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Thanks For Letting Me Be Mom

Monday, October 26th, 2009 by Alyice

Today, I ran across an old journal entry I wrote back on December 28, 2008 at 9:52 PM and thought I’d share it as it truly fits how I feel today!

There are days, like today when I absolutely L-O-V-E being able to take care of the family, clean the house, cook the meals, run the errands, and handle the recordkeeping and bill paying without the added stress of working outside the home. And it’s been great to be able to create art for the sake of creating art—without feeling like I should be marketing and earning money from it—thus allowing myself to have “me” time outside of the kids and my husband.

And I am grateful that I still have bonding time with the kids. I realize that while I don’t have as much quantity time with them as I’d like the bits of time I do have are priceless because we do laugh, and they do share their lives with me—a lot more than I was allowing myself to believe and definitely a lot more than I realized.

The thing is, as the kids began to grow into teenagers my life became more and more empty and I missed “our time” together. I desperately tried not to latch onto the kids and make them the center of my world—allowing them to branch out and grow and be independent—but secretly, I was hurting inside.

At first it was “Mom, you don’t need to volunteer in my school anymore”. Then it was “Mom, I don’t like birthday parties and all that attention. I don’t want them anymore”. Then it was “Mom, you don’t need to meet me for lunch—at school—anymore”. Then it was “Mom, you cannot help me with my homework because it’s over your head”. Then it was “Mom, you don’t need to drive me everywhere, I can walk or hitch a ride with a friend or drive myself”. Then it was “Mom, it’s too embarrassing to be hanging out with you—playing ball and stuff. I get teased enough when we do things as a family”. Then it was “Please don’t hug me anymore, I have personal space issues”. Then it was “Mom, I’m gonna hang out with my friends at their house instead of ours because—no offense—you guys are weird”.

For so many years I was everything to them and then one day, I wasn’t. And with each passing year, I was needed less and less and as happy as I was for how wonderful they were turning out, I missed being the center of their worlds. And when did I go from cool, supportive, caring, fun-loving parent to weird, anyway?

It’s a different relationship now that they don’t need me to do everything for them anymore. It’s a different relationship now that they don’t need mom to entertain them, either. They are self-sufficient and secure in who they are—and that’s a good thing. Really it is!

I guess it was last night that things really clicked and I finally became okay with them growing up and needing me less and less. It doesn’t mean that I don’t miss having more one-on-one time with them or them needing me. And it’s not that I want them to need me less, but that they “need” to need me less. They need to be able to grow up and I need to let them.

And so today, I am grateful for the wonderful young adults they are becoming and for the fact that they haven’t completely pushed me out of their lives—that they still want me around.

Give thanks…

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Thanks For Child Development Course

Monday, October 19th, 2009 by Alyice

In my daughter’s high school she is taking a class that prepares her for the real world. In this class there is a section on child development. During this section, teenagers learn all about raising a family, including what it’s really like to care for an infant.

This week-end was my daughter’s turn to bring home a fake mechanical baby designed to cry and pee and poop and demand all the attention a real baby would demand. His name was Cody. (Nope, she didn’t pick the baby’s name, it came with the baby.)

The first thing out of my daughter’s mouth when she arrived home with the baby was, “We’re not going anywhere all week-end.”

“Ha, Ha,” was my response. “We’re going shopping, we’re going to eat out at a restaurant, and we’re going to the movies.”

“Why?” she asked with a disgruntled tone.

“Because you cannot truly get the real experience of what it’s like to have a baby if you don’t tote it around with you everywhere you go.”

Since the baby was my daughter’s responsibility, she bravely tackled all the “mommy roles” including buckling the baby in and out of the car seat, feeding, burping, changing diapers, carrying the baby everywhere we went, waking up several times during the night, and even having to “hold the baby” simple because the baby needed a little tender loving care. And everything was recorded via an ID bracelet and a journal sheet.

First stop, the local gas station. She would not get out of the car. So she sat in the car, with the heater on (it’s 32 degrees here), until I came back—five minutes later.

Second stop, dinner. My son came down from college so we opted for his favorite restaurant: an all-you-can-eat buffet with sushi (well, California rolls). The waitress starred. She starred so much I finally told her it was a school project and the baby wasn’t real. My daughter got upset at me for bringing attention to her “project” as it made her uncomfortable. Then she started noticing the stares from patrons of the restaurant and she got really uncomfortable. During this time, the baby needed to be fed, burped, and changed.

