I Will Love Your Highlight Reel

If we are really friends, I want you to be happy.  I am interested in your life.  I enjoy your joy.  I am sad at your pain, and I am sorry if I hurt you.  If we are really friends, I can tell you when I'm jealous of something in your life...b/c that jealousy is honest and raw and not meant to make you feel bad, but rather to make you see how special that something in your life really is, so much in fact, that I, your friend, would want it too. If we are really friends, you can tell me when you don't like your kids and I won't think you're a terrible parent, but instead I will relate to you and feel less alone in my own parenting struggles.  If we are really friends, we will have inside jokes that are just between us.  If we are really friends, I will like and comment on your Facebook and Instagram posts b/c I truly love following you, whether we hang out all the time or never at all.

If we are really friends, I will love your highlight reel.

Let's be honest here.  Many of us have lots of "friends" on social media who are really just acquaintances from our past.  Sure, we are friendly with each other.  We genuinely care about one another.  We may even reach out beyond our regular circle to have lunch and catch up with some of these people.  We may even be touched or affected by a random someone's "like" or comment on our post.

But, mostly when we post, or at least when I post, it is intended for those who are closest to us. When I post a picture, video or status update on Facebook, it is b/c I want my closest friends, family and extended family to know what is going on in my life, and posting on Social Media is an easy way to kill multiple birds with one stone.  If I take my kids on an awesome adventure, I am going to post about it b/c I want to share that fun with the people who love us.  When I post about a challenge or struggle, it is b/c I believe people who care about me will be able to relate or offer some advice, grace, acceptance, compassion, etc.  I don't expect all of my random acquaintances to notice everything I post, be it my highlight reel or not.

I know Taylor Swift says to "shake it off," but I'm tired of the haters.  Seriously people.  I see/hear so many complaints that Facebook is everyone's highlight reel.  Well, so what? With all that is negative in the world, why can't we find joy in other people's happiness? Probably the thing I hear the most about is when people post pictures from an amazing vacation.  They must be so lucky to have all that time off!  That sure is an expensive trip! Must be nice to able to wear that bathing suit.  The list goes on.

If we really are friends, I want you to go on amazing vacations.  I want you to have time off to spend with your loved ones doing what makes you happy.  I want you to be financially comfortable.  I want you to strut your stuff if you want to.  And if we really are friends, I want to know all about it b/c I'm interested in your life.  I love to see you happy.  I enjoy your joy.

And who decided you have to air out all your dirty laundry online???  Nobody has to share anything they don't want the whole world to know.  Once it is out there in Cyberspace, you can't take it back. There is no rule that says we have to balance all our joyful posts with depressing ones!  If you need a lift from some people who love you and you want a one-stop-shop for support, then social media is a great resource for that.  Lots of love right to your Notifications and News Feed.  If you are dealing with a more private situation and prefer to seek your support the old fashioned way or just from a select few, you can pick up your phone and use it as an actual phone, or you can edit your privacy settings or post to a specific group.

My point is this: I would love it if more people would enjoy each other's highlight reels on Social Media. If you really are friends, be happy for each other's joy.  And if you are just random acquaintances, then be grateful for some positive in this oh so negative world.  You don't have to be insecure about yourself just b/c someone else isn't broadcasting all their behind-the-scenes drama. You never know what someone else's journey entails...

End of rant.

I'm "That Mom" - Sports Edition; What Kind Are You?

This one has been building up inside me just waiting to boil over...

By now most of my readers know The McQ Zoo is a sports oriented family.  We all race BMX together, and our son wants to play everything else out there.  Baby Girl wants to do whatever her big bro is doing.  Mr. McQ comes from a long line of athletically talented family members, while I, on the other hand, contribute very little genetically to our offspring in the form of physical skills, but I'VE. GOT. HEART.  And folks, that's enough!

What I call "heart" equates to passion, perseverance, team spirit, encouragement, drive, dedication, and commitment.  I'm into it ALL THE WAY, every game, race, practice, etc.  I show up with my water bottle, focused, my butt in gear and ready to play!  But wait!  I'm not the coach?  I'm not the baseball player?  Sure, I might race every now and then, but let's face it, I'm not fast.  So why then?

Because I'm "That Mom."

Sometimes "That Mom" gets a bad wrap.   She is often misunderstood to be obsessed or controlling or too hovering...but before you judge me, let me tell you what I think of "That Mom" - Sports Edition.

