, etc.)

"Money is old!  I don't like money!"  (Anything he doesn't like is deemed "old" these days.)

"Yeah, you've heard us talk about money a lot, huh?"  (Daddy sits down on the step stool by the tub, and Jack gazes up at his hero.)  "Well, money makes the world go round...but that's not what we're about.  We're about love...and family."  (The conversation continues as Daddy bathes his boy...)            

And that really IS what we're about.  The McQ Zoo is about love and family.  I thank God that we know and believe that, and I thank God again that we live by that.  In fact, it is b/c of God that we have the blessings of our family and therefore feel SO MUCH love.

When I started writing this post I was thinking about the changes we are about to experience with the birth of a new baby and all that Jack is going through...I was thinking about the Bob Dylan song "The Times They Are A-Changin'" and how some of the lyrics of that song could relate to our newest family dynamic...I Googled and listened to that song and others from that time period by similar artists while I wrote...thinking the music was inspiring me...

But as they often do, my thoughts shifted during the composition of this piece. Sometimes the writing leads the way, not the writer, despite one's efforts to create inspiration.  That is why writing is so therapeutic to me; it helps me see answers to questions I didn't even know I had, and that I may not have recognized otherwise.  Tonight I started writing b/c I was worrying about change, maybe not even realizing that I was worried, but perhaps just thinking deeply about what is to come and knowing I needed to work it out in my own mind through some good old fashioned stream of consciousness; what I (re)discovered though was that once again, the trend continues: the trend of unwavering love.

Things in The McQ Zoo are not about to change after all.  There may be some differences, but our foundation is the same solid, secure and safe place it has always been.  We have God to guide and provide for us, and we have our unwavering love.  Honestly, now we'll just have even more of it!  

And I can't wait!

P.S. Wow!  I sure do feel so much better about my whole day and what happened with Jack-Bo this morning!  Thank you in advance to anyone who reads this post and/or comments on it b/c this is an awesome reminder of just how much writing means to me and my own personal health.  I really feel like I can go to sleep now, and THAT is a HUGE deal for this insomniac!