Open mouth. Insert foot. Choke on it.

Ya knowwww... I don't exactly have a reputation for doing things half way. I've always believed the old adage that something worth doing is worth doing well. Apparently, that is true even when it comes to screwing up.

A girlfriend called me today and said that she'd enjoyed reading my blog. Blush, blush...gee thanks...etc. She continued, "But I just wanted to tell you that when I read your letter to Mr. Leon, and you gave him a hard time about him laughing when he read your letter..." Yeahhhh, I said. "Welllll, I was sitting at my computer totally laughing out loud because that first letter was so, well, funny." GULP.

Could it be that I was SO prepared for negative feedback from the teacher that I made the assumption that he was laughing AT me, not WITH me? Or that maybe he really was a little embarrassed and he was chuckling nervously because I called him on it???

Holy SMOKES! As if that wasn't enough, I blasted him with ANOTHER letter because I thought he didn't take my concerns seriously. Then I became outraged when he didn't respond to it. Good Lord! He's probably trying to figure out how long I've been out of the institution.

At this point any reasonable person might have dropped it. Not me. I couldn't let it go. Instead, I published his email AND encouraged pretty much every living, breathing human being I know to attack him. Have I completely lost my mind? Is sudden onset of a complete manic episode an early sign of menopause? Do I have a brain tumor eating away the part of my mind where sense SHOULD be??? Aaaaaaargh! I hate it when I do things that totally and completely hot-headed.

However, the truth is that the laughing wasn't the only issue. It might be what sent me over the edge, but it wasn't the meat and potatoes. What really bothered me was that I perceived that he was just covering his butt in his reply to me, and that he gave lip service to believing that what I do is important, and that he was patronizing me with his invitation to the class. In my normal state of mind, I might have thought...wow, he's really a big jerk, but who cares what he says...I know I'm doing something extraordinary. Instead I practically turned into an internet-stalker.

I've spent a number of years attempting to loosen myself from the things of this world that bind me. For instance, I try not to take what other people think about me to heart. That's why shaving my head was so important. That's why I intentionally DON'T wear makeup to most things. There is NO value in those things. I had to learn that truth the hard way.

When I began to gain weight with pregnancies, from medicines I was on, or simply because I had a personal relationship with Ben, Jerry AND Edy (I swing both ways), it affected how I felt about myself. I went into catastrophic depressions... I believed that I wasn't worthy of love or friendship or anything else of value because I was fat. How sad is that? It affected the kind of wife, mother and friend I could be to others. That's the kind of thinking that has started an epidemic of young girls (12 and 13 year olds) with bulimia.

My self image has been shaped over the years by a number of things including being rejected by the father who raised me, being given up for adoption, my physical appearance, my first marriage and subsequent divorce, the list goes on and on. But my TRUE self image has nothing to do with any of that. The way I view myself should only be shaped by God's image of me. Doesn't the Bible tell us that we were created in His image? If that is the case, then no matter how I act or what I look like, He will still see me the exact same way...warts and all. And the best part is that He promises to love me ANYWAY. Wowwwww... that is an awesome thing to think about.

God is like a parent to a child when it comes to us. You look at them and remember the tiny baby you held in your arms and all the hopes and dreams you had for their future. Then you watch them make bad choices... some with minor consequences, some with more dire repercussions, but in the end after you scrunch up your eyes and try to look away but can't... you go to them and hold them, brush them off, dry their tears, and give them a squeeze that will imprint on their spirit for the rest of their life. And you tell them, "I love you NO MATTER WHAT."

So with God on my side loving me in that way, it is easy for me to formally (to Mr. Leon) and publicly (to you) acknowledge that I was a big jerk. I truly have no idea why this particular issue pricked my nerve the way it did, but when it did, all hell broke loose. Either way, it was a growing experience for me, and I suspect that the teacher will guard his comments more carefully in the future which is a good thing. In the meantime, I'll just be tuckin' my tail between my legs and go on back to lettin' the educators educate, even if they sometimes do or say things I don't approve of. Just like me... no one is perfect.

I've done reaped what was sown.

Something Unbelievable #7

I just need to think about something else... so I decided to review the "Why my life is unbelievable" post (from the November Archives) and write about whatever I had listed as #7.

#7) At 35, I shaved my head completely bald (or rather, my children cut off my ponytails and my husband took a razor to my scalp) the same week my aunt began chemotherapy for stage IV breast cancer.

One afternoon in late 2003, I received a phone call from my mom telling me that one of her two sisters had been diagnosed with Stage IV breast cancer. I didn't grow up living near either of them, so while I felt like I didn't know them very well, I always felt a strong connection to them every time we were together. Not a visit went by that didn't leave me feeling encouraged and valued.

