So what do I wish for them?

**In commemoration of today, I decided to re-post this blog post from two years ago.

*******************

Sometimes, certain things happen in life that change a person. Changes who they are, how they react, how they view life and whether or not they want to off themselves.

Oh, and when it happens twice? In one lifetime?

Complete and utter devastation. Doom. Disaster. End of times. 

Might-as-well-call-yourself-a-liberal-and-advocate-for-free-obamaphones.

What am I talking about? Let me get you up to speed here...

I had a precious, precious baby boy on March 14th, 2010. He was born within five hours of arrival at the hospital and only required 2.5 vaginal pushes. When he first came out, I noticed the abundance of goo and sticky-ness all over him and promptly asked the nurses to clean that thing off before handing it to me but more so, I saw what an incredible head of hair goobaby had. I mean...amazing.

day one of being alive

That head of hair kept on keepin' on, as it grew into the most amazing ringlet curls you ever did see on a little boy. And the naysayers who told me to cut it? Sheeew....I'll cut you if that's alright.

It was beautiful.

I prided myself on his long, thick curly hair. I loved it. And no amount of anyone telling me to cut it would detract me. I mean, the ringlets! Seriously?!

But then we went to the Caribbean and left the kids with my parents. And my mom decided to take Colt for a haircut. "Just to trim his bangs" she said.

Mmhmm. Right. 

That visit "just to trim his bangs" ended up with this hack masterpiece...

I came home from the Bahamas and wanted to cry. And I did. Hard, bad, ugly tears.

I was so pissed that I just said "eff it," and shaved his entire head.

We were heading off to Hawaii the next week (where my dreams of having a long haired surfer baby frolicking in the ocean were demolished into teeny tiny pieces) and my mom tried to make a funny by saying "well maybe they will think he's a Make-A-Wish baby and give you special attention."

Really funny mom, real funny.

That was almost one year ago. And finally, finally, my little angel baby's hair was growing back. 

this photo was taken just a few days ago

Fast forward to yesterday. I asked Rob if he could be home between 11 and 2 so I could go visit my sister and her new baby. I had a very relaxing time at my sisters house holding my sweet little Poppy, relishing in my time alone and feeling confident in the fact that my kids were in good hands.

I kissed Poppy and the twins goodbye, got in my car, jacked up some old skool Britney and arrived back at home in record time. I walked in the door and as per the usual, both kids came bombarding towards me with hugs and kisses.

Except.

Oh Except.

What I saw next I don't think I will ever be able to erase from my memory. See, my love for my kids is tethered to their appearance. They look good, I look good. They look bad? Well, wasn't me...

Cute kids are just easier to love...

But for all seriousness. I have an image to upkeep. I am the tree. My kids are the branches. They are a reflection on me. And when I came home from visiting my precious newborn niece and saw this???

WHAT! THE! F&%K?!?!?

I mean...I just...I....I....I HAVE NO WORDS!!!

Turns out, while I was rocking the presh Poppy to sleep a mere ten miles away, my husband decided to take the kitchen scissors and give my youngest a trim.

In his exact words:

"he wanted his hair out of his eyes so I got it out of his eyes."

Yes, yes you did Rob. You did indeed get his hair out of his eyes. Thank you for that, btw, as in the past few hours he has been compared to a few pretty impressive people.

Such as Lloyd Christmas from Dumb & Dumber...

right down to the em-effing missing tooth!!

and Ishmael from Kingpin...

really?? did he have to cut his bangs so far back?!

The text comments I received were the icing on the cake, however.

From my mom - Omg! Which bowl did he use?

From my cousin - Is Rob drunk?

From my sister - Well at least now you have good blogging material.

From my other sister - Buahahahahahahahahaha!!!

I am just SO heartbroken.

I mean, could you love a face haircut like this?

Well??!?

ps. your guys' comments on instagram last night? Had me rolling. So thankful for you all to make light of such a situation. You provided me with many good laughs.

