Checking My Connectivity

What would motherhood be without a little therapy, right? Jeremy and Natalia dropped me off at my counselor's appointment today and Natalia asked me what was up. I told her that it was where I go to talk out some stuff about my childhood and she was totally psyched and wanted to come too. Well, at least she is supportive. I jokingly told her that maybe someday she will go and talk it out about my mothering skills to some random licensed stranger. Her answer to that statement will differ depending on the gravitational pull of the moon, the serotonin re-uptake levels, the color of her socks and the ratio of length of elapsed time since last snack vs sugar content. This is the key to whether I am the Evil Queen, or the Best Mom Ever. I'm practically like Einstein since I figured out this equation and deserve the tween equivalent of the Nobel Peace Prize.

I did do quite a bit of soul searching regarding how I stay connected to Natalia, and how I plan to keep that up. Most of my sane living has been self taught by watching a living "How Not To Do Things" tutorial. It's a good thing I pay attention and I'm a relatively quick learner. Take Jeremy, for example: He's the longest standing friendship I've ever had and I've put a lot of work into this one. It's been 99% fun and I love it. He's cute, smart, I'm totally into him and I can do this some more. I have a hard time wrapping my mind around parents who CHOSE to no longer work at having a relationship with their children. I mean, I can kind of get choosing to ignore your spouse, but your baby (they are always our babies)? I know, I know. I've already blogged about that one too, so I'll leave it at that. Let's all roll our eyes at those ridiculous dead beat parents and hold up our hands in the "W" for the "whatever" sign. Whatever.

Now, for y'all with young school age girls, I'm going to do something truly horrible. Remember the Barbie movie "Barbie & The Diamond Castle"? "I feel connected, protected. It's like you're standing right by me all the time. Nothing can break this, nothing can break this, nothing can break this tie. Connected." Okay. That was just me being mean because I've had that song stuck in my head and I just had to pass it on. Annoyingly catchy, isn't it? I didn't even have a point. I just think it's funny.

This week is Natalia's birthday (yes, Lacow girls get an entire week) and she had a day off of school so we took the opportunity to actually plan something besides homework coffee shop night. Jeremy and I even weaseled a date night out of his parents this week. Sweet. For me, nothing says "family connection" like a little competition. That's right. We started off with some putt putt where I learned that if Natalia would just take her time, she's actually pretty good even though she swings her club like a Louisville slugger and cheats like there's no tomorrow. Par two my hiney. Then there was the laser tag where team Lacow was up against team Martinez. Granted, they did have the cutest team member in her three year old formal dress AND she shot me twice! Aside from that, Natalia had my flank and she and I racked up some serious points nailing the home base all Evil Queen/Princess Natalia style.                     

Sure there is still the arguing over toenail length, but then there are plenty of times when she and I are in our mommy daughter zone that even Jeremy doesn't get. Things like clear coat nail polish doused with craft glitter and makeovers where she looks gorgeous and I look "perfect" to her, but the mirror says I have a melanoma mark on my forehead painted on by mascara. Seriously, the exclamation from Natalia when she was done was "AH! Perfect! Mommy you look so good, just like the Bratz dolls from the movie I watched. Look, look!" I was expecting all those Sephora sample trips to have finally payed off and to see some mad skillz. Well, there was this melanoma thing, glitter, and the blue eye shadow...... we'll make more trips to Sephora because practice makes perfect and Sephora makes me happy.

I can't imagine ever not wanting to sit on the floor while painting nails and playing with makeup. I love laying in her bed with her while I go through our bedtime routine. I've found it's the best way to catch up on what is rolling around in that complexly beautiful brain of hers. It's a bit more streamlined when Jeremy puts her to bed, but how it's supposed to go down is we are supposed to 1) Read a book, 2) Sing a song 3) Lights out and I leave. Well, 1 and 2 go smoothly, but then we get to talking and giggling and then I sometimes fall asleep because she is so stinkin' snuggilicious and smells like my baby. I don't remember my mom ever doing anything like that with me so I'm way ahead of the therapy curve I'm sure. Then again, there are always things like my "child labor sticks of despair", making her and her sleepover friend clean up before bedtime (gasp!), and all those arguments over toenails. Maybe I'm still in the running for "my mom ruined my life" therapy after all depending on the above mentioned equation. Quick! Check her socks!

Eight is Enough

Next week Natalia turns eight. Her birthday is always a big deal to me, not just because I am so happy that she was gifted into my life, but also it reminds me how quickly time flies. I've blogged it many times: The older I get, the faster time flies. Especially now since my life has started being fun and full of good stuff.

I will confess this: Eight is not my favorite age for children as a general rule, but Natalia is the best eight year old ever. I used to avoid babysitting eight year olds at all costs when I was in college and just stick with the babies to five year olds. What I mean is it's just an age of roller coaster emotions, terrible two's without the cute baby body, and they generally are more into their friends now because their friends know EVERYTHING! Never mind that I have 35 years of experience and a bachelors degree under my belt. I'm just mom after all. Did I know about the Green Grannysmith spider who could take out six kids in one spray? Did I know that google was a number? Did I know that clothing does not have to match? No. I am obviously lame.

It has kind of blown me away how head strong Natalia is lately and how snotty she talks. It's her version of what a teenager sounds like. It's just weird to hear this kind of noise coming out of such a small body. It reminds me of a voice over on TV and I am mesmerized, then realize I am supposed to do something about it. Yes, I already whined about this and talked about the child labor sticks of despair, but it's my blog and therefore my sounding board. By the way, the labor sticks totally work because nothing will change a child's tune faster than having to take five minutes out of riding her scooter with her girlfriend because she has to pick up poop in the back yard. She isn't cured by all means, but at least I get five minutes free from snotty arguing back talking and I didn't have to clean up poop. Boo-yaah! Mom:1, child: google.

I don't think it would bother me so much if I didn't have my own inner turmoil that I'm working on right now, so knowing this, I mentioned it to Natalia in a very seven-going-on-eight kind of way after she told me I was mean. Now, I didn't do anything Evil Queen specific at that moment, and she couldn't name anything in particular, but she said I have been mean lately. I get it. Like I said, I have some stuff going on, so my fuse has been short and I have felt less connected to everyone lately. That's the only reason I had a little heart to heart with her. Wouldn't you know it that the little smarty pants tried to play the "mean" card against me the next day when she didn't get her way about wearing "high heeled" shoes to school. That I saw right through. She's so smart. If I wasn't so mentally fried, I'd be kind of proud and laughing at the moment. It just takes me a couple days and moments of silence to process how hilarious all that is.