One of my aunts married and had her three children young...two girls and a boy, just like me, so I was always able to bond with her over the perils of parenting. She is a sharp, intelligent woman, still in love with the same man after like a million years, and she is always so positive and cheery, you pretty much can't hang around her for long and not feel pretty perky yourself.

And then there's my sweet Aunt Mary...an angel in disguise for sure. She married later in life, and she and her husband were content to have dogs (a lot of them...) Growing up, she was almost an enigma to me... kind of mysterious, out there... different than the other 2 girls in her family. As I became an adult, I began to appreciate Aunt Mary's "different-ness" more and more. She didn't do what everyone told her to do, and she didn't try to change herself to meet some societal or familial expectation. She is and was her OWN person. She always seemed to me to be really STRONG... in mind, spirit and body. She rode horses (that smelled), lived in the mountains (far away), loved the outdoors (that were dirty), let the dogs kiss her on the mouth (eeewwwww), and it had long been rumored that she had shed her traditional Episcopal upbringing and (shhhh) joined a "cult". To me at 20, that was about as free-thinking, high-spirited and rebellious as you could get. She AMAZED me... she intrigued me... she INSPIRED me. And so the phone call rocked me to my core.

Over the next few weeks, my mom would occassionally express some of the family's thoughts and fears about Aunt Mary's treatment. I was surprised to hear that Aunt Mary was REALLY concerned about losing her hair from the chemotherapy. I remember asking my mom why? "WHY?!" she said... like I was a dope. As if that small price for her health WAS a really big deal. While I've never been through chemotherapy myself, I'm married to a survivor who has, and I thought the hair thing should have been the least of their worries. After all... isn't it only hair? Dead cells that our body is shedding anyway? Surely this limit-testing, brave woman knew that she was NOT defined by her hair. Her hair had nothing to do with who she was as a person, what she was capable of, or even how beautiful she appeared to the rest of the world. It was all so crystal clear to me, why didn't she see it too?

It didn't matter. She (and her family) had very real concerns about her losing her hair. I sympathized, tried to understand, imagined myself in her place and then it hit me. When she began her treatment I would shave my head. And I did.

I didn't tell anyone on that side of my family beforehand because I didn't want to deal with the campaign to stop it from happening. At a time when I felt totally helpless, unable to do anything more than pray, I could do this. So I did.

And for the record, it WASN'T pretty. Being bald emphasized my triple chin and revealed more than one giant ugly mole on my scalp. Skin that has never seen one single drop of sun is not attractive either. It's weird. And it's really cold if you decide to be bald in February. During the growing out process people either assumed I was sick myself or gay. It was very uncomfortable to be looked at with pity or piety depending on what people were thinking. I saw parents of kids at school, coaches, people I had met at scrapbooking events. They would visibly jerk when they realized they KNEW that strange-looking lady (she is a "woman" right, not a fat guy in drag?) At last I grasped what all Mary's anxiety was about. All stared, some asked. And I told.

Told them about my wonderful Aunt Mary and her fight against breast cancer. I sent an email with a photo of myself to 125 women in my address book entitled "To My Friends With Breasts..." encouraging mammograms and breast self-exams. I donated my paltry 9 inches of hair to "Locks of Love" who make wigs for people experiencing medical hair loss (http://www.locksoflove.org/). Hopefully it made a difference to someone I knew. But all that mattered to me was that Mary finally understood that it was ONLY hair. Her heart is who she is. And I loved her whole heart with every strand of hair on my head.

When I went for a visit 2 months after the shearing, I only needed the total expression of tenderness and affection in Aunt Mary's eyes as she put her hands up into the soft quarter-inch growth on my head. Her eyes sparkled with tears and she said, "Oh honey, I love you so much." It is a moment I will cherish for the rest of my life.

She starts a new round of chemo soon. I think it is her 3rd or 4th round. At Christmas she had been doing well for about 5 months. Then one day, the markers in her blood came back indicating her illness was rearing its ugly head again. She points out that her cancer is after all, Stage IV. You don't ever get ALL the way better from Stage IV. You live on borrowed time. But don't we all?

Isn't every day one you didn't know for sure you'd get when you went to sleep the night before? Doesn't the Bible tell us that God knows all of us so well that even the hairs on our head our numbered? If God really knows every star in the sky by name, don't we have to trust Him with everything?

God has used Aunt Mary to teach me an important lesson about love, life, illness, perserverence, determination, the fragility of our bodies and the strength of our spirits. God has used Aunt Mary to teach me about Him.