Let's just get it out there. Chuck E. Cheese is a disaster. Unless you have an affinity for drug deals underneath the animatronic show, contracting herpes or really, really bad pizza, most people avoid the place like Planned Parenthood on a Saturday.

Rob and I didn't plan to take our kids to Chuck E. Cheese, no, instead we took them to the much more socially acceptable local trampoline park, which turned out to be closed because it was a Sunday - a weekend day - aka a day all kids are out of school - aka one very bad business decision because hello! it's the weekend and when else are kids supposed to break an ankle jumping into the foam pit…however that is neither here nor there and the moral of the story is the tramp park was closed, our kids were pretty upset and after ten minutes of begging to go to Chuck E. Cheese instead we gave in like most incompetent parents these days who would rather just say yes than expend energy actually, like, parenting.

So there we were. It was shoulder-to-shoulder traffic, much like Vegas on New Years Eve except Rob wasn't drunk. (I was, in case you missed that. Turns out, plastic Starbucks containers with "water" is perfectly acceptable for a high-class joint like Chucks.) Somehow, Rob and I got split up, with him in one corner of the place with one kid while I was on the other side with my 5 year old.

There is this game similar to jump rope. You stand on a platform and when the digital lights circle around, you "jump" over them. The line was five deep. My precious little angel baby was waiting patiently, super excited to try his turn and win a few tickets that at best would get him a piece of gum. (You know how they do there -- get your kids all uber excited about winning all these prize tickets and then when they get to the counter to claim their reward, their only options are paperclips or superglue, unless you pony up twenty extra bucks and then they get to pick out an amazing toy that would cost you $6.99 at Target.)

Back to the story. Gunner's turn was coming up. We had been waiting a while and there was only one person in front of him. A girl, about nine years old. She stepped up to the platform and took her turn. When her time ran out, she reached into her pocket and plunked in another token. Alright, no big. So she got a little overly juiced up and wanted to continue on her winning streak. After her second turn was over, I was astounded when she reached into her pocket yet again and plunked yet another token into the machine.

You know when you say something to your dog that really entices them such as "want a treat?!" and they kind of cock their head to the side like so? Yeah, that. That is what I did as I watched this little hussy in front of me overstay her welcome. And then Gunner looking up at me with his angel eyes wondering why he wasn't getting a rightfully deserved turn to jump rope his way to a plastic superhero toy marked up 2000% really lit a fire inside of me.

Of course, given that I'm a decent human and forgiving the fact that this female was only in the single digit age bracket, I politely waited for her to finish her third turn and caught her attention right before she was about to reach into her pocket again for a token.

"Hi there, would it be okay for my son to have a turn now? He's been waiting in line for a while."

Homegirl looked right at me, gave me her best you disgust me look and turned back around to play another turn.

That dog-head-cocked-to-the-side thing? Imagine if that dog was possessed, about to have an exorcism performed on him. Also see : Oh haaaaaaiiiillllllll no girlfriend!

So I took a step forward and stood between the jump rope machine and the hustler. Still nicely, still politely, still giving this young lady the benefit of the doubt. I mean, maybe her mother watched The View while pregnant, you never know. And once again, I declared, "you don't understand. My son has been waiting patiently in line and it's his turn. You had three turns and now it's his turn."

What came next I am still trying to grapple with. I mean, I didn't walk into Chuck E. Cheese's thinking we were at some upscale Build-A-Bear workshop. I knew what I was facing. For God's sake, I snuck in vodka in a Starbuck's container! Still. Still. I wasn't expecting to hear the following:

"Go ahead ugly. You look like the Kardashian with the big nose."

Right about now would usually be the time I would pull out my numchucks and karate a bitch, but I was just so…...I mean.…..did she just…...???

Oh. my. gawd. 

She said I look like Khloe Kardashian.

Forget my kid and his jump rope aspirations.

This is the BEST. DAY. EVER.

Like, ever.

(Please God let her have been referring to Khloe and not Bruce.)