Third stop, the movies. Over all, the baby did pretty well at the movies—we went at just the right time. Still, the baby needed two diaper changes, two feedings, and to be burped. My daughter hated that she had to miss part of the movie because she had to leave so the baby didn’t distract the other patrons.

Fourth stop, Michaels. She opted to put the baby in the basket instead of holding him. People starred. At first glance, he looked like the real thing. At fourth glance, they looked at my daughter with a weird expression—perhaps wondering why she, a high school student, was transporting a doll around with her.

Fifth stop, Wal-mart. Again the baby went into the shopping basket. She kind of liked the idea of being able to use the basket with the baby carrier instead of having to lug the car seat in with her, or carrying the baby in her arms. People starred, but my daughter learned to tune them out. The baby needed nothing from her, but for her to keep it safe during the entire Wal-mart experience.

Sixth stop, McDonalds. We opted to eat inside, after having just put the baby into the car seat three minutes earlier. My daughter decided she hated the idea of getting in and out of the car so quickly and begged that McDonalds be our last stop of the night. During our meal, some kids in a nearby booth starred. My son took full advantage of the opportunity to hassle my daughter about having a baby at 14 ½ years old—telling her that she should’ve waited to have sex, then grilling her about the baby’s father. My daughter opted to go along with the gag—perhaps the kids would stop staring, or perhaps they’d learn a valuable life lesson and just “WAIT!”

During the night, the baby woke my daughter up several times.

The next day, she begged to stay home. I concurred but not without a little reality check. I decided to give her some chores to do so that she could discover what it was like to try to care for a house and a baby at the same time. It took her nearly two hours to do one sink of dishes. Every time she washed a few, the baby called for her attention: a diaper change, a feeding, a holding.

That night, the baby kept her, and I, up several times as she opted to sleep on the sofa where I got the pleasure of hearing every single cry, coo, and sucking of the bottle.

By the third day, my daughter determined that babies, real or not, were A LOT of work. And not only were they work, but they sucked up all your time, leaving you very little time for other things.

Her conclusion: “Mom, I’m glad I decided last year to wait on having kids until after college or I get married. I’m glad I am wearing my ‘promise ring’ to remind me of the vows I made to myself.”

So yeah, the whole fake baby thing can be a bit daunting—and yes, it would have been easier to just stay home all weekend—but the rewards of truly experiencing it are so worth it!

Oh, and by the way, my son came to the same conclusion six and a half years ago, when he experienced the whole ordeal during his stint in middle school. And from what I’ve been hearing on the streets, I think middle school, not high school, is the right age for such a course!

Give thanks…

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Thanks For Being My Male Role Model

Monday, October 12th, 2009 by Alyice

Growing up, I didn’t have a father-figure to turn to. My biological dad wasn’t in the picture, and the man on my birth certificate (my step-dad) divorced my mother when I was two and never again saw me. And while the men my mother dated were always kind to me, they were, in fact, married men—not the best role models for a young girl. Then there are the men I encountered growing up in the projects: abusers, drunks, drug addicts, gang members, molesters, slouches, and even a flasher.

Yes, finding a good male role model wasn’t an easy task. But it did happen—and on several occasions throughout my time in the projects. And for that, I will be eternally grateful.

First, there was Mr. Price. Mr. Price ran the parks and recreation department in our community. He busted his butt to come up with the funds for after-school and summer programs, summer lunches, summer camp, and yes, even holiday treats. He was always there to provide a safe haven and encouraged us, kids, to “be the best” we could be. When you walked into the parks and recreation room, you were no longer living in the projects. You were transported to a club for kids. True, the surroundings were mediocre, but you completely forgot about those surroundings the minute you walked in those doors. Mr. Price never singled one child out from another and he made each and every one of us feel special. And when one of us couldn’t afford to attend summer camp, he found a way to make it happen. And when one of us needed a boost in morale, he found a project that would provide that boost. When the parks and recreation budget was cut, and he was forced to retire, it was a sad day indeed. Nothing was the same again—but his legacy will forever remain in the hearts and souls of each of “his kids”.