One thing that helps is my own girlfriends. In the past whenever I have had my garbage creep to the surface I have isolated myself. Obviously that has never worked, so this time I have rallied a few close girlfriends around me. Way better. Part of the idea to do this comes from how much I have needed other moms to get me through motherhood and tell me my child is normal and that I am a good mom. Yes, I know on a basic level I am a good mom. I mean, she isn't setting library books on fire and Googling how to make pipe bombs out of Barbies. But, what I am talking about is raising the kind of girl that people will go to for advice about their own crazy daughters. The kind of woman who other women will want to ask out for girls night and laser tag. The kind of girl who someone can pull aside on Easter night who will listen to her friend empty her heart and say "I knew all along". That's the kind of girl I want to raise.

Kara helps me see the bright side too by saying things like "Oh, she runs on her toes, she'll be a great sprinter." and "Yeah, she's head strong, argumentative, and slightly manipulative, but those will be great qualities when she learns to use them appropriately as an adult". Of course those are gratuitous use of quotes, but I'm not exactly a literary genius here. 

I can see Natalia having a bright future in law or politics. Please sweet baby Jesus in a manger surrounded by livestock let her use those forces for good and no longer against her mother. I actually told a co-worker yesterday that I have an eight year old daughter at home and I just could not argue with her anymore. Yeah, she was totally offended and huffed off. Seriously folks. It's about survival and I have to save my energy for my daughter. I can't waste it on other nurses. Besides, she obviously does not have the stamina Natalia does because Natalia never would have let that conversation end there. Weak sauce.

Lacow Child Labor Laws

As mothers, we are diabolical villains. Oh yeah, we love our sweet babies and will lay down our souls for their precious lives, but on the day to day few people will plot against a child like her own mother. I spend so much energy and synopses trying to out smart, out maneuver and up the ante for Natalia. There is no rest for my plotting schemes because the moment I think I've got it figured out - she grows up a little. Crap.

Part of my research and development is me cruising through Pinterest. I know, I know. It's a time suck, but I really have got a lot of good ideas there. Jeremy dreads me being on that site because his "honey do" list keeps expanding. Tonight's diabolically crafty project was my "child labor sticks of despair". Because I am a believer in all things looking cute and fun, these punishment sticks are the cutest ones ever. Well, maybe not ever, but they sure got Natalia all excited - until I told her what they are for. 

You see, we have this (among many) issue with Natalia talking all tween-like. Now, I'm really not sure what a tween is, but they evidently talk snotty - even when they are trying to be polite. It's this quasi-valley girl speak where she'll throw in a "please" so I'm not sure if she's being sarcastic or legit. Oddly enough, she is being legit and doesn't realize how that comes across. It's kind of like when she was trying to learn sarcasm and told Jeremy she was going to poke him in the eye with a spoon. It's a delicate form of communication that has little nuances which require practice. She's much better at sarcasm now, thank goodness.

Even when I try and get her to rephrase a question, comment or concern in "normal speak", she has a hard time breaking this tween talk habit. That's when Jeremy and I (well, mostly me) decided to make it painful. Physically painful. Enter my "child labor sticks of despair". 

They are literally popsicle sticks with crafty paper on one side, and pink paint on the other. Okay, I admit they ended up looking like fancy emery boards, but whatev's. Oops, maybe that's where she learned to talk like that.... Okay, back to my sticks of despair:  Each stick has a label on it with a manual labor chore that I personally hate to do. Every time she talks snotty tween at Jeremy or I, she gets to pick a cutsie little stick out of a fancy, cutsie little bottle. I took a little time scheming because I don't want chores that will require a lot of work on my part - that would not be very Evil Queen like, now would it? Also, these are short chores because you and I both know that whining takes approximately a half hour. Therefore each chore will take about thirty-five minutes. Wanna know what they are? I thought so.

My evil chore list includes picking up dog poop (that first one will be a doozie since we've let some piles accumulate this winter), wiping down the baseboards in a room of my choosing, weeding the flower beds, sweeping either the back patio or walkway (two different sticks of despair), writing her alphabet three times in perfect lettering (yeah, below the belt there, right?!) and others. There were nine in all and I'm ready to make more if I have to. My evil plan is for her to pick her own punishment out of the container. Pure evil, I know. 

Hey, if this is what I have to do to get my daughter to talk in semi-normal American dialect, then I'm gonna do it. I'll keep my Pinterest account active and running with new schemes on my fight against a bratty child. My Pinterest board for this is even called "Mommy dearest". I'm sorry, but Natalia will have plenty of friends in her life, so I don't really need to fill that role. Whenever she tells me "You're not being a good friend, you know that!?" (yes, she says exactly that) I confidently tell her that I am her mommy first and her friend second. Then I also add how charming I think she is and that is why I know she will have plenty of friends. She will, however, only ever have one mommy. One scheming, conniving, researching, tireless, crafty, ever loving mommy who has made it a priority to make her into a polite and tolerable woman. 

Chivalry, Hipocracy and Women's Equality

I've admitted this before: I am a terrible hypocrite. And since I'm being all confessional, there are certain things that will totally fire me up every time and Jeremy thinks it's hilarious to push those buttons. Take for example women's rights or women's equality - whatever term floats your boat.

It started when Jeremy told me about a care tag on a pair of jeans that got a bunch of people very upset because it read something to the effect of "get your woman to wash it, that's her job". I don't know, I didn't take time to Google it, so I am just regurgitating Jeremy info. Laundry is a touchy subject in Lacowland and I use it to show my anger at Jeremy or to retaliate in some way. When I'm upset I don't touch his laundry and I give him absolutely no warning. It's a little below the belt, I know. That's how hard core I am. Anyway, Jeremy and I were having this discussion at the coffee shop while Natalia was supposed to be concentrating on her homework. Since the conversation got a bit heated, of course she was all ears.

Jeremy had a good point that if there was a similar tag on a lawn mower, let's say the manual, then I would totally think it's funny. Blah, blah, blah... how to operate the lawnmower... or just have your husband do it. I refuse to mow the lawn because ours isn't self propelled. Natalia wanted to know what the discussion was about by using her favorite term "I don't get it." I tried to explain to her in G rated terms that some people think women are supposed to do housework while the man goes out and earns a living. I also explained that now it seems women are expected to keep and manage the home all while working full time and keep the kids organized, bathed, groomed, vaccinated, and checked up. Jeremy gave me a bit of the stink eye because when it comes down to it, he is really involved and helps out a lot. Besides, there are some chores that I refuse to do and he has to pick up that slack. Seriously, if I wasn't married, I would hire someone to do the Jeremy chores.

Nothing drives me more crazy than anyone suggesting that women are inferior to men because we have ovaries and boobies. I also abhor the stereotypes of what women should be, or what a woman who thinks she should be equal should be. Here's the hypocrisy part:

While yes I can open a door for myself, I shouldn't when I am with a man. That's right. He should do it every time for a lady. Physically men have more muscle tissue because they carry more testosterone, so they should also do the heavy lifting. Even Plato agrees with me here. I think men should be the dashing hero who believes the lady is amazing and can accomplish anything she wants. Jeremy is pretty amazing in that respect. I also can't stand it when women try to macho it up to prove a point. Yes we can do all the things a man can do, but we are not men and I don't think I should have to masculinate myself to be treated equal. That's why the blond in the show "The Walking Dead" drives me crazy. Now if I can get some help relaying that in seven year old terms please.

