The other day my mom and I were talking about being a mom. We were talking about my post from Saturday regarding seeing little boys in a different way once you have sons. I asked my mom if there was ever a time when I was young that she felt I was vulnerable, because I never really considered myself the vulnerable type. She brought up fifth grade.
I hadn't forgotten about fifth grade. It was horrible if I remember correctly. In fact, I think I enjoyed junior high and high school so much because I held out through the worst of it in fifth grade. I even wrote a multi-chapter book titled "Why Fifth Grade?" when I was in fifth grade. (I was a BIG Judy Blume fan, so the title and book itself is a big tribute to her. :)) It was 52 pages of pure drama and shenanigans.
Fifth grade started out great - I had a huge group of friends - popular friends - surrounding me. I probably even had some poor sap "boyfriend" (i.e. the one boy in the entire class I would ignore more than any other boy until it came time for recess, where we would hold hands while standing as far apart as humanly possible, not saying one word to each other the entire time.) I was on top of the world. I can remember the time and place that it all changed.
Warning: The following comes completely from my memory and may have been distorted in my favor with time. We were at a Varsity basketball game - my dad would always take me to them so that he could watch high school basketball while I ran around the cafeteria ignoring above said boyfriend and giggling way too much and too loudly. It all began because another boy showed me a note from my friend that called me a bad word. It hurt my feelings so I told her so. Now, my memory may be a bit off, but from what I can remember that was all the ammunition she needed to turn every friend I had against me. The days that followed were every little fifth grade girl's worst nightmare. I was completely friendless. My old friends would get the boys in our class to throw balls at me during recess. They verbally made fun of the fact that I wore my pants at my natural wasteline - (which, in hindsight....fair enough.) They always found some reason to let me know I was inadequate. Which makes me wonder what type of person I was before all of this happened. I wasn't raised that way, but if these people were my friends, did people consider me to be the same way? To be completely fair, we WERE in fifth grade so our social skills were not exactly developed at this point. I even consider some of these girls friends again at this juncture in my life. AND I could also have a completely distorted view of how this all went down. However, none of this matters because the point of all this isn't how mean everyone was to me. The point is how nice Heidi was.
I would be REALLY surprised if Heidi reads this blog....in fact, I never see or talk to her anymore (although we are friends on Facebook. :)) The reason I'm even writing this post is because ever since my mom and I had this conversation on Sunday I have been thinking about Heidi. H took me in under her wing within days of all this happening. She was pretty, nice, and she actually wanted to be my friend, even though she already had her own friends and didn't need me. H taught me how to be a friend - a true friend. I wanted to transfer schools and run away, but H gave me a reason to stay. She loved me unconditionally. Even when my old friends decided that they wanted her to be friends with them (I still fell short of that honor), instead she was loyal to me. A few years later we drifted apart (again - this is my memory of the situation). However, she still holds a very important place in my history. I hope that Heidi will someday know how much her friendship changed my life and made me a better person.
Now, I know you are all wondering about this silly novel I wrote. I still have it. It still makes me laugh. Only a few people have read it. It is pretty laughable. What seemed like a very serious situation back then has turned in to a laughable, yet life-changing moment. The book is bound, and hand-written - all 52 precious pages - and even has a dust cover (all done by yours truly). I even inserted black and white photographs of Heidi and I as the illustrations (perhaps a precursor to my future career?). The funniest part when I look back at the book is how I switched my character with Heidi's - or how I felt about Heidi. Anyone who actual reads the book would think that I have completely full of myself. The truth is that I gave the character with my own physical features the traits that I found so endearing in Heidi. It's now embarassing to read, because I describe myself (or the character that was based on myself) as generous, beautiful, and very cool. The reality is that I felt the complete opposite of that - and thought of Heidi as all those things.
So the moral of this long-winded and ridiculously insightful post is to say "thank you" to Heidi. Maybe someday she'll read this. Maybe someday she'll realize what she's taught me. And maybe someday I can repay her for the way she has touched my life. My wish for the world is that everyone can have a Heidi at some point in their lives.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Movie Monday!
a.k.a. Hands are delicious!
This movie was taken on Sunday while Miles was going down for his nap. Dustin and I have very different strategies for putting Miles down. This is Dustin's.
This movie was taken on Sunday while Miles was going down for his nap. Dustin and I have very different strategies for putting Miles down. This is Dustin's.
Lesson of the day: always carry an extra tube of mascara.