Lord, thank you for Aunt Mary. Thank you for bringing me to a family that had Aunt Mary in it. Thank you for each day we've had to get to know each other a little better. Thank you for her kindness and the sound of her laugh. Help me to behave as if I'm living on borrowed time...Your time. Give me the strength of character to make good use of it. Amen

Let's take the gloves off, shall we?

OK Ladies and Gents... it appears our favorite public school teacher has chosen to ignore the second letter I sent expressing my concern about a ridiculous comment he made to his class.

Bottom line, he stated to a roomful of 25 third-graders that parents who stay at home to care for children and babies don't really have a job (brought to my attention by my son, and confirmed by another student in the class in an independent parents' poll taken on the tennis court).

I expressed my concerns attempting to give him an opportunity to correct his statement and/or offer an appropriately worded apology. Instead I received a very long explanation of what they were studying and an invitation to appear in the class myself to tell the kids why being a caregiver of children is important to the community. It basically amounted to the most lousy excuse for bad behavior I've ever seen.

I sent a second letter pretty much asking for the apology outright (in case he STILL didn't get my point), and an entire week has gone by. I've received no response, no note, no phone call, nothing.

(For transcripts of the letters...mine and his, please read my previous 3 posts beginning with "Public School Teachers...Sheesh!" and ending with "Last Chance Leon".)

SO...while the name had previously been changed slightly to protect the allegedly guilty party...I am now offering his email address to anyone who wishes to express his/her thoughts regarding the comment that "a stay-at-home parent doesn't really have a job".

Feel free to pass it on to any other stay-at-home parents (or working parents) who would like to express their appreciation for such attitudes that pervade our public school systems and affect how our children view what is or is not a culturally acceptable occupation.

What's that scripture???
"You reap what you sow."

Let the sowing begin...

XXXXXXXX@xxxxxx.org


Editor's note: So after careful reflection, I've decided to "unpublish" his email address. 24 hours was plenty of time for my point to be made. It took the loving "unsupport" of a true friend to remind me of the kind of person I want to be even in my anger and frustration.

Last chance Leon

January 21, 2006

Dear Mr. Leon,

While I found the explanation of the Communities Unit fascinating, clearly you missed my point. My issue is not about my job being left out of the discussion or that George was not allowed to interview me for the assignment. My issue is simply about your careless comment and the IMPRESSION it gave my son.

I’m well aware of what was being covered in the unit as I’ve already had two kids go through 3rd grade at Smithtown Elementary. But not once, did one of my girls come home and tell me that their teacher told them if a parent stays home to take care of kids, it’s not really a job.

Here’s the thing… I can think of at least a dozen different ways you could have made your point WITHOUT sending the wrong message to the kids. Why didn’t you just say, “Choose a parent who works outside the home”? OR, “Choose a parent who has a job that earns an income to support the family.” Why did you have to make a point to say “DON’T interview a parent who stays home to take care of children”? You could have even given us a boost and said, “While the job of staying home to raise children is REALLY important, I want you to learn something about the job of a parent who goes into the community to work.”

Additionally, I’ll have to pass on your generous offer to come talk to the kids about my job. I’m sure that the 3rd graders in your class would NOT enjoy hearing that I’ve changed close to 30,000 diapers, washed more than 10,000 loads of laundry, cooked over 12,600 meals, bandaged at least 2,100 boo-boos, and that I can do more things in one day than most CEO’s do in a week. My compensation package is the pits, and I never get a day off. I’m on call 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

The importance of what I do cannot possibly be summed up in a 5 minute talk about my roles and responsibilities, where my job is performed and how it benefits the community. The truth is that I CREATE the community. Without the wives and mothers, those who work inside the home and out, there is NO COMMUNITY. That’s what I mean when I say that you missed my point. By a lot.

All I wanted was a simple apology, and an appropriate explanation to the kids of what you meant. That’s it. I understand that you didn’t intend to belittle my work or to make it seem unimportant. And yet, you did. That is EXACTLY what you did. I don’t care that is was not intentional. You have a huge influence over these children, and you misspoke and sent the wrong message. What you intended and what they heard were two different things.

One last thing, you ought to read your mail from parents more privately or at least control yourself while you do. You continue to lose credibility with me since George came home on Thursday and said that you laughed out loud while reading my first letter. I am not impressed.

From Mr. Leon

January 20, 2006

Mrs. Savid,

I would like to take this opportunity to explain the format of our lesson on communities. Teaching the unit on communities is one of the topics that I most enjoy because it provides the kids with a forum to discuss and ask questions about the various jobs and businesses that are important to our community. Many kids at this age do not know what their parents do for a living or even where their parents go to work while they are here at school.