Since this is one of my hot buttons, I have to take extra care in how I explain it to Natalia. My first instinct is to go a little "man hater" with it and tell her that men will try and bring her down, so be ready for a fight. I'm pretty sure that isn't sound parenting and that it's "baggage" based. You know who is better at the women's equality speech for Natalia? Jeremy of course. Evidently they have had this discussion before because with a little prompting from him, she was able to recite some wonderful "girls are just as good as boys" tidbits.

What I want her to know is that she should embrace being a girl and not ever let anyone tell her that she is less-than because of it. She and I are genetically hard wired to love dressing up, make up, glitter, drama, and being emotional and sensitive. I realize there are girls who are hard core and more "boy-ish", but that does not make them anymore superior. I don't ever want her to think that she is weaker than her male counterpart simply because she has XX for chromosomes. It's as ridiculous as the thought that my IQ is lower because I'm a natural blond.

It's good to know that while this is a touchy subject for me, which Jeremy loves to pick on, he is also working on building Natalia up as a girl. I swear I could do this parenting thing alone, but she would really be missing out on the male perspective and therefore be imbalanced. I'm obviously imbalanced, but what do you expect growing up with a single mom who made some pretty poor choices in men. They were not Jeremys, or heroes. I'm so thankful to God every day that Natalia has a strong daddy in her life to help shape her into a strong woman. As said by the wise and insightful musical group "The Spice Girls", girl power - zig a zig ah.

Let's Get Physical

Well, I've been in a funk and a little lax in my blogs. I've let some details overwhelm me. Wah. Poor me. Moving on.

In the meantime, nothing has slowed down because time does not wait for mommies to meltdown. What's a mommy to do? Well, jump to week three of Jillian Michaels' Ripped in 30 (seriously, it's $10 and will change your body), buy a hot pink snowboard because if I am going to suck I might as well look cute, and lastly get a little botox for the first time. Yep. It was worth the money and the six injections. I know my mental health is not fixed by such trivial things, but why should I look bad just because I'm feeling bad? Exactly. Besides, I feel slightly better and I'm a huge fan of all three of the above since they all work. It's not frivolous if it works, right?

I am conscious that little eyes are watching. Since Natalia has an allowace with an account balance that sometimes exceeds that of Jeremy and I, she has to buy gifts for her friends and teacher. Mrs. Penney just had a birthday, so Natalia and I were brainstorming a thoughtful gift that would be both creative and original. I asked Natalia what she was into and there was the stuff like frogs, teacher crap and then she told me how Mrs. Penney had started exercising and had lost weight. Natalia told me that she was so proud of Mrs. Penney because she looked good and had been telling the class about her progress. Well, Natalia is on that Jillian Michaels bandwagon with me and wanted Mrs. Penney to have the Ripped in 30 dvd.

Now, this is definately an original and thoughtful gift, but it's also a touchy one and there is no way I am explaining the weight psyche issue to Natalia now. I figure I have another six years before I have to deal with that drama, maybe less since Madame Puberty decided to visit early. So, like a dutiful mom, I went to Target, bought the dvd and wrapped it all pretty like. I also wrapped it with the gift receipt and an explanation Happy Birthday card. It all worked out because Natalia says she loves it (it's seriously amazing) and is still updating the class about her progress.

Since we are on the subject of fitness I'm going to wrap this one up with some uber big news. Natalia made her first point EVER in basketball last Saturday, well that would be if they kept score. Let me tell it all "Shauna Style": Natalia was in charge of beginning the play by passing the ball into play. She ran down the court while some other kid was dribbling or something, I don't know. Over the deafening din of little girl yelling and squeaking sneakers I hear my sweet angel yell "I'm open! I'm open!" A miracle similar to Moses parting the Red Sea, the other player actually passed my little Lebron the ball. She dribbled two steps into her shot zone we had practiced and shot the ball. There was a tense moment as the ball circled the rim and then like manna from heaven it dropped into the basket. I rose to my feet like my chair was suddenly on fire and yelled like the village idiot. On my behalf even the coaches were astounded and shouted. Later at our celebratory mommy/daughter breakfast Natalia said she was in such awe that she almost started crying on the court, she was so happy. That made me tear up a little with happiness.

I guess there have been a lot of waterworks from me lately. I still partially blame the mess up with my Nuvaring. This time it wasn't a double up thing, I found it at the foot of our bed under the covers. No, I'm not pregnant, but I am looking into an IUD at this point. Happy tears, sad tears, tears because Natalia has happy tears. Oh my gosh. Poor Jeremy. I'm so glad he isn't one of those guys who gets uncomfortable around female tears. He wouldn't stand a chance.

You don't Gnome Me, but....

One of the people I work with says he writes a letter to his daughter on her birthday every year for her to read when she is older. His driving force behind this is for her to really know him should anything every happen to him. It sounds a bit macabre, but remember we are ER people who see lives change in seconds. This has been rolling around in my mind for a while and I realized that I really don't know anything about my parents as children at all. I know that my childhood has shaped  me into the woman I am and I want Natalia to know me as a person, not just as a "parent". I won't allow her to read this blog until she is much, much older - like ready to move out older. Maybe this will explain some of my intensity, quirks and fierceness, if she ever goes into therapy over my mothering. Above all else, I don't want my human-ness to ever catch her by surprise. So.... Hello Natalia, my name is Shauna.

I want you to know that my childhood was very different from yours. A lot of times when I mess up as a mom, apologize and tell you "Sorry, I just don't know because I've never been a mom before." it's because I also don't really have a lot to draw from. Most of my childhood I cannot remember because there was some very unpleasantness going on and my smart little brain has blocked it out for me. That being said, it wasn't very specific with just the unpleasantries, so the good stuff took off with the bad. Now when I try and conjure up memories of my childhood when I was little I'll get these flashes of ugliness and then just as quickly everything is a blank, I feel horrible, and I move on with my day. Remember all the talks we have had about good touch/bad touch? I will drill that into you forever and a day. My dad was so shady and ambiguous about it that not only did I think it was normal for a while, but when I outed him he called me a liar and said I was misconstruing a normal father/daughter relationship. I doubted myself until you were born and I saw how your daddy treats you. My dad was wrong and inappropriate and that is why you have never met him. He does not get the honour of your presence. You are a gift that he will not spoil.

Because of this past, you can be sure that I will be constantly on guard with the people around you. I will also be on guard with the way you dress, which is why you have always worn shorts or jeans under dresses. I'm sure the disagreements between you and daddy and I will become more intense as you get older, but just know that I am older and wiser than you. No, seriously. I totally am. For every hot guy that is checking you out in that "outfit" there is some old raunchy icky man checking you out too. Yuck. I'll move on because I'm creeping myself out here.