I got a few well intentioned emails over the the weekend. Two, to be exact, but that's enough to warrant an entire blog post dedicated to an answer, especially when the question is so stupid it makes my brain hurt. 

Someone named Molly wrote the following:

Ummmmm, why do you not make your kids wear life jackets when they are on the boat or in the water? Are you stupid? Do you want them to drown? 'Cause it seems to me like you want them to drown, since you are so careless with their safety. Idiot.

(This email just about sums up the other one, so I won't grace you with even more intelligent rhetoric.)

Oh Molly. You charming, sweet-natured silly Molly. 

Let me start by saying that no, I do not wish for my children to drown. Do I wish for them to suddenly become mute between the hours of 4 and 7 pm? Yes I do. Do I wish for them to grow up and become millionaires by either a) playing baseball or b) building rocketships so they can then buy me my own private jet? Of course. Do I wish they learn to wipe their own butts eventually? Absolutely. 

But do I wish for them to drown? 

Nah. 

I'd miss the hugs and kisses at night. And besides, they're totally tax write-offs. 

But to answer your ever so pressing question Molly, in the state in which we reside, life jackets aren't required for kids if they are cruising in a boat over 20 feet long. Do we have to have them readily available on the watercraft should a tsunami arrive? Yes. But is it against the law for kids of any age to be sans life jacket on a boat like ours? Unfortunately for you Molly, no, it is not. Womp womp. 

Do I require them to wear one if they are to say, swim in the river where their little toesies can't touch? You bet your last shot of vodka I do. Which is probably why you haven't seen one single photo of them swimming in the river without sporting a life jacket. 

In other words Molly, mind your own damn business. 

But thanks for your email. It really got me thinking. Thinking about how best I can raise my kids so they don't turn into idiots like yourself. 

- I will teach my kids to take responsibility. If they spill hot coffee on themselves, they will try harder next time to not be such a klutz. They won't sue McDonalds.

- I will teach them to respect authority. If someone in charge gives them a command, they will obey no matter what. If they want to change the rules, they can put in the effort and use their brain and get themselves to a place where they really can change the rules. In other words, don't bitch unless you're willing to do something about it.

- I will teach them to buck up. If they want to play with the big boys and they get hurt in the process...too bad so sad little one. Name of the game.

- I will teach them how to properly use playground equipment. And when or if they fall off and break a bone, I will drive them to the nearest emergency room and not to the nearest lawyers office. I've said it once and I'll say it a million times...we ain't raising no pussies around here. 

- I will imbed in my kids the importance of common sense. Like, don't eat crayons and never tattoo the name of some random broad on your body.

I could go on, Molly, but I have some important matters to tend to. 

Such as living my own life and concerning myself with my own problems and not writing ridiculous emails to people who couldn't give a shit less what I have to say. 

Bye sugartwits!

On Fridays, I sometimes like to repost one of my favorite old posts.

***************************


To my two boys, the loves of my life and the reason my life is worth living:



just a few words from your momma...

Treat people kindly. Respect the elderly. Share your toys.

Laugh a lot.



Violence is not the answer, but self defense is. 

Never, ever start a fight. But you better damn well finish it. 

If I ever find out you are being a bully or partaking in bully-like activity, be prepared to come home to nothing more in your room than a bed, one blanket, and one change of clothes. That includes underwear. Everything will be taken away from you. You will have no privileges and I can only imagine the talking to you will get from your father. Believe me when I say you will feel like you are at the strictest, toughest boarding school ever if you bully another human being. That is, if we don't decide to just send you away to one.

That goes for sticking up for the person you see getting bullied also. Standing back and doing nothing is just as bad as being the bully yourself. Remember that. 

If you want to paint your fingernails pink, paint 'em pink.



However I would prefer you go with "bad-ass black."


(also, don't overdo it on the self tanner like your momma tends to do)

I will at times force you to do things that put you outside your comfort zone. I'll never put you in danger, but sometimes we all need a little "push" in order to overcome our fears.