On Tuesday, after concluding our reading of the 3 types of communities and jobs associated with each community, I led the kids in a discussion about what types of jobs and businesses make up each community. For example, we read and discussed farming as an important job in a rural community. In an urban community, we discussed the role of policemen and office professionals. We discussed the importance of small business owners in a suburban community.

After this decision, I asked the kids what jobs their parents had and where they went to work each day. Several kids were able to tell me the general field of work. "Something with computers..." was a common theme. My follow up question was related to where their parents went to work. Did they leave our suburban community and commute to Atlanta, an Urban community? Did they travel to a rural community? Did they work right here in Smithtown? Again, many of the kids were not sure where their parents went to work. They did not know what their parent's job responsibilities were, what their schedule entails, or even how long they were gone during the day. Also discussed was why their parents went to work. The most common answer was to earn money for their families.

We concluded our Tuesday lesson by brainstorming a list of questions on the board that the kids felt were important to ask their parents about their jobs. Students were then to choose one of their parents to "interview" as a means of starting a discussion with the parent about what they did for a living. Wednesday the kids were excited to tell the class about the jobs of their parents. I did in fact stress to the class that they could choose either parent who went to work while they were at school.

The focus of my lesson was aimed at informing the kids about various jobs that adults can have and why these jobs are important to families and communities. It was my hope that parents would use the interview as a platform to discuss their jobs and to help explain to the kids what they did, where they went to work and why. I will admit that the important job of being a stay at home parent was not discussed. My mother stayed at home for several years until my younger sister completed elementary school. There is no other person on this earth that I love and respect more than my mom.

I am guilty of not expanding my discussion to emphasize the important job and responsibilities of the parent who supports their family and community by using their time to raise their kids, support their spouse, and even volunteer in our schools and community. Would you be willing to come to our class and tell the kids about your job as you stay home to raise and support your family? The kids would enjoy hearing you personally describe what you do to support them and the community while they are here at school. Please understand my intent was not to belittle the work you do or make it seem unimportant.

I discussed with my principal, Dr. So-and-so (female), the content of the lesson and your letter. If you would like to discuss this further I will be happy to discuss this matter further with you in person.

Sincerely,

Mr. Leon


Can you believe this guy??? Was the apology in there, and I just missed it?

Public School Teachers, Sheesh!

January 17, 2006

Dear Mr. Leon,

I cannot begin to express my disappointment at the opinion you expressed to your class today regarding the lack of importance of a parent whose job is raising children.

My son came home today and did all of homework as usual. However, he told me he had an assignment to do with his dad, so he waited until 8:00 tonight for him to come home. As soon as he walked in the door, George ran to his bookbag and retrieved his “interview questions” for his Dad to answer. As he started going through the questions, I teased him and asked why he hadn’t chosen to ask me about MY job. Imagine my surprise when he told me that he wasn’t allowed to because Mr. Leon said that “parents who take care of children and babies don’t REALLY have a job”.

Hmmmmm. Let me just think about that for one minute. Did you think before you let that one slip?

For the record, I’ve been raising kids for 14 years. I KNOW that the exact words that are spoken can be misinterpreted by the 9-year-old brain. So I asked George a couple of times if he was sure of what you said. In the end, he said that he couldn’t remember the words specifically, but that he KNEW what you meant by them, and that he couldn’t interview me because I don’t really work.

While the generation before mine had to fight for the freedom and opportunity to excel in the workplace and continue to have families, it appears that those of us who have made the sacrifice to stay home and raise our children ourselves instead of pursuing corporate glory are to be frowned upon and disrespected by the very people who are supposed to be our partners in the education of the future generation.

Frankly, I am shocked by your careless comment and blatant insensitivity. Considering that you work in a female dominated field, I am absolutely stunned that you would be so cavalier in your impression of stay-at-home moms, and that you could have made such a politically incorrect statement OUT LOUD. Regardless of your intent, and regardless of what you actually said, my son came home with the impression that my job as a full-time mother was not to be taken seriously, much less respected or revered. How could you allow that to happen? You ought to be ashamed of yourself. If you don’t have the good sense to be embarrassed, then just know that I’m embarrassed for you. An attitude like that wouldn’t score you any points with most of the room mothers you’ve had and certainly not your superiors or co-workers.

You should know that when I asked him later (after he interviewed both my husband AND myself at my insistence) whose job is HARDER…Daddy’s or mine, he answered correctly and said “yours”. When I asked him whose job is more IMPORTANT, he correctly answered “ummmm, yours”, but only after he took into account the fire shooting out of my eyes. But when I asked him who was SMARTER, Daddy or me, he asked if he could tell me what he really thought without getting in trouble. When I said yes, he said, “No offense, Mommy, but I know Daddy is smarter.” That’s OK George, I’m not mad, but can you tell me WHY you think Daddy is smarter (after all we both have the same Georgia Tech education). He replied “Because he goes out every day to work in a REAL job.”