Just so you know, you come from a family of crazy on my side. I'll regale you with details when you are older, but just trust me on this one. Since I'm writing this at 35 and feel that I have made some pretty sound judgements so far, I think I have dodged that genetic crazy bullet. When I was ten, my mom had to be hospitalized because she had a mental breakdown. To this day I don't even really know what that means, but before that she was telling me that my My Little Ponys had to be thrown away because they were satanic and that she could hear angels talking through the TV. I came home from school one day and she was gone. I don't even know what precipitated that hospitalization, but knowing what I do now, it was something big. That was pretty much the day that I lost my mom. She never fully recovered after that.

She had to be shipped off to Georgia to be with her parents and Aunt Amanda was less than a year old and went with her. A couple of months later I was sent out there to visit, told that my parents were getting a divorce and that I wasn't going back. I have to admit that I was happy and ended up trying to tell my mom about my dad and what had been going on. I ended up chickening out when she tried to talk about it later because I was too embarrassed. Anyway, that is how I ended up in Georgia. Grandma Eddins was very sick then and I ended up helping her in a way that children shouldn't help adults. A child should never have to sit outside their parent's bathroom to ask them to come out and not hurt themselves. I never should have had to help raise my sisters because the man she chose to be with and stay with (second husband) was an abusive alcoholic/heroin addict. He was a real charmer and would spontaneously freak out for no reason by screaming and throwing things. Once he threw an entire pot of rice that I had made for dinner against the wall because I didn't fluff it with a fork before placing it on the table. I don't like him at all. I would try not to giggle because as he was yelling at me and calling me names his dentures were popping out of his mouth and he was pushing them back in. That's right - dentures and he was 32 years old. If you like your teeth, don't do drugs. Okay, back to the story....It's around this time that Grandma Eddins started relying on me to be her support system when she felt like she was crumbling emotionally. This is why I can be your friend, but you cannot be mine. I will never burden you with troubles that I have not already solved in my own mind. I may tell you what is troubling me, but I will never lay my woes at your feet. My feet are ready for your woes, your feet should be ready for your kids, and so on.

Ahhh money. I guess when I was small, money was fine. Like I said before, my memory has been swiss cheesed so I really wouldn't know about then. I'll tell you what money was like after my parent's divorce - it was scary. Like, I don't know if we are going to have a place to live scary. How did I know this? Ah, woes at my feet from my mom because her husband at the time was a total tool. By the way; I had begged her not to marry him because I saw right through him. We will talk about men in a minute. My clothing came from hand me down church donations and our food came from the church food pantry. How embarrassing for a teenager to pull around to the back of the church every Sunday to load up on groceries for the week. Not only that, but since my mom met her husband at church, everyone knew that the reason we had no money was because he decided to by a horse that week. Aren't addicts hilarious? It was pretty much a decade before I could eat rotisserie chicken again after that era. When college stuff came around I actually had a scholarship to any school in Georgia, but I was in such a hurry to escape that I wanted to go out of state. That was one of the worst decisions I have ever made. I ended up costing myself $40,000 in student loan debt by the time I was done and daddy has had to share that burden with me. I can tell you that I would make the same mistake all over again if it was my only way to crawl out of poverty. It's because of this that I will hound you like an apocolyptic horseman to get an education and a real job with insurance. Never live a life that you cannot afford on your own. My theory on men is this: they are like a pair of diamond earrings. They are beautiful and should make you feel special, but your life should be just fine if you don't have them.

That brings me to my last thoughts which are on men. Please, please, please find someone like daddy. Seriously. Take a good long look and study how he treats me because that is what it should be like. Is it perfect? No. Do we always get along and treat each other like we should? No. Is it a miracle that I snagged him? Oh, yeah and I'll tell you why. So I guess by the time you read this you are going to see girls around you who constantly gravitate to garbage men. Not the occupation, the inner personality. Statistically I am supposed to be a poverty level single mother with multiple children by multiple fathers who is uneducated and has addiction problems. Obviously I chose another path for myself. I'll get to that at the end too. Thankfully, through all that insane growing up I payed attention and was able to decipher what I didn't want. In true mommy form I actually made a list. Daddy hit all of them but one. I was hoping I would marry a Christian man, but he's working on it and He's working on it, so I'll stay out of it. Some of the stuff was silly, like how I wanted someone who could physically pick me up (I dated some short guys) and the guy had to have more that four letters to his name, but most of it was real. I didn't want someone who called me names, or yelled at me. I didn't want someone who hit or intimidated me. I didn't want someone who made me cry. I wanted someone who was a good kisser and told me how much he loves me. These men are out there, you just have to be aware of the garbage men. If you aren't sure, ask daddy. He'll tell you if this one is a good guy or not. The toughest part is will you trust us. Remember, we will always be wiser than you until our dementia sets in.

Alright, I'll wrap this up because the rest you can just ask me about I guess. What I really want you to know is that I have never let my past be an excuse for my present. What that means is that I made a decision that I wanted what I thought was a cookie cutter life and I went out and got it. That cookie cutter is going to be a different shape for everyone, but you have to work hard for it. No one bought SAT books for me to study so I could get into a good college. No one researched colleges with me or filled out applications with me. No one told me how to get financial aid, but I figured it out. I decided I wanted to be a nurse, so I jumped schools, navigated downtown Atlanta (which I had been petrified of doing) and did what I needed to do to get where I needed to go. Once I graduated I had you and I have been heart set on being a ferociously good and conscientious  mother to you. I have a lot of junk stored up inside that I will have to rake through from time to time. Daddy knows all about me and loves me inside and out. Even the yucky parts. Because he is the real deal Holyfield, I will put my relationship with him first because I want to teach you about marriage too. My hope is that you won't have to find your guy blindly like I did. You will know what true love looks and feels like because you have known it all your life. My hope is that by reading this you will get me and love me that much deeper because you know me that much more. You are a wonderful and loving girl who I cherish and will always protect because you are my gracious gift. I hope that you someday understand that I worked hard to give you a happy childhood full of silly memories and a loving family. I think of my life before as early payment for my joy that I have now.

Wait a Minute, Please, While I Freak Out.

So, my shocking parenting moment came last week when I noticed Natalia was throwing out a few first signs of puberty. Yes, I will spare you details, but trust me. These are objective, not subjective in nature and of course inner mommy panic has set in just a tad. So what did I do? Well of course I am not going down this road alone, so I tell Jeremy. He just gives me that deer in headlights look as Natalia is running naked across the house because she left her pajamas in her room and bath time took place in our wing of the house. Later that night he lets me know that all things biologically girly in nature are my responsibility, then he cleaned the house from top to bottom that week. That's a pretty fair trade off.