Today started out like any other. The entire house slept while I got ready for work. I don't dread getting ready for work because right now I really like my job (it might also have to do with the fact that I have been on maternity leave more than I've actually been at school over the last year). In fact, unlike every other day everyone slept the entire time. There were no little footsteps outside the bathroom door and no one yelling "bear" and "da" from their bedroom.....until I was putting on my coat to leave. Just as I was sitting on our bed to say goodbye to Dustin and give him instructions for the day (he was still half asleep of course), Miles came out of his room carrying this giant laminated picture of - can you guess? - cars and trucks. He walked over to our room and climbed on my lap to show it to me. After a few brief minutes of cuddling I told him I had to go. He kept saying "bye bye" and held my hand while we walked to the door. Only when he realized that I was stepping over the babygate without him did the tears ensue. Create a mental picture if you could of a young toddler in tight pajamas and a terrible case of bedhead starting to cry tears of pure sadness and anger. A hissy fit of tears followed. Not just tears, but full-out stomping and flailing. He even flung his tiny little body onto the floor and buried his face in his hands - something I've never actually seen him do before. I stood there helpless while he carried on, suddenly questioning everything I thought I was doing right. He has never cried when I've left before....and it absolutely broke my heart into a million pieces.
Am I doing the right thing by going back to work? Do I work too much? I like working, but I suddenly feel terrible about it. Are my children missing out on something by me not being there?
Just then Dustin came out of the bedroom and scooped up Miles. By the time I was pulling out of the driveway he was just fine - waving at me from the window. But I wasn't. I cried all of the way to work. I had my own little hissy fit. I'm sure he has had a great day and was fine within minutes. It's taking me a little longer.
Am I doing the right thing by going back to work? Do I work too much? I like working, but I suddenly feel terrible about it. Are my children missing out on something by me not being there?
Just then Dustin came out of the bedroom and scooped up Miles. By the time I was pulling out of the driveway he was just fine - waving at me from the window. But I wasn't. I cried all of the way to work. I had my own little hissy fit. I'm sure he has had a great day and was fine within minutes. It's taking me a little longer.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Church
Going to church with Miles....
Before I had kids I knew that my kids would be incredibly well behaved at church. I knew that I would force them to sit quietly through the sermon, not disrupting anyone around them. I knew that they would sit facing forward, maybe even with a book in their laps - preferably a children's Bible, and if not, would have their hands folded nicely on their laps while they sat in an orderly quiet row between Dustin and me.
Reality:
10:32 - we drop Miles off at the nursery and shove him in the door. Today he cries, which he has never done. I close the door and will myself to walk into the sanctuary.
10:34 - after listening outside the door to him sobbing in the nursery I figure, what's the harm in him sitting with us if he doesn' want to be in there?
10:35 - we sit down and the announcements and singing begins. Miles is the perfect angel.
10:36 - it is a good thing there is singing because Miles is sees a vehicle on the projector and starts yelling "truck".
10:40 - more announcements - Miles can't decide if he wants to sit on my lap or Dustin's and after trying out both laps multiple times decides on Dustin's - we break out the big guns....snacks!
10:42 - Miles joyfully munches away while kicking the pew in front as hard as possible, creating a nice little rhythm.
10:45 - Just because I told him not to, he pokes the guy's shoulder that is sitting in front of us.
10:46 - Prayer....Miles chooses this time to verbally and physically point out (loudly) to the people behind us that he is sitting with "Ma" and "Da", over and over and over again. They can't get enough. He'll point to me and say "Ma!" and then point to Dustin and say "Da". I hear snickers in the back. He then sticks his finger up his nose and blows (This is is shhhhhh sign). Everyone loves it...except me. The only prayer I'm saying is for the prayer to be over soon. It eventually turns into the Longest.Prayer.EVER. I beg Dustin to take him out before the prayer is over. Dustin refuses because he would have to walk over people in our row. Now we are the ones being loud. Miles starts looking up at the ceiling and bringing his head down quickly while yelling something that I can't understand. I'm sure everyone is looking at us, and I can't understand how the pastor couldn't just have enough mercy to end the prayer so that I can get Miles out of the sanctuary. Now he's throwing cheerios. Not entirely on purpose, but he is definitely enjoying the result.....and the loud and repeated "uhOh" that follows. I swear the prayer was going on half an hour at this point.....at least it felt like it.
10:48 (although I'm convinced it was much later) - Prayer ends, Dustin takes Miles out to the nursery. Apparently something out there caught his attention because I didn't see either of them for the remainder of the service and had to sit there by myself....although it wasn't bad compared to the alternative. :)
Before I had kids I knew that my kids would be incredibly well behaved at church. I knew that I would force them to sit quietly through the sermon, not disrupting anyone around them. I knew that they would sit facing forward, maybe even with a book in their laps - preferably a children's Bible, and if not, would have their hands folded nicely on their laps while they sat in an orderly quiet row between Dustin and me.
Reality:
10:32 - we drop Miles off at the nursery and shove him in the door. Today he cries, which he has never done. I close the door and will myself to walk into the sanctuary.
10:34 - after listening outside the door to him sobbing in the nursery I figure, what's the harm in him sitting with us if he doesn' want to be in there?
10:35 - we sit down and the announcements and singing begins. Miles is the perfect angel.
10:36 - it is a good thing there is singing because Miles is sees a vehicle on the projector and starts yelling "truck".