In a society where money is god, and ethics and morality are optional, I’d prefer for George to believe that a woman’s value does not lie in her ability to contribute to the bottom line, but rather in her strength and determination to be there for the family no matter what the cost. That’s what I do on a daily basis. You may have him for 6 hours a day for one school year, but your contribution to his life will be miniscule in proportion to his mother’s influence over his character development, emotional health and overall achievement of his hopes and dreams. Don’t make my job any harder. He’ll get enough of that garbage from his peers, the media and a bunch of other people who don’t give a damn what happens to him after they’re out of his life.


Sincerely,



Susan Sivad

Vice President of Operations, Team Sivad, Inc.
Chief Financial Officer (CFO), Team Sivad, Inc.
Chairwoman, Board of Transportation, Team Sivad, Inc.
Director of Homeland Security, Team Sivad, Inc.
Chief Construction Engineer, Team Sivad, Inc.
Hospitality Coordinator, Team Sivad, Inc.
Human Resources Director, Team Sivad, Inc.
Vice President of Risk Management, Team Sivad, Inc.
Chief Negotiator, Team Sivad, Inc.
Manager of Internal Affairs, Team Sivad, Inc.
Quality Assurance Director, Team Sivad, Inc.



Yes, I sent this in to the teacher FOR REAL!

Delivering #3

My precious 9 year old boy has enjoyed hearing the stories from my blog of how some of his siblings were born. However, he has patiently (and sweetly) been asking when I would tell his story.

***(I read a "censored" version to the kids leaving out any "mature-audience" info.)***

After several months of marriage counseling, my husband and I made the decision to get pregnant. I use the word "decision" lightly because the truth is I was not convinced the relationship was going to survive. But there was tequila involved, and well, the bedroom was not one of our problem areas, so... I guess we figured we had staunched the flow of blood from the slit jugular of our marriage...not realizing (or accepting) it was only a bandaid on a lethal wound.

So here we were and I quickly I grew very attached to the little baby that my body was cuddling so close to my heart. I found out I was having a boy at 17 weeks. My husband and sister were with me and we all cried. I really wanted a boy, but I was afraid to hope. I didn't ever want to feel even a glimmer of disappointment, so I was always "prepared" mentally for a 3rd girl. But, WOW!, there it was...a little boy in all his glory. It was such a thrill. His name would be George after my grandfather.

Since I was having a boy this time, my friends wanted to throw a baby shower for me since I was moving away a few weeks after delivery. We planned to get together at a restaurant 2 weeks before my due date. When I went to my regular appointment early in the morning that Friday, my blood pressure was really high and they sent me right over to the hospital. I didn't even call my husband. I assumed they would have me lie down, take it again and send me home. When they tried to get me to change into a gown I knew they had something different planned. I promptly burst into tears and begged the doctor to let me go home. I had 2 little ones about to get home from school and I wasn't there. More importantly, my baby shower was scheduled for that night. He finally relented since my pressure had stabilized, but told me to get back ASAP if I experienced any symptoms of high blood pressure. He said I could go to my party, but then to rest. Instead, I plotted.

I had decided that regardless of how I felt, I would CLAIM "high blood pressure" symptoms and go to the hospital first thing in the morning. It was better timing for us. Since it was a Saturday, we could have friends keep the girls, and we could have the baby and be back home by Sunday night. Ahhhh, the naivete of youth (or general insanity caused by being almost 10 months pregnant, about to move away from my family, my friends, my therapist and my hometown of 20 years... into my IN-LAWS house until we could afford our OWN house while my husband...of the going-through-the-motions-so-people-will-think-I-want-to-save-my-marriage variety... worked at a job where he would travel 90% of the time for no more money, and I wasn'ton my anti-depressants because I was PREGNANT... so maybe I wasn't exactly thinking CLEARLY at this point!)

Anyhoo,

According to our plan, I got up at the butt-crack of dawn and called my sister-in-law so she could drive down from North Carolina in time to videotape the birth (I had my priorities). I left a message for my sister (who was still single and loving it) to meet us at the hospital if she wanted to come. Then I got in the shower so could shave my legs for delivery. In my enormity, I had let them go for a few days (or weeks...again, I had my priorities.) The minute I got in, my head began pounding and I saw all kinds of blinking spots in front of my eyes (the two MOST noticeable symptoms of high blood pressure). I got out (after I finished shaving) and called the doctor. He said "GO NOW! Get in de car (he has an accent that I love), do not dake shower, do not beck beg, get to hospitale immediately!" I might have swallowed my tongue just then. Now I was a little anxious.

