This May Qualify as a QPM

Ummmm where is Rylee's head????



Maybe it is time to take out the bumper....

To Spot or Not

So today is the start of Lent -- the 40 day count down to Easter (less Sundays!) and we Catholics start it off with Ash Wednesday. My friend Lady Steele and I went to mass together over lunch and after the service we both turned to each other and said -- "How long do we leave them on?"

This question is one I deal with every year. The first reading during mass is all about not "showing off" your sacrifices, commitments and your suffering. Don't boast about your fasting and yet I leave mass with a big black mark highlighting my trip to mass and my journey into lent.

I feel like the ashes are just a beacon for people to mention that I have dirt, grease, or a smudge of the unknown on my forehead. Then I have to tell them "Oh no it is supposed to be there -- it's not a spot-it's a cross...of ash. It's Ash Wednesday." That then leads to the question I HATE the most -- "So what are you giving up?" If I am giving something up, that is definitely between God and myself. My sacrifices or commitments to do something are very personal even if it is just chocolate or not listening to the radio on the way to work to spend time in prayer. Not really your business. But I am wearing this very obvious black mark on my head that will make people ask.

So that leads me again to the reading -- don't boast or show off -- and yet I wear a big mark that says asks me why this is on my head.

Lady Steele pointed out that we are also to minister and share our faith and this is a perfect time. Explain what Lent is about and how we take time to become closer to God during this season. While she is utterly and completely correct, it doesn't take away that we will get asked "What are you giving up?" Dodging that question doesn't make me popular either. I try in the nicest way possible to say Not Your Business and people either continue to goad - "come on -- what is it?" Or get huffy and say - "I am just asking."

So back to the original question: How long do we leave these on? Mine made it to about 4 pm when a co-worker snickered in my doorway. He said it looked like a giant target on my forehead.

Pass the Valium Please

Back in November my friend Michelle (Ok…so… author) sent me a forward about a little boy named Jamie Bulger. You may or may not remember his story when it happened in 1993 but I assure you if you do any research you will never forget. I have kept this email in my inbox for now three months because it started this blog entry swirling in my head. This three year old little boy is abducted by two ten year old boys and tortured to death. It sucked the breath right out of my body and the horror I felt practically froze me as my imagination created pictures of the unspeakable. It re-enforced my internal struggle of freedom for my son and protection for him – where is that balance? I am sure all of us have heard that God never gives you more than you can handle. So does that mean because I don’t think I can handle my children have something horrific happened to them that they are safe? Or that I need not worry if something does happen to my kids – I can handle it?

From the moment Zachary was born, I have worried about everything - stupid stuff to the more important but definitely everything including raising him to be polite, generous, loving, assertive, and not a weenie doormat. I was (or perhaps should say am) a nerd. Always have been a bit on the social quirky side and definitely not a cool kid. Chad will also tell you he did not have the best of jr high / high school experiences. So our kids receive a double whammy and are already in the negative cool points giving them a harder hill to climb when it comes to making friends, social situations, and basic childhood survival. I am not looking for my kids to win a popularity contest – I want them to be comfortable in their own skin (I know I know - not possible for teenagers) and I do want them to be well liked and not getting wedgies or having ugly things said about them. I am not completely unrealistic – there are growing pains – there will be hurt feelings and lonely feelings because it is a sucky part of the rite of passage but I don’t want my kids to be the geek. I realize as I type how shallow it is but I have to admit it is true. My blog guru wrote about a boy in his son’s class and called him Ralph. I do not want Z or Rylee to be Ralph. Do you think Ralph’s parents know that he is a Ralph?

While both of these incidents are not really related they feed into my insecurities as a parent. I know that I can’t keep my children locked up so that no one abducts them, or no one hurts them physically or emotionally. I realize they will learn and grow with each misstep and each broken heart. I know I can teach them Stranger Danger and to look both ways before crossing the street. I know I can tell them Sticks and Stones and talk about personal space with others. However, I would like it to be clearly outlined please. Tell me how to raise a child that will not be in harm’s way or have a target painted on their back that says please dunk my head in the toilet.

If I promise not to keep him in a bubble, do I get a promise that he will be safe? If I swear that I will let him out of my embrace, can I be assured that at the end of the day he can return to my arms? If I teach him to be conscientious, and gracious, can I be told for sure that he will have strength to stand on his own and not be walked all over. If I encourage him to voice his opinion and believe in himself, can I please have a guaranty that he will not be a bully?

This entry is dripping with drama and perhaps should be two separate entries but there is a part of this production that constantly plays out in my head. I want to keep my kids safe with out stunting them socially. How do you know how tight to hold on? When to step in? When to throw them in the deep end to let them swim? How much is too much and how much is not enough? Has my preoccupation doomed them?

Ugh and sigh….
So how do I stop this obsessive worrying?
Medication?
That’s what I thought.

The one I haven't met yet

There is a stranger in the house. Doesn't talk much, basically self centered, but she is making the gradual effort to fit in. A stare here, a giggle there; she is coming around.

I get to meet a little more of her each day.