Second, there were two father figures (Uncle Sonny and Uncle Dottie) who surprised the hell out of me and showed me that good fathers—loving and caring and safe fathers—do exist. For a time, I was blessed to feel as though I were an extended part of their families—attending family celebrations, invitations to family outings, and being able to just show up and play with their kids without fear of bullies or uncomfortable situations. And it was nice.

Third, there was Mando. Mando was a single man living in the projects and he had the hugest crush on my mom—unfortunately those feelings were never reciprocated, though they were good friends for several years. Every time he chatted it up with my mom, he made sure to spend a little time with my sister and I. He took me and my friends to the local drive-in theatre to see my first Superman movie and later, to see Every Which Way But Loose. And every summer, he’d show up on the Fourth of July with the biggest box of fireworks I’d ever seen and tell us that the Fourth of July just wouldn’t be worth celebrating if we couldn’t shoot off a few fireworks—that was truly a huge blessing as my mom could never afford the luxury of buying them. Aside from the gifts, he was genuinely sweet and kind. He showed me what it meant to show respect to another human being through both words and actions. And he showed me what it meant to give without expecting anything in return—to give simply for the joy of giving. The day he got a job offer too good to pass up he asked my mom to go with him, but she declined. He moved away. I was happy for him and sad for me.

Fourth, there was a young man, six years my senior, who showed me that no matter your circumstance in life, you can choose to be better, to do better, to feel better. His name was Charles and his father was an abusive drunk. Yet Charles was sweet and kind and surprisingly optimistic and happy. He used to tease me a lot and his favorite was to call me “Amazon” for being so tall for a kid my age. One day, I asked him why he teased me because it hurt. He said, “I just want to toughen you up. You can’t let other people’s words hurt you. I want you to be able to walk tall, with your head held high.” I have never forgotten that day, or those words. And while I’ve forgotten the message at times, his strength of character—and that incident—helped me “walk tall” and not be ashamed of wanting something better for my life; for fighting for something better.

Fifth, there was an uncle of a friend. His name was Kevin. He was a true gang member in every sense of the word and people feared him. But I never did. He intimidated me, but I didn’t fear him. He never gave me reason to. Every time he came by, while I was visiting my friend, he gave me a lesson in “living on the streets”. The one lesson that stands out most are the days he’d walk up to me, with his cane in hand, and get right up in my face. He’d get as close as one human being could get to another…waiting to see me flinch. He’d tap me with his cane, on various areas of my body, and tell me that those areas showed others I was afraid or intimated. Then he’d tell me to stand up tall—to not let others see the fear in me. Each time he came, I got better at standing my ground, and each time he came, he intimidated me. Then one day, I succeeded. I stood my ground and I showed no fear, no intimidation. He smiled at me, looked me right in the eyes, and then said, “You have a pretty smile.” Lessons done. Kevin made a huge impact on my life. He showed me how to “survive the streets”—and his lessons came in handy on more than one occasion. A few years ago, he was gunned down simply for denying a young girl entrance into his “all adult/alcohol drinking” party. He had turned his life around, and made a positive impact on society, and he will always be someone I am grateful to have crossed paths with.

Sixth, there was a young man, five years my senior, who often acted like my big brother. His name was Ralph and he was good at reminding me that I was worth something—that I was special. He always had a kind word for me, would look out for me, and would not allow anyone to do drugs around me. I remember one day, arriving on his front porch for a visit, to find he and his friends using a bong. Immediately upon seeing me, he made his friends leave and take their stash with them. When they got upset and asked why they had to leave and I got to stay, he said, “I don’t want her doing this stuff and I don’t want it around her.” In an ironic twist of fate, those words—and that incident—stayed with me for the rest of my life. Whenever asked if I wanted to try this or that, his words resonated with me. Even when we drifted apart, and he was no longer in my life, a part of me wanted to make my “big brother” proud.

I had often wondered why, in all the years I lived in the projects, I didn’t miss my “father” or why I didn’t choose a self-destructive path when it came to men. Looking back, I realize that it’s because of men like this—men who took the time to help me believe in myself and give me the courage to fight for something more. They knew I wanted something better and they took the time to guide me to that something better. And for that, I say “Thank you. Thank you for giving me hope”.

Give thanks…

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I'm a mixed media artist and freelance writer. Need web content? Want to commission or license art? Let's Talk.

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