You can thank me later.

I hope you become strong men, the leader of your household, the provider for your family and the ultimate protector. I hope through my teaching and example that one day you will find a woman to marry who upholds Christian values and has strong moral character. Someone who is not tarnished by the feminist movement and who believes in standing by and sticking with her man. 

I hope that you will always see the value in that and will in turn treat your woman like a goddess, always put her on a pedestal and never think twice about swimming through shark infested waters just to bring her a lemonade.



I hope you always stand up for what is right, even if it's not the popular opinion.
Especially if it's not the popular opinion.

I hope you to stand by your convictions, keep your word and always stay loyal to those whom you love. If you mess up even once, it's hard to get that trust back.

On the other hand, I hope you know that you are not, in fact, superman. You will fail and you will fall down. But it's how you get up and start again that is the true measure of a man.

I hope you always stay close to your momma, but once you are married, your wife is your first priority, and she is the one who matters most. If you marry the right woman, then she should be. 

I hope you raise your own children with an iron first, so they can see what it means to be a strong man and father. However, I hope you aren't too tough that you aren't afraid to cry with your children and show vulnerability. And to always tell them you love them. Tell them everyday. They need that.

Also, get down on the floor and wrestle with them every chance you get.

Thank you for letting me take gazillions of pictures of you. Because we both know that when I present something like this:



what you really feel about my always shoving the camera in your face is this:



Thank you for letting me get those moments on film so I can keep them with me forever.

Also, please forgive me for putting your guys' hair in a ponytail.



And for dressing you up like a girl.


(In my defense, this only happened once)

Never betray your brother. When the whole world is against you, your brother will never leave your side. You may not believe me now, but he IS your best friend.



Respect your country. You may not always agree with the person in power, but remember, it could be a lot worse elsewhere.

Don't believe that you know it all. That couldn't be further from the truth and it just makes you look silly. A wise man knows that he is never done learning.

Hold on to your innocence for as long as possible.

Work hard. Very hard. Get your hands dirty. Your dad and I will always spoil you with love, but when it comes to making a living, that will be completely up to you. Even if we have millions by the time we die, it won't just be handed over to you. You will have to work for every penny.



Please don't be a cat person. Your mom hates cats.

On the other hand, always have a dog in the house. On your worst days, that dog will love you unconditionally. He always will. Even if you forget to feed him or leave him out in the snow. THAT, my friend, is true love right there.

Always open the door for women and the elderly. Give up your seat for the pregnant. Chivalry is becoming a lost art, it's up to you guys to keep it alive.

Let the kids win.

Always lead, never follow.

Unless you are following Jesus Christ.

Just try never to let Him get too far out of your sight.

And always, always, alwaysalwaysalwaysalwaysalways

know just how much I love you.

We went back to school shopping yesterday and the conversation at the check-out went like this:

salesperson: I love that purse you have there.
Gunner: I'm a boy and I love rainbows and hearts.
salesperson: whatever makes you happy!

Salesperson is one smart chick. And of course when Gunner picked out a purse, Colt had to have one also, so for the better part of an hour, there we were, walking around the mall with my two boys swinging their little purses. I'm about 20% positive a few people gave them double takes and maybe even a stink eye here or there, but I can't tell you for sure because I'm also about 100% positive that I didn't give a shit. I wasn't looking at other people to see what their reaction was to seeing two of the most adorable boys on the planet carrying what were clearly "girl" purses.

I mean, it's such a non-issue to me that writing that top paragraph there seems like a waste of blog space. But that's just it, it's a non-issuse to me. And for now, it's a non-issue to my boys. It's how I'm trying to raise them and so far, so good. My boys have no concept of race or social status or so-called differences in others.

And the reason is because of this.