10:40 - more announcements - Miles can't decide if he wants to sit on my lap or Dustin's and after trying out both laps multiple times decides on Dustin's - we break out the big guns....snacks!
10:42 - Miles joyfully munches away while kicking the pew in front as hard as possible, creating a nice little rhythm.
10:45 - Just because I told him not to, he pokes the guy's shoulder that is sitting in front of us.
10:46 - Prayer....Miles chooses this time to verbally and physically point out (loudly) to the people behind us that he is sitting with "Ma" and "Da", over and over and over again. They can't get enough. He'll point to me and say "Ma!" and then point to Dustin and say "Da". I hear snickers in the back. He then sticks his finger up his nose and blows (This is is shhhhhh sign). Everyone loves it...except me. The only prayer I'm saying is for the prayer to be over soon. It eventually turns into the Longest.Prayer.EVER. I beg Dustin to take him out before the prayer is over. Dustin refuses because he would have to walk over people in our row. Now we are the ones being loud. Miles starts looking up at the ceiling and bringing his head down quickly while yelling something that I can't understand. I'm sure everyone is looking at us, and I can't understand how the pastor couldn't just have enough mercy to end the prayer so that I can get Miles out of the sanctuary. Now he's throwing cheerios. Not entirely on purpose, but he is definitely enjoying the result.....and the loud and repeated "uhOh" that follows. I swear the prayer was going on half an hour at this point.....at least it felt like it.
10:48 (although I'm convinced it was much later) - Prayer ends, Dustin takes Miles out to the nursery. Apparently something out there caught his attention because I didn't see either of them for the remainder of the service and had to sit there by myself....although it wasn't bad compared to the alternative. :)
Saturday, February 20, 2010
boys
Dustin and I just got back from seeing the movie The Blind Side. It was a great movie that of course made me cry. It is such a touching movie. This boy's mother is no longer in his life because she is so caught up in drugs and probably other terrible things. And yet, she has this boy that loves her so much.
Because I only have boys right now, I find myself looking at boys differently. Whenever I see someone like the boy in the movie I wonder if his mom laid on the bed with him as he smiled and cooed to her, like I do with Liam. I wonder if she threw him up in the air when she came home from work, like I do with Miles.
Now, when I look at boys, I see them as babies....
When one of my students acts like he doesn't care about anything in class, I see him as a tiny toddler with flailing arms and legs while he lies on the floor next to his mother.
When I see a mug shot of some young man on the news I picture his mother laughing at his infant smile and tickling his chin.
When I see little boys from the news in Haiti I picture their lives before the tragedy when their moms and dads must have chased them around while they giggled and ran.
When a student annoys me I see a part of what his mother must see.
The cocky and tough basketball star becomes a tiny little toddler in a diaper who wants his mom to lie in bed with him.
The goth dressed in black that won't look me in the eye becomes the tiny tot that insists on his parents singing the "bird song" over and over again.
Sometimes it just feels like too much.....to feel so much all of the time.
What will my boys grow up to be like? Will they be well rounded and full of character? Will they insist on me dropping them off a block from school? Will they talk about me to their friends like I'm a freak of nature? Whatever happens (and I'm sure it won't all be perfect), I hope that I can always go back and remember them as the gurgling cooing infant and the boisterous funny little toddler. And I hope that they will always remember me as the mom that loved them more than she thought she could ever stand. I hope they see me as tolerant and accepting. I hope they know that they make me proud, and that they will always be my little boys.
Because I only have boys right now, I find myself looking at boys differently. Whenever I see someone like the boy in the movie I wonder if his mom laid on the bed with him as he smiled and cooed to her, like I do with Liam. I wonder if she threw him up in the air when she came home from work, like I do with Miles.
Now, when I look at boys, I see them as babies....
When one of my students acts like he doesn't care about anything in class, I see him as a tiny toddler with flailing arms and legs while he lies on the floor next to his mother.
When I see a mug shot of some young man on the news I picture his mother laughing at his infant smile and tickling his chin.
When I see little boys from the news in Haiti I picture their lives before the tragedy when their moms and dads must have chased them around while they giggled and ran.
When a student annoys me I see a part of what his mother must see.
The cocky and tough basketball star becomes a tiny little toddler in a diaper who wants his mom to lie in bed with him.
The goth dressed in black that won't look me in the eye becomes the tiny tot that insists on his parents singing the "bird song" over and over again.
Sometimes it just feels like too much.....to feel so much all of the time.
What will my boys grow up to be like? Will they be well rounded and full of character? Will they insist on me dropping them off a block from school? Will they talk about me to their friends like I'm a freak of nature? Whatever happens (and I'm sure it won't all be perfect), I hope that I can always go back and remember them as the gurgling cooing infant and the boisterous funny little toddler. And I hope that they will always remember me as the mom that loved them more than she thought she could ever stand. I hope they see me as tolerant and accepting. I hope they know that they make me proud, and that they will always be my little boys.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)