We arrived at the hospital, discovered my blood pressure was elevated but not dangerous yet (phew) and the doc came in to see me. I asked him to break my water and get things moving. He walked away and came back with a big ole knitting needle in his hand. ZOIKS! I said, "Wait! Are you just going to do it?" He replied, "My mudder tell me once dat when a woman tell you do someting, you do eet, firs time." So he did.

While we waited for the action to begin, we told the nurses the whole story about my last labor; my sister-in-law lying about my pain-killer, and how my younger sister fainted (see Delivering #2 for details). We were laughing and chatting it up the whole time. Then my contractions got pretty strong pretty quick. I asked for my epidural (MYSELF), and became belligerent when anyone came in the room who didn't have a needle to put in my spine. Once my epidural kicked in, it was smooth sailing.

When Sydney arrived a few minutes later, the "student nurse" asked her if she was the Liar or the Fainter? (chuckle, chuckle) A little while later they asked me if it would be okay for the "student nurse" to empty my bladder. Now if you've had children, you know what that means. All I can say is that I should have said no, but I thought...well, she has to practice, right? Well let's just ask ourselves this, how difficult could it be? There aren't that many choices, right? Right.

Well, bless her little 21 year old blond heart, she thought she had it. Nope, says Head Nurse looking over her shoulder, that's her vagina. (I tried not to laugh out loud, but I did.) TEN MINUTES later... nope, still her vagina. Now we're all really laughing. Imagine it: me, hanging out there for15 minutes while my spouse and sister-in-law are sitting in chairs across from her at eye level watching her CONCENTRATING with her nose like 4 millimeters from...ya know... and still MISSING the HOLE! I think my husband had a better shot at getting it right...or myself. Finally, Head Nurse does it, first time, in about 2 seconds and she managed to stay in a totally upright position the whole time. I know I'm a trouble-maker, but I couldn't help it... I asked if the student nurse had slept through catheter class... Yee gads.

After the debacle with the candy-striper, my little sister appeared a little hung over from Friday night. Our nurse-in-training said, "Ohhhhhhh, you must be the Fainter." Ha ha. But it gave us something to go with... as labels were given and roles assigned, we laughed as my husband admitted that he must be the "Culprit"...leaving me to be none other then WHAT? "The Victim." Laughs all around. There was suddenly pressure on my tailbone, and I knew we were going to start pushing soon. Since this was my last baby (hmmmmm...) I asked for a mirror to watch. When it arrived (all 6 feet of it), I got a look at why "Nurse Barbie" couldn't figure things out. And my exclamation of shock and disgust is captured on the video for all eternity. (That's what editing software is for...)

Everyone takes their place, the doc is trying to get suited up, my younger sister decides to stay by my head, and the nurse (the REAL one) starts yelling at me to stop pushing. "I'm NOT pushing!" Then why is the baby's head moving down? "I don't know...YOU'RE the nurse!" Everyone is yelling at me now, but cross-my-heart, I was NOT pushing. But right there before my eyes, sure enough, his head is moving down toward the exit. WOW!

I guess my body had just totally taken over... The doctor LITERALLY gets his gloves on and turns around, and George's head was just about out! He says, "OK now dear, one push", and out he came...all 8 pounds 6 ounces of him. The doctor holds him to give me a closer look, and my darling new baby takes his very first WHIZ all over me. Signs of more to come? I hope not, but that child definitely finds humor in all things potty-related. The doc is cracking jokes about how he hopes he gets paid since he barely did anything...blah blah, and when he starts making comments about my "fleshy placenta (yuk)" we all yelled to my sister...DON'T LOOK!... already a little green, she mumbles...too late.

Oh well, she stayed on her feet and even took over the camera. It was a room full of much celebration and light-hearted banter. By far, my most perfect delivery. To this day. George is the funniest kid to cross the threshhold of my heart. He has kept my spirits up through countless crises just through his very existence. At 9, he still crawls up into my lap... sometimes because he needs it and sometimes because I do.

All three of my babies from my first marriage are amazing, resilient kids. They have faced things that the other two won't have to, and they've come through it with grace, brilliance and a lot of love in their hearts. They aren't perfect, but they're mine and that makes them perfect for me, for this family. It is my hope (and my prayer) that I can live up to be the kind of mom that they deserve.

George's namesake was a kind, tender-hearted, sharp, witty, playful and compassionate man. Sometimes I'm shocked that my little boy shows so many of those same character traits in such a young guy. He only met my grandfather once before Granddad went to watch the rest of the show from a much better place. But I like to think that he would have really enjoyed my little man. Sometimes when George delivers a one-liner so fast and smooth and totally out-of-the-blue, I believe he's getting his material straight from Granddad himself...whispered in his ear on the wings of some bug.