Natalia's first question was if she was going to get her menstrual cycle now. Good Lord. I told her that puberty is something that slowly evolves, but that I was hoping she had a few years before that evolution would start up. Now did she use the word "menstrual"? Of course not, she used the word "period" and the only reason she is privy to such info is from an unfortunate mother/daughter bathroom experience when she thought I needed to go to the ER for exsanguination due to an untimely start. It will always be a creepy and taboo discussion, no matter what age, so I try and keep it as "normal" as possible. It's still horrible, but I won't tell her that. She'll deduce that on her own. By the way, God puts babies in mother's bellies if she asks. She is seven, after all.

I have been looking at other girls with a hawk like diligence lately. I'm trying to see if Natalia looks any different than other girls her age, or I guess if she looks any different than she did two weeks ago when I was blissfully ignorant. Although I know better, I did some Googling and read up on some dreadful diagnosis regarding early puberty, brain tumors, premature closure of growth plates and other such downers. Then I relayed that to Jeremy because he is my partner in worry and "we" decided to just call her pediatrician and set down the Google.

Natalia told me that she doesn't want to grow up because she likes being a kid. That made me really happy in that "fill your soul" kind of way. How amazing to have a childhood that you love being in and a part of. At basketball tonight I saw Natalia make this funny face and instantly I recognized that face from a picture we took when she was a day old. How funny that I can still see my baby in that little girl. We were sitting in the mommy chair tonight because she had a particularly bad day. I was explaining to her that we are God's children and she told me that I was more like God's teenager. She's too funny. That's when I explained to her that I can still see the baby I first met in the face of my little girl. She teared up and said "That makes me sad because I am so happy. Thank you mommy for saying that." That is her way of saying she was crying tears of joy. I never would have thought that when I looked at her face at a day old that I would see the face of my daughter. At the time I only saw "a baby". Now I realize she has been there all along because she is who she is.

I know myself enough to say that I will continue to freak out as she grows because that's just me. By God, I will bring Jeremy along for the ride on this crazy train. In my heart I know that every milestone brings on another fun parenting adventure, but, honestly, I was just getting settled into this one and I wanted to hang here for a while. As much as I would like the universe to revolve around me, I'm pretty sure it just doesn't. I will say that it is a comfort to get a glimpse of my baby from time to time and know that she is and has always been my daughter.

I'll Take My Mistake Well Done, Please

Natalia's latest and greatest extracurricular activity is basketball and this has been her favorite by far. Better than gymnastics, karate, dance, waaay better than swimming since her eyebrows stay dry. Not only is she tall for her age, but you would think with her still always running and being on her toes she would be a natural sprinter. Well, not so much. In fact it is a blast watching her out on the court because she is having such a great time that she will spontaneously break out into a twirl here and there. It's like her own little happy dance just for being part of the team. Meanwhile the game is kind of going on without her. Oh well - she's more artsy than sporty and she's having fun... most of the time.

I was so totally stoked on a Saturday morning because it was the first time I got to watch her practice. She was all decked out in her maroon and sparkly silver jersey with her kicky pony tale and Nikes. You should have seen her defense. She was all over that girl like a spider monkey - jumping up and down, waving her arms, sticking to that girl all over the court. There was one problem. Natalia was doing everything she could to stay away from the ball. She seriously didn't want to have anything to do with it. Now, last time I checked, the game was called Basketball with an emphasis on the spherical orange object itself. She obviously liked the game Blond Defender much better. None the less, I was still the mom laughing too loud, taking too many pictures, and clapping at every move during a practice session for the "non-competitive Jesus-loves-us basketball program". I'm sure they all figured out that she's an only child.

After practice I told her how great her defense was, told her about cellular demise from dehydration when she refused to drink water, realized she needed to start wearing deodorant before basketball, and asked her what was up with not wanting the ball. This is when my heart broke a bit. She told me that she didn't want the ball because she was afraid she would try to shoot and miss. Ugh. She didn't want to try because she was afraid of making a mistake and said that she thought I would be upset. Well I felt like scum mother dog poop maggot slime.

I lied, because that is what scum mother dog poop maggot slimers do. Well, I didn't exactly lie all the way, I just exaggerated the truth a bit. Are you laughing yet because I am just digging myself deeper, aren't I? Okay, I told her that out of the eight shots that were thrown by the girls, only two made it. I totally made that up because number four is this basketball child prodigy (and she's white!) who can practically throw mid court and make a three pointer. She is messing up my bell curve and my pep talk, so I left her out of my figures. Thankfully Natalia wasn't paying attention to her either (probably because she was too busy dancing and spinning during practice) and felt better that everybody is new to this. So we set some goals. Her goal was to take control of the ball, throw it and miss the basket as much as she can. Yep, miss it. Why? Because then she won't be scared of that horrible monster named Mistake that has her fretting at night and unable to wind down for bed.

My girlfriend Lani and I were having a discussion this week about the difficulty of not stepping in to help your child. As moms we are so used to doing and fixing and solving, but then when they are in the older toddler stage like her little Lael, you have to start backing up and letting them figure it out. Oh, my chest and stomach tighten up just thinking about her predicament. As we talked Lani's nose wrinkled up in that sour "I know I should, but I don't want to" kind of way. It sucks and it is so much harder than just jumping in and fixing it. But then you have to think of the long term: Let them figure out how to manage their own problems now before there are situations that lead to things like "clear blue easy" problems in the future. Yeah, you won't be anywhere near that inner dialogue then so they better have some pretty sound reasoning skills laid out ahead of time. And you just thought it was playground stuff! Okay, let's all pause and get a drink........

What I need now is to figure out a way to show Natalia that I want her to make mistakes, but only if she has tried her best. I don't care if she misses the basket as long as she has gone for the ball. I was more disappointed that she never tried because she was afraid of a failure that never had a chance to even happen. What kills me the most is I am near tears right now because I am the same way. There are times when I have put something off until the last moment because I have doubted my abilities, so I was afraid to start. The book I wrote for Natalia was one of them. I have been wanting to write that book for her for four years, but I was afraid it would turn out so amateur. Now I am afraid to send it to a publisher because of the rejection. Oh pot, thou art black.

Okay, okay. I'll be honest with Natalia about my fears because the best way for her to see that mistakes are okay is to see me make them. We'll even pinkie swear on trying new things, because pinkie swears are a big deal. I know I like order, neatness and perfection, but she really needs to know that somedays I forget to brush my teeth running out the door, I hurt people's feelings because I am mean and sometimes I am too afraid of failure to try. You know what she'll tell me? "Mommy, being brave doesn't mean you aren't scared. It means you are scared and do it anyway." Why? Because that's what I have been telling her all these years and she's super smart. She's all that and a bag of chips.

Locks of Love

Hair is a big deal not only to me, but also to Natalia. Showering is monumental and rather time consuming not because of the act itself, but because our hair takes some management. It's an unruly thing and a force to be reckoned with, but when tamed, it's pretty fabulous. I'm not exaggerating when I say that it takes either one of us around 15 to 20 minutes to get our locks blown out after a shower and we are not the kind of girls who can just wash and go. Since this blog is mostly about Natalia we will stick to simply discussing her hair.