The unlocking of her little mind is an incredible journey. Each day, some epiphany blooms on her face. Someday soon, I'll forget that she wasn't all here at first. I'll forget that all we got was a cry for communication. But- I hope I also always remember that she was contented to show love by snuggling under my chin. -CMM

Your Daily Dose of QPM

So yesterday morning I faced an interesting dilemma. My son has horrible dry skin issues which also affect his lips. He is constantly licking his lips giving him the raw-peely-you-tell-by-looking-it-hurts lips. Chad and I frequently slather both our children with Aquaphor hoping that their skin will someday be smooth and not so red, bumpy and itchy.

In the rush to get out the door, I was a bad mom. Totally forgot and did not smear my son with the miracle vaseline. So as I was getting him out of the car at school, I notice those poor, pathetic, cracked to point of bleeding (TOLD YOU I was a bad mom) lips. I started digging around my purse for my chapstick and I could only find Burt's Bees tinted lip balm.

Decision time. In this quandary do I:

A. Leave him miserable with those bleeding lips
or
B. Coat his lips with Fig Lip Shimmer

The answer is best summed up by this question from Zachary – “Mommy why are you making me wear lipstick?”

I wonder if he said anything to his teacher or friends. Maybe they didn’t notice the reddish/brown color on my son’s lips. Or maybe his teacher and classmates thought he drank some koolaid at breakfast.

A Pictures is Worth...A Giggle!

On the trip home from San Angelo after Christmas, Zachary watched Wall-E. The movie got us from San Angelo to almost Cisco (about 2 hrs.) He then pulled out the movie he wanted to watch next (a Thomas one ) and wanted me to switch it out for him. About the same time Rylee woke up and was fussy. I asked Chad if we could stop for a break in Cisco and listening to our two children complain he was happy to oblige.

However when we got to I-20 and Cisco there wasn't a good place to stop so we decided to travel on to Eastland nine miles down the road. We usually stop there anyway, I just thought with antsy kids we could try Cisco -- now we know better.

So I explain to Z that we will stop in about 10 mins and I will change out his movie then. I try to comfort Rylee without seeing her since her seat is behind me. I talk in that annoying sing-song voice and call her name. In the mean time, Zachary keeps asking if I will switch his movie. UGH!

With about two miles to go, I reassure Zachary that we are about to stop and I will change the movie then. Rylee has settled -- either annoyed that we aren't paying attention to her or lulled to contentment by my sing-songing voice.

We exit at Eastland, pull into McDonalds, and I turn around and see this:



Notice the movie on his finger (so he doesn't get fingerprints on the DVD) ready to be changed. In the less than five minutes from my last assurance, he completely passed out.

I told Chad that we should go ahead and stop since I needed to feed Rylee anyway. I open the car door to get her out and she too has passed out in that brief five minutes!!

Crack me up these kids -- vacation -- especially Christmas vacation -- is exhausting!

My Children, My Love

My mom told me when I was pregnant with Zachary that having a child is like having your heart walk around outside of your body. I also remember reading something like that in a Chicken Soup book somewhere along the way. I am quite sure that any parent will attest this statement is very true.

I am stunned at the emotions and feelings my children can illicit just by being them. The joy and the frustration and the wonder – anything they feel effects me. The intensity can be frightening to me.

Over the holidays, Rylee got sick. Like ugly-vomiting-if-wasn’t-sleeping-was-crying sick. At one point, probably about 2 in the morning, I just cried holding her. I love her so much and couldn’t do a thing for her but hold her and pray that the vomiting would end soon. How unfair that she can’t tell me what hurts or what makes her feel better.

This past weekend, Zachary was running a fever over 101 – he felt like he could fry an egg on his forehead. During his sleep, he was shivering, laying in a pool of his sweat, and moaning. At one point he called out for me and I ran into his room wanting to fix it.
I was amazed at how much love I could feel for my child and the helplessness that came with it.

It seems awfully ironic – the people I want to do the most for (specifically Chad, Z, and Rylee) I only have limited things I can do. I look at my kids with their beautiful eyes taking in all that is around them and I cringe at the thought of heartbreak and failures that lie ahead for them – again things I can not control. The tears they will cry from outside forces or self induced decisions and the ones that I will cry along with them scares me a little.

That I can love another so much is a gift. I love Chad with a love I know is from God – there is no way what I feel is something other than divine, holy, and spiritual but that is a blog for another day. With my children it is an awesome power and responsibility. Think Spiderman.

My friend Stephanie (Lady Steele) posted the words to In My Daughter’s Eyes by Martina McBride The wisdom of the iPhone. Although I am not familiar with the song, I was struck by the words and panicked by the pressure. What happens when they figure out I can’t fix everything, I don’t really know all the answers, and I am faking this parent thing? According to Martina, right now they look at me like a hero – strong and wise. Gulp.

There are so many things I am that I don’t want to pass on to my kids. There are so many things I want them to believe and have passion for that aren’t in my makeup. I know who I want to be in my children’s eyes but I am not that person. I know who I want them to be but don’t know how to get them there.

And yet despite the illnesses I can not cure, the tears that will come, the “winging” it with the parental stuff, and the flawed human mom that I am, I am grateful to God that He would trust Chad and me with these two precious lives. Thank you for showing me all that comes with love.