On Raising Girls

I read a clever post about raising boys a few weeks ago, and it made me think a lot about raising girls (and having a mother AND a sister), so I thought I'd share...

1) My mother was right.
Note: About everything.
2) Nail glue is MORE forever than SuperGlue. In fact, nail glue will burn a hole through the skin of a 12 year old's finger OR adhese the toddler's hair to her favorite pajamas until you cut it out.
Note: Once washed, the glue AND the hair will still be attached to the PJ's.
3) Hormones begin affecting personality at birth. It just gets worse in puberty.
Note: It doesn't get better once they "start".
4) The term "catfight" didn't come from cats... cats fighting just look and sound like 2 sisters fighting over who gets to use the phone first.
5) The mother curse... the one where a mom says, "I hope you have a daughter who grows up and treats you just like you treat me"??? Yeah, that one... it WORKS.
Note: My mother used to say she never said that. Now she admits saying it, but claims she never MEANT it.
Note to note: When I use it, I'll mean it. In my old age, I may even help it along. "Yes honey, you can come live with Grandma if your mom is mean...."
6) The cat vomit from the brother's washing-machine-experiment WILL make the sisters ALSO vomit.
Note: So will scooping dog poop out of the yard, cleaning the cat box, the baby spitting up in another room, jumping on the trampoline after eating too much ice cream, finding your 9-year-old brother's sweaty socks under your pillow as retribution for punching him earlier in the week, or catching a glimpse of same brother streaking from his bedroom to the bathroom to take a shower. (Mah-ahm, make him STOP! I don't want to look at THAT! I'm going to throw up!) Note to note: Stop what? Bathing? Running the 10 steps naked? We moved the girls to their own floor...two stories down...to preserve everyone's privacy. Here's a TIP! Stop LOOKING! You're supposed to be in the kitchen loading the dishwasher anyway! I digress...)
7) Apparently, skipping a shower after soccer practice and going to school the next day is no big deal if you spray yourself with one gallon of "body spray" from Bath & BodyWorks.
8) A terrible movie with terrible acting becomes the "best movie I've EVER seen in my whole entire life EVER" if the "most beautiful, hottest actor EVER" is in a lead role.
Note: If he's in a minor role, then the movie is the "worst movie EVER" because he wasn't in it ENOUGH.
9) Sometimes, there is crying in baseball... AND soccer... AND even cheerleading.
Note: Occassionally, tennis also... if you ALWAYS get partnered with someone you don't like to play with because she's not any good, and NO ONE likes her ANYWAY, and if I play with HER, then NO ONE will like MEEEEE and I won't have ANY friends... boo hoo.
10) Wearing deoderant is something you have to do EVERY day...EVEN if you THINK you don't smell AND you have on a gallon of body spray.
11) My mother told me that growing up I had "The Princess Syndrome", meaning that I "acted like" I was entitled to be treated like a princess. Was that wrong???
NEWSFLASH: A study has shown that "The Princess Syndrome" IS hereditary, AND often mutates into a more serious condition with the next generation, AND worsens with each girl child that is added to the family. Note: We have 3- ages 14, 12 and 3.
12) Behavior of the little brother that is repulsive to the point of violence is NOT repulsive if he is a male, not related to you, of the same approximate age as yourself, ESPECIALLY if he is "really hot".
Note: "really hot" is defined by your friends and has nothing whatsoever to do with character, personality or even whether the guy is nice (and frankly, I'm not sure it even has anything to do with his looks, but no one asked me.)
13) The toddler daughter howls "IS NO FAAAAAIR" that she can't drink a coke at bedtime or that her brother won't let her in his room to destroy his Lego ships. You can't say "Life isn't fair" to a girl too many times.
14) I OBVIOUSLY have NO idea what it's like to be a teenage girl in this generation! AND, I have NO sense of style whatsoever.
Note: Neither did MY mother. What does that tell you?
15) My mother SWEARS that her sister put salt in a scratch on her arm (made by my mother) to get her into MORE trouble. I used to antagonize MY sister by sucker-punching her, then running away so she would chase me, then start screaming my head off BEFORE she got to me to get HER into MORE trouble. My girls had a big fight, and one came upstairs crying. Soon after, the "offender" came up taking responsibility and asking for forgiveness. The "injured" begged us NOT to ground her or spank her on the grounds that she didn't mean to hurt her and it doesn't hurt that much anymore anyway. What??? Will someone please explain that to me??? Where is the perverse pleasure of a sibling falling into ill-favor with the parents???