So bathing becomes quite the ordeal when you have to carve out 15 minutes of shower time/singing/My Little Pony time, 5 minutes of Aquafor slathering for her eczema, 8 minutes trying to get jammies on over that Aquafor'd skin, then the hair. She really does have beautiful hair, but holy cow it takes forever to dry. It's this wavy-mostly straight concoction that you must dry or it will totally end up wonky in the morning. And when I say dry, I mean you have to completely dry it - not that "mostly dry so you don't catch a cold" kind of thing. I even go so far as to blow it out with a round brush and it looks amazing for bedtime. Then it gets put into a ponytail, she sweats all night while she sleeps and it needs to be blown out again in the morning, but whatever.

Okay, so those of you who don't have little girls cannot fully appreciate what it is like to fix little girl hair. They don't just stand there for twenty minutes and thank you for beautifying them. Especially not Natalia. Tonight was a total riot. For Christmas she got a microphone on a stand so she had her microphone set up in front of the bathroom mirror while she sang very "Janis Joplin" style and danced while I chased her head around with the brush and hair dryer. It's never a dull moment. Every once in a while she'll let me flat iron her hair which looks so good, but I have accidentally burned her ears a couple of times, so she is pretty wary of my skills. Event hair is my favorite. Last week we curled and set her hair for "My Fair Lady". It was a very big deal and some very big hair. Y'all know how I feel about big hair. Let's all fan our faces beauty pageant style......

I have to say my heart is a little heavy when I conceded to let Natalia have bangs if she gets 100% on her spelling test this week. I'm a little hopeful though because they have words like "ostrich" and stuff. Luckily she has missed it on both pre-tests. I just think that bangs will be such a pain in the morning and will deflect from those beautiful blue eyes, but she has been begging me for almost a year. You just can't come between a girl and her hair though. So here's to all of us girls with our hair spray, hair tinsel, round brushes, color and hair dressers we are practically married to. Also.... here is to Natalia making a 99% on her spelling test tomorrow.

Sleeping is Overrated Anyway

Sometimes you just kind of wake up in your own life. Case in point: My girlfriend Lindsey is six months pregnant and was blogging about having the realization that she was going to be a mother while driving to work. No, she isn't someone who is going to have her baby in a toilet thinking she really needed to take a duke, it's just that sometimes things take time to really sink in. I recently woke up to the fact that Natalia is a little insomniac. It kind of sucks and I have been Ferberizing that kid since day one. When in doubt, blame the other parent's genetics. Jeremy has horrible insomnia problems.

Natalia's pediatrician has been "politely in a judg-y way" reminding me that Natalia is overdue for a physical by a year and a half, so we finally took her in last week. Honestly, I wouldn't have done it if she wasn't having extra horrible sleep stuff problems. Seriously - you are billing my insurance hundreds of dollars to weigh my child and tell her to drink more milk. It's silly. Don't get me wrong, I really like Natalia's pediatrician, I just think doctors are a little overused sometimes. So as I bring up the subject of Natalia's sleeping patterns and I am really listening to myself I realize my kid has NEVER REALLY SLEPT THROUGH THE NIGHT. Dammit. All that Ferber reading and preaching and I still got the short end of the stick. Guess who's awake now?

Here's how it goes: Natalia goes to bed and we have a normal bedtime ritual. She'll be asleep until around midnight or so, then she'll wake up with a few things 1. Leg pains (growing pains) 2. thirst (we now keep water at her bedside) 3. bathroom (scary at night by herself) 4. sleep running. That's right.... running. Why walk when you could run into the next room while mom is watching a scary movie and scare the bejesus out of her? This is usually accompanied by incoherent mumbling and the sad clown face. Word of advice - don't ever wake up the sleep runner. They freak out and you cannot get them back to sleep for hours and possibly a dose of Benadryl.

Okay, so I return her to bed, subconsciously tell her to return to her paralytic stage of sleep and exit the room. What happens next? She wakes up for real usually because of options 1-3. Those are addressed, she gets anxious about no longer feeling tired and comes in my room every 20 minutes for the next three to four hours until I tell her that I am about to lock my door and she can sleep on the sofa for all I care.

We have had the discussion that her sleep (or lack thereof) is her problem, not mine. I was relieved to hear her pediatrician back me up on this one, which is why I like her so much. I have been coaching that beautiful child for a week during the daylight hours on what to do when she wakes up at night. I even had her go to her desk and write out some ideas of her own and draw pictures. Yeah, yeah - very cheese ball, but I was also trying to make dinner. I'll tell you what: I have fantasized about those "Mommy Dearest" posey restraints to keep her in bed at 3am when she is waking me up for the sixth time.

See, the thing she has on Jeremy and I is that she's an only child and we have nothing to compare her with. We just assumed all children sleep like breastfeeding infants. Granted, it's exceptionally bad right now for some reason and I know it will get better. Yes, I have gone all psycho-babble on her about stress, then all nurse on her with her itchy eczema and leg pain, now I am going all super nanny on her and just laying down some ground rules because I think she is taking Jeremy and I for a ride.

I am not kidding... She just walked into the living room right now babbling on and sleepwalking (not running at least) and I walked her back to bed. See I told you.

Well, I guess sleeping is overrated and a small price to pay for being a mom of a fabulous daughter. Besides, She stays at Jeremy's parent's house the nights I work and I get uninterrupted sleep then, so I can't complain too much. Talk about being slow on the uptake though - I seriously just realized last week that it's probably not normal that my seven year old doesn't sleep through the night.

'Twas the Night Before Christmas

I think I love Christmas because I am really a theme junkie. It helps me focus if I have a theme. Parties, vacations, decorating, holidays... whatever. I love a theme. Except Valentines Day. I'm not sure why, but that day annoys me to no end. Just writing that makes me angry, and Jeremy gets me cute cards and gifts, so it's not like he ruined it for me or anything. Lovable theme or not, all holidays come with baggage and pressure. A big problem has been this adult space/time continuum thing. No one adequately explains that the older and happier you get, the faster time goes. Now I say things like "only three months" and genuinely panic because it is just never enough time. Christmas snuck up on me like a ninja. I even had it on my Google calendar, dammit!

This year for Christmas I got a little over zealous, but I think I pulled it off and the only casualty was the Christmas cards (which I still totally blame on Snapfish who ruined my timeline). Thank goodness I have a little girl who loves to be as crafty as I am because she is now at the age where she is actually helpful instead of an adorable disaster. She loves a theme too so we make quite a team. Together we made Christmas goodies, but most importantly we made the goodies presentable. For her big Christmas present this year I redecorated her room and she helped roll on the paint with me and my friends from work. Yes it would have been cool to go all Extreme Makeover with it and keep it a secret until Christmas, then have this grand unveiling; but who am I kidding. I barely pulled all this off. Oh, I also wrote and illustrated a children's book just for her. Yeah, I went a little over board this year. By the way, both turned out fabulous.