While we were sitting at the food court yesterday, there was an employee cleaning up around us, wiping down tables, etc., who happened to have down syndrome. Being the outgoing and talkative person that he is, Gunner struck up a conversation with her and at the end, asked if she could come home with him and play. It didn't matter that she couldn't exactly respond and converse with him like he is used to, all that mattered to Gunner was that she was a person and Gunner really really likes persons (his word, not mine ;) ). Not once has either of my kids ever asked me why someone looked different than them. Not once has either of them pointed out someone who was "fat, ugly, too tall, too short" or anything other than "hey mom, look at that kid over there, can I go play with him?"

Because in the words of one really smart man,
"A person's a person..." and well, the rest doesn't really matter now does it?

However I know soon, when they get out into the "real world" aka kindergarten and such, they will come home asking questions, repeating things that they have never heard spoken in our household. They will ask me why someone said something derogatory about one of their friends. They will want to know why the littlest kid in their class is always getting picked on. And I'm sure that one day, Gunner will no longer want to take his pink purse to school because he will get his feelings hurt one too many times by bullies making fun of him.

And that breaks my heart, because my boys have the sweetest soul.
They are kind, they are accepting and they just love all persons.

But that's not the real world.
I can protect them and teach them in this little bubble for a while, but inevitably they will have to experience hurt and meanness and prejudice on their own. I can only hope and pray that I have shaped them and taught them to be strong enough to handle it, to stand up to the bullies and even more important, to stand up for those being bullied.

Oh.

And in the words of another wise persons...

"Now swing that pink purse in the air, 
and wave it like you just don't care!"*

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me at an old abandoned creepy church...

When trying to find a photo to use for this post, I typed in "christian" and "religion" on pinterest and the first hundred or so images were of "Christian Louboutin" shoes and "True Religion" jeans. That's saying something...

I believe in God. I am a Christian and I strive to raise my boys to know the true faith and acceptance of Jesus Christ. I try to make it to church on Sundays, however it usually averages about once a month.

I don't believe that I am any more a Christian if I attend church every Sunday. Just as much as I don't believe I am any less a Christian if I don't. 

I cuss, I drink too much, and I do a few more things that I shouldn't mention and none of them makes me any less a child of God. None of them makes me any less a Christian.

I'm not sure where the idea came from that those who don't walk the straight and narrow are un-Christlike. Or that we are "hypo-christians." Tell me where does it state in the bible that all followers of God have to be perfect?

I have tattoos, I cuss here and there and *gasp* I had sex before wedlock. I hold grudges and I hate child molesters. HATE them. The bible says to "always forgive" but God help me, if anyone ever hurt one of my kids? There would be no forgiving on my part. Ever.

And I'm content with that. I know still without a shadow of a doubt that God will accept me into Heaven one day as His child, regardless of my un-forgiving heart. I know God doesn't judge me for my eight tattoos, even though it says in the old testament in Leviticus 19:28 "Ye shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor print any marks upon you; I am the Lord."

I believe within the depths of my soul that God doesn't give a shit about my tattoos.

He also doesn't love me any less because I just said the word "shit."

I love my church. The one I make it to only once a month. The church that is always happy to see me. The church where it doesn't matter what I wear. The church that doesn't care if you are gay or straight. Doesn't care if you are wearing your "Sunday best." 

All my church cares about is that you are there. 

Period.

Just that you are there.

And if you aren't there? Like me most Sundays? They are just happy to see you when you can make it. No judging goes on at my church. My church doesn't care about your political stance or how many kids you have outside of wedlock...all my church cares about is just that you are there.

My church is open and accepting and judgement free.

And I think my church is exactly how God intended it to be.

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*for the life of me I can't find the main source for this quote. if you know, please tell me*

I've seen the above quote circulating on social media lately, and right away it hit me like a ton of bricks. I've always believed that kids are a blank canvas, that we as parents write on the walls of their brain. They are born innocent, completely pure. And I also believe, to an extent, a BIG extent, that children are a reflection of their parents. 

My sister was over the other day (you know, the one with three girls under two), and as we were discussing life, and as I was trying to engage her in gossip, she cut me off like she always does and said something new, something I'd never heard her say before. "I want my kids to grow up and say they never heard me say a bad thing about anyone." 