"That Mom" always has her kid's best interests at heart.  She wants her kid to win, but more than anything, she wants her kid to believe he CAN win.  She shows up b/c being there is more important than anything else she has to do.  She cheers loudly, maybe even obnoxiously, b/c her kid would notice if she didn't and wonder if she was okay.  She corrects and instructs, and guides and lectures, all firmly and seriously b/c she knows her kid can handle it.  SHE KEEPS SCORE!  She tells him when he has done great, and she encourages him when he could do better.  She tells him there are more important things than winning, but she admits that winning makes it more fun!  She signs up to bring snack and she helps out the coaches, and she throws herself into the mix b/c she enjoys it, and she LOVES being a part of it WITH her kid.  She gets involved, meets people, asks questions, finds out how things work, so she can explain it to her family and teach them the rules.  She may not be a coach this time, but she has been there before, and she will be again.  She speaks up, takes chances, makes phone calls and sends emails to organize teams and make sure her kid gets to play b/c HE LOVES TO PLAY...and she loves him.

That "That Mom" is ME.  I'm super proud of the role I play in our sports family.  When Jack was a 3YO I spent weeks trying to find a 3YO t-ball league, and I finally found one almost 40 minutes away in rush hour traffic with practices on Monday nights at 5PM.  I didn't love the coaching of that one, so Mr. McQ and I decided to coach his next team together so that we could actually work on teaching skills and fundamentals to 3 and 4YOs. Volunteering to coach is a HUGE time commitment, but it was worth every minute.  The next spring I took Jack to a BMX clinic and coaxed him into his first race, against his will, yes, but totally knowing he could do it, and now he is #4 in the state in his age/class in his FIRST year of BMX racing.  His next t-ball team was awesome and embraced me inserting myself so kindly, that I reached out to the coaches after the season was over to find a way to keep the team together for their first season of real baseball.  Here we are now, with the same coaches and 6 of the original team, arguably the best team in Shetland 5U.  And just tonight I pleaded with the YMCA sports coordinator to accept Jack into a 6-7YO Basketball league since the Kindergarten one at Mt. Bethel was all full, and yes, I was able to convince them to let him "play up."

These are the kinds of things that "That Mom" does.  Maybe not the "That Mom" that you are or the "That Mom" that she is, but the"That Mom" that I am is exactly the "That Mom" above.

Ultimately, all moms are "That Mom" behind the scenes.  We all have our areas of expertise and things we like to contribute to the most, and we all shuffle our kids to and from and everywhere in between.  We stay up late for homework and skip baths and eat McDonald's and Chik-Fil-A way too often.  We wash uniforms in the middle of the night and buy new cleats on the way to practice.  We pump up tires and pack up coolers, and we write check after check after check after check.  Then we cash in on the joy that is watching our kids PLAY.  We cheer from the sideline, or maybe from the finish line, and yes, I might cheer too loudly...but that's just the "That Mom" that I am.

And I promise, for my kids, not to change.

I also promise to teach my kids good sportsmanship.  I promise to genuinely congratulate their opponents, and I promise to treat each coach, player, participant and parent with respect.  I promise to fully understand and relay the message of winning isn't everything while also implementing the concept of practice to improve.  I promise to lead by example, be honest and truthful, and never allow cheating.  I promise to teach my kids about commitment and what it means to be a team player.  I promise to promote optimism and a positive attitude.  I promise to instill a sense of both pride and humility in them for their craft.  And ultimately, I promise to learn about what they love, b/c I love them.

And being "That Mom" in sports works for me.  It works for us.  I've tried to be "That Mom" in other areas, like crafting or event planning, but there are way better suited "That Moms" out there for that, and I'm grateful to them.  Being any kind of mom is hard; we all wear so many hats, but I feel most comfortable in my element as "That Mom" - Sports Edition.

Being called "That Mom" is often not meant as a compliment.  The jokes can be hurtful and imply that "That Mom" is over the top, trying too hard or even attention-seeking, but more often than not, if you think someone is "That Mom" it is b/c you noticed them ENJOYING whatever element in which they are most comfortable.  The next time someone jokes about being "That Mom," take a minute to find out exactly what kind of "That Mom" she is...and then tell her what kind of "That Mom" you are!

Because we all have it in us to be "That Mom."

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