Since it is Christmas Eve and I had to work, Jeremy and Natalia came by the ER to visit and drop off some cookies and coffee. Natalia brought her new toy - a pretty awesome remote control helicopter which she is already better at maneuvering than me. That's one of the perks of weekend nights in the ER - you can get away with some quasi controlled shenanigans. It was hilarious watching this helicopter fly around the nurses station and all of us laughing and ducking while she and I were trying to control the kamikaze. It's a good thing that sucker is tough. Natalia also got to pick out a gift from the box of toys that the paramedics had dropped off earlier. She and I sat on the floor rummaging through wrapped toys because you can't just make a rash decision when it comes to stuff like this. You really have to consider your options.

I can't even begin to explain how it feels to be at work where it is so busy and nerve wracking, then to suddenly have a piece of home with you. It's probably because I'm tired, but sometimes having Natalia so separated from me pulls harder than other times. It's weird. They start out you, then inside you, then out of you but still attached to you most of the time, but then they spend the rest of their lives detaching themselves. I know that is what I am working towards, but sometimes it is a harder tension than others. I feel those brief moments of closeness that only a parent can know and it kind of hurts. Anyway, back to Christmas.

Forgive me as my mind wanders through this blog. There have been a lot of less than ideal amounts of sleep lately and I just finished an ER shift. I still have a couple of gifts to wrap since it is Christmas Eve and there are stockings to stuff. Tomorrow I get to shut off the rest of the world and just be with my favorite people, playing Rock Band and watching "It's a Wonderful Life". They are the ones who think I'm pretty in my pj's, the one's who make my life a joy and who treat me like I am the best gift ever. God's grace and love are never more apparent than when we are together. It's tangible, palpable and I love it. Merry Christmas.

Dream the Impossible Dream

As mothers you just really cannot tell us that some things are impossible. One of my favorite books is Lewis Carroll's "Alice in Wonderland". On my refrigerator right now is a magnet with the quote from the Red Queen who states "... I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast." Now if I were to tell my husband he was to get Natalia up, dressed, pottied, fed, teeth brushed, hair styled (not just brushed, we are talking matching ribbons and all), clothes styled (again, matching), book bag organized, snack ready, pep talk, dog fed, dog pottied, car warmed up and everyone in the warmed up car with a coffee in hand for mommy (who is in jammie pants because you have to cut corners somewhere) all in the span of 25 minutes; he would tell me that was impossible. Well I think I believe in well over six impossible things before breakfast every school morning, don't you? Three snaps in a Z formation for Mommy, the Red Queen.

The past couple of weeks I have been working on a different mission impossible. I am trying to brainwash my child. It's not as easy as those koolaid drinking, white tennis shoe wearing people have made it out to be. Either that, or Natalia is just not a very good candidate. I guess I'll thank God for that, but ask for some divine help on my specifics. Here's my Christmas wish: How do you make something that is important to me, important to her? We usually agree on the important stuff like glitter goes with everything and that it's the shoes that make an outfit. Why can't she also understand that everything she has learned cannot be counted if she won't write it down - legibly. It's like charting: If you didn't chart it, it didn't happen. She doesn't get that one either.

My child isn't dumb, doesn't have a learning disability and doesn't need to be diagnosed with some sort of alphabet soup or anything more than maybe a case of second grade apathy. I mean, I can kind of see her point. When asked by her teacher, she knows the answers to all of the questions. Natalia just doesn't want to take the time to write any of it down. She has other things she would like to do, like recess, computers, or catching up on her conspiracy theory gossip regarding the triangle people (they are all around us!). If she was an adult and lived in L.A. she would have a personal assistant who could write it all down for her, but in the meantime, she is getting failing grades on her seat work. Ouch.

Finally I had to get all hard core with Natalia and make her (let's all grab our hearts like we are about to have a coronary) HANDLE IT HERSELF! Oh the pain and agony of a mother not stepping in to micromanager her child's existence. Brutal! This "Oprah Ah-ha Moment" came about when I found Natalia's report card on a Monday morning after she had been at Grandma's house for the weekend. She had got 1's (lowest grade) in handwriting and whatever way they label her seat work. We have been on Natalia about this since parent/teacher conferences about a month ago. Our goal for her had been for her to slow down  and only write down correct answers as opposed to what she has been doing - turning in bogus answers to questions she isn't even reading so she can be the first one done or head out to recess. Our pleading with Natalia after parent/teacher conferences did cause some tears, but had no effect. Neither did taking away all but an hour of TV a day. I thought we would have her at that one. That is when I changed tactics.

That Monday Morning I explained to Natalia that 1's are unacceptable and that daddy, Ms. Penney and I have all tried to help her and discuss what to do to make her go slowly. I told her that us talking about it isn't helping so I was going to drive her to school and she was going to have to take her report card to Ms. Penney and ask Ms. Penney directly what she could do to make her grades better. I also told her that these grades are her responsibility because I have already finished second grade and that it is her turn. I can't do this for her, she has to do it for herself. I drew a heart with a Sharpie on the inside palm of her hand and kissed it so she would think of me when she saw the heart and know I was with her in spirit, so to speak. I told her that I would not stay at that meeting with her because this was between she and Ms. Penney.

She didn't throw a tantrum, she didn't argue, but she was quiet on the way to school. I checked her in and walked her to the classroom. With her report card in hand, she went up to Ms. Penney's desk and said "Ms. Penney, can I talk to you about my 1's?" I kissed her on the head and walked away.... then I started to tear up. I was so proud of her and wanted so badly to go back and talk for her, fix it, hold her and tell her that it's okay. That wouldn't really fix anything, now would it?

Now Natalia gets all 3's (the highest) on all of her class work and is actually going to be skipping ahead to the third grade next week because we have discovered that she is really a child prodigy and was just bored in class. Just kidding. She is still rushing through her work and would rather talk with her friends than finish her seat work. Seriously, I don't even know what this magical seat work is, and why can't she just be quarantined or something so she isn't so distracted? She has asked to be moved to a quieter spot, so that is our next step. The point is that in spite of the urging of her parental units and her fabulous teacher, we still cannot make her see that any of this is important. She just pacifies us with twenty minutes of taking in all of our lecturing, then goes about her class days with business as usual. What's a mom to do? Keep believing the impossible, of course.

There are times that I lose the faith and would rather just get mad at Natalia for her not doing things my way (hence the Red Queen, all things are My Way), but then I look back and realize that she will get it done in her own way and probably at the very last moment. That drives me nuts. Same destination, different journey. Maybe I'll call her the White Queen someday, but only when she moves out because this week we had the discussion that there can be only one Queen per household. This was followed by "all things in this house are mine, even things bought by other people" (she's sharp and you have to quickly cover your loop holes) and she is never to throw any of my things, EVER. Right now she is having a horrible time sleeping and is being extra difficult, so I know that she is about to conquer a milestone. I'm hoping it's the educational milestone and not some gross motor skills thing.