"Well that's a stupid goal," I replied.

I mean, shouldn't your children hear you talk about how bad and evil child molesters are? Shouldn't they hear you discuss how horrible murderers are? Bad drivers? Gingers? And lastly, don't you think your kids need to know the dangers of growing up to be a raging liberal who thinks the world owes them something?

And like she always does, my sister responded with something well-versed and wise:

"It basically boils down to keeping your heart and head as toxic free as possible. And seething over bad people doesn't add to your life. Learning the negative lessons help you be a better person and then you can move on because you don't continue hating people."

I hate when others put a damper on my shallow gossiping fun.

But then later that evening, as I watched my two little boys play in the front yard, I felt such a sense of pride. Pride in knowing that my boys have no sense of superiority. Pride in the fact that when I showed Gunner a picture of two little boys, of which were different races, and said how they were brothers just like him and Colt, he didn't bat an eye or ask why they looked different, the only thing he said to me was "mommy, we need to write them a letter and tell them we want to play with them." Because to Gunner, all he saw was two little boys just like him. That he desperately wanted to play with. 

You hear a lot where people say a child's heart and soul are innocent. That children are blindly accepting. Comparing them to adults who are critical and judgmental, as if growing older naturally does that to people. I can only speak for myself, but my parents raised me to believe that everyone is equal, regardless of race, background or social status. And I have an 87 year old grandpa who I have never, not once, heard utter a bad word about someone. Whose acceptance has trickled down to his five kids, and every one of his ten grandchildren and twelve great-grandchildren. (I would also like to give huge credit to my Nonie, my angel in heaven, the matriarch of our family and the most accepting, kind person I've ever known.)

It starts at birth. It starts at home. It starts with me and it starts with you. 

No matter how hard we try to preach what is right, if our actions don't line up with our words, our kids will see right through it, and what they will take away is what they see us do. How they see us live our lives when we think they aren't looking. I can tell my kids not to curse fifty times a day, but when they hear me say "oh sh*t" on a constant basis they will think it's ok for them also. I can tell my kids to not give in to peer pressure, that they don't need to drink to have a good time, but if they see mommy and daddy throwing some back every time there is a get-together, sooner or later they will get the impression that drinking does equal a good time. Regardless of what we tell them. 

I want my kids to see me be kind. To see me hold the door open for whoever is behind me, to see me respect the elderly and to see me never differentiate between people who may not look exactly the same. I want them to witness me being accepting of everyone, no matter their race, appearance or sexual orientation. I want them to see me respond to negativity with class.

Because I don't think innocence and tolerance fades with age. 

I know it doesn't. 

Let me refer back to my 87 year old grandpa.

It starts with us.

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( bottom two photos - waiting for dad to get home )

and sometimes a good husband...

- he lets the kids eat whatever they want when i am out of town. so much so that the night i get back, like clockwork, one of them almost always throws up in the middle of the night from eating too much crap. and i'm always the one who has to clean it up.

- he wrestles with the boys every night, and charmingly tells them to "steer clear of the peanuts."

- he still acts interested when gunner insists they watch the same movie for the seventieth time. 

- he doesn't give me too much grief when i overspend on the credit card.

- he gets on the trampoline, waterslide, and electric rv with them even though he is way over the weight limit. and then runs out to buy a new one when he breaks it. which is always.

- he reads their stories at night with much more animation than i do.

- he puts me first. in his words, "my wife comes first. my kids come second."

- however I secretly think he really puts the kids first. which is fine by me.

- he taught the boys how to "pop ass." most people think it's charming. their sunday school teacher does not.

- after ten plus years together, he still pops my ass at least twenty times a day.

- among other things.

- he would drop anything, anytime, for his kids. and his wife. and probably his dogs.

and

- he doesn't need any of that cheap ass mexican viagra, thankyouverymuch. (don't ask)

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