My main point is that while girls are tough to understand, prone to mood swings and inconsistency, at the heart of the matter, at least here, they have a deep and profound love for one another. They follow patterns (sometimes) and generational guidelines (other times). Some things make sense, many things don't. My older girls have learned to protect each other like a cherished treasure. If one is punished, they both suffer. They love on their younger sister like she IS indeed a princess...even when she's being demanding, obnoxious and two...sounds more like a REAL princess.

When it comes to their brother, they agree wholeheartedly that he is pretty much unacceptable (except when he's charming them with his extreme sense of humor, then he is allowed to live in a tenuous truce). Therefore they present a united front: them against the "boy" (who is laughing all the way into the parents' room for some action flick with Dad after bedtime). They agree about his uselessness, unless of course someone OUTSIDE our family is picking on him. In that case, the offensive person will rue the day he (or she) was born. I pity the first girl to break his heart. The sisters will show no mercy.

Women, girls, sisters... a strange and exotic breed. So how do we, as parents, win? Enjoy the sound of their hushed whispers when they're sharing a confidence, relish the gentle tinkling of their giggles over an inside joke, and even appreciate the flash in their eyes across a table when they're conspiring. Teach them to appreciate the true value of their relationship. When a girlfriend decides to hang out with someone else, it is her sister who will be there to go get an ice cream cone. When her heart is broken, it is her sister that will tell her what a jerk he was in the first place. When my husband and I are gone, it will be the sisters wiping away each other's tears and reminding the brothers how much we laughed when they were growing up. How much fun we all had being a family. How much fun we'll all have when we're together again one day. Girls are a fascinating and often frustrating enigma. But what joy and sweetness they bring to the party.

Tag...you're it!

1. First song you remember hearing on the radio as a child--
"That's the way...uh huh, uh huh...I liiiike it...uh huh, uh huh!" I had a brother eight years older than me, and he played the drums...often on my head and across the whole dashboard of his car when I was about 8 or 9. The 2nd song I remember was "S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night!" Those were happenin' tunes for the time...

2. First album you remember listening to as a child--My brother's ELO album or the Boston album (it was blue I think). My mom also played stories on a record-player (my kids have actually asked me what that is). We used to listen to old Bill Cosby stand up routines and Grimm's Fairy Tales etc. when we were falling asleep. I've kept a box of those records for YEARS, but lack a device to play them on for my kids.

3. Album that takes you back to junior high-- I went to school where there was no Junior High...you went to Elementary School through 7th grade, then straight into High School in 8th grade as a "Sub-Freshman". They couldn't get away with that nowadays. Anyway, songs that take me back to that "era" are MyAngel is a Centerfold and Freeze-Frame! (J. Geils band), I LOVE Rock and Roll (Joan Jett and the Blackhearts), Eye of the Tiger (Survivor) we did a pom pom routine to that, Jessie's Girl (Rick Springfield), Jack and Diane (John Cougar), and 867-5309 (Remember that one by Tommy Two-Tone???), Shake it Up (The Cars)...

4. Most played album in high school -- Madonna True Blue and the Soundtrack to Purple Rain

5. Favorite album in college -- Oingo Boingo's Dead Man's Party

6. Song that reminds you of what it was like to feel cool-- Jump! by Van Halen (David Lee Roth)

7. Favorite albums to road trip with--I just spent 5 days in the car with my kids, and I had my headphones blasting with Bare Naked Ladies-Gordon, Casting Crowns, Meatloaf, Eagles, Styx, Gin Blossoms, Mark Schultz and Third Day...how's that for eclectic???

8. Best relationship angst album or any other albums worthy of mention--I'm all out of love, and I'm so lost without you...I can hear it in my head, but can't remember the artist (my all-informed hubby is sleeping or I'd ask him...)

9. Your personal soundtrack today includes--All my favorite road trip tunes...BNL, Third Day etc. Occassionally I'll listen to Toddler Tunes, but only when it's my turn for carpool, and I want the other Mom's to think I'm one of those "good mom's" who puts my children's preferences above my own while in the car. The unfortunate truth is that all 5 of my kids were born knowing all the words to Weird Science and having a drum beat in their head at all times. They danced before they crawled, but only to some really good head-banging hair bands. Nowadays, they LOVE my Power Ballad CD from Target that has "Every Rose Has Its Thorns" as the first tune.

10. So if this is your personal soundtrack, what's the plot of the movie in 50 words or less--Wedding Singer (girl with wrong guy ends up with right guy in the 80's) crossed with Cheaper by the Dozen (for the obvious reason of we have a million kids) crossed with the Notebook (because that's the kind of love I have with my husband...it could conquer anything).