Yeah! More Queen mommy sitting back and watching. I'd like to think that I am lounging back all "Mother in the Hampton's" style, sipping on something with vodka. Realistically I am "Mother in Braces" sitting on the edge of the sofa, drinking iced tea from a Subway cup I should have thrown away a week ago and grinding those pretty braces to nubs. Either way, different journey, same destination right? I'll just get a "Mother Hampton's" hat and believe what I want.

Southern Comfort

I'll warn you up front, this blog may be a little heavy on the Shauna and lighter on the mommy/Natalia thing. It was a rough week at the office.

Okay, think back to when your little angel (they are always sweet and perfect in hind sight) was smaller and she had her comfort object. Natalia has had a few, but nothing that she had to take with her everywhere she went. I do remember her being around two months old and me crying in the pediatricians office to the nurse because Natalia would nurse almost constantly and I was so tired. The nurse lovingly took Natalia from my arms so I could have a mini melt down and told me "Hon, she's not eating, she's just using you as a pacifier." She would never take to the plastic kind and constantly having her attached to me was no longer an option. The gig was up, but she had me going for a while.

Besides Natalia's bedtime friends Slippin' Booty (okay, I'm making fun of her toddler mispronunciation of Sleeping Beauty) and John Bear, her other tried and true soother is hair. Specifically my hair. When I would hold her over my shoulder and she was either upset or ready to conk out, she would reach over my shoulder, around my neck and rub my hair between her thumb and fingers. Although it seems like eons ago, I used to be able to pick her up while she was sleeping without herniating a disc and unconscious and all, she would still reach her little hand behind my neck to rub my hair. She simply cannot resist playing with my bangs when we are having an eye level "coming to Jesus meeting" about something important and when she is sleeping and my hair isn't available, she rubs her own bangs. She wakes up with this little Treasure Troll looking tuft of hair in the front sometimes. Too cute. Aah, comfort.

Like I said, I had a super, five miles horrible bad day at the office. Now because I am a nurse and because I have to keep my patient's confidentiality, I can't go into specifics. I'll do as much dancing around the details as I can to respect her privacy and keep my job.

My patient was mean to me. Now, I have been in an ER for seven years now and people are mean to me all the time. It's okay, I can take it. Like I said to one of my co-workers that day "At least I don't work on the floor where I would have her for 12 hours, three days a week." The plan was for her to be admitted if I could only get the order for a bed upstairs. In the meantime, she had fired me as her nurse several times (which I told her was not an option), been on the call light at least every twenty minutes or so, was demanding, degrading, tried to pick fights multiple times, spent her entire ER stay yelling and screaming and loudly had been calling me some very unlady-like names. I realized about five hours into her stay that she needed comfort that she was never going to get through and IV, so I prayed at her bedside. My prayers are pretty much how I talk to y'all because it seems silly to put on a front for God. I don't know if you know this, but He reads minds! Crazy, right?! This was my prayer: "God, this woman is horrible and mean, but sad. Please give her some comfort. She's still horrible. Amen." Hey. I am who I am.

Of course she didn't know I was praying about her. I mean, how could she? She was too busy asking me if I was a sadist who enjoyed seeing people in pain. I did the best I could to make her content. Of course it didn't work, but I did my part. Unfortunately she died suddenly and unexpectedly. There are a lot more details to this story, but trust me that this was devastating enough. In my seven years of nursing I have never walked in on a patient who was dead that I had just checked on fifteen minutes before. I'm not talking "circling the drain" or agonal. This woman was dead. She finally got her comfort, so I guess God was listening after all.

As you could well imagine, I needed some comfort. There was no way I could keep it together on this one. I have amazing co-workers who helped me clean up the mess, sort out my other patients and take over while I left the floor to sit on the curb outside in the ambulance bay. The patient's admitting doctor came out, sat with me and gave me reassurance and a big hug. That was comforting, but what I needed was Natalia's equivalent of hair rubbing. That would be My Jeremy. I called him and told him I needed him to come to the hospital because when my world is falling apart, he steadies me. He got there like my black knight all in uniform, hugged me and helped me recap things in a logical way rather than my hysterical Shauna crazy-pants state I was in. I made it through the rest of my shift that day (barely) and Jeremy took the rest of his shift off so he could meet me at home with flowers and a cheeseburger.

Earlier that day, way before all this drama, I had a sweet patient that I actually enjoyed talking to. We got on the subject of kids and how her one regret is that her son is an only child and has no siblings to comfort him when she and her husband are gone. Ugh! The singleton guilt. It comes around every once in a while, but after Saturday night I have a different perspective. Given Natalia isn't some sort of a social leper, she will be just fine. If God gifts her even half the quality of amazing people that have surrounded me since my no good, horrible, very bad day, she will be comforted. Family is what you make it. It may be a dear friend who's hair she plays with when I am sick or gone, or maybe she will have an amazing husband with longer hair. Although I don't know how I feel about that. I'm kind of partial to men with short hair. Whatever the case, I feel really sad for the patient who had no one there to comfort her, but I am thankful for all the loving people I have around me. I have to give a special thank you and shout out to Christine, Amy C. and Kelly - oh, and My Jeremy, of course.

From the Mouth of Babes

So, I am thinking this is going to be a blog that I won't want to show Natalia until she's a bit older. It has to do with her language evolution and a shocker she threw out there to Jeremy and I on Tuesday night. Let me set the stage for you. Natalia has had some time off of school since last Friday and so have I. You know what this means.... Late nights and lots of family time. By Tuesday night she had been staying up late every night since Friday, we had just had our Thanksgiving celebration the night before with lots of family and friends over and as you can well imagine, it was catching up with her. She was totally out of sorts and Jeremy and I weren't helping things along at all. We had a Groupon for dinner and she was all over the place at the dinner table - totally unlike her. Then we decided to hit a couple of stores and I promised her a craft for the next day since I left for work at 10:30 and Jeremy would be sleeping for another hour or so. Well what was next to the craft store? A couple of home stores all decked out with Christmas-y stuff. I mean really, who could resist? Then TJ Maxx was open until 9:30, which was totally, like a sign we should go there, right?

Okay, so as parents we had pushed the limit of a tired, overstimulated, off her schedule, off her rocker, totally labile child. She actually does really well in spite of her Natalia style meltdown. They are really tame compared to some other parent's stories I've heard, so I can't complain. She was playing hide and seek in the middle of the clothing displays while I was trying to look for sweaters for her when she knocked a couple of sweaters off the hanger. As frustrating as that was, she took it upon herself to hang the sweaters back up and apologized, all the while laughing in that creepy "I'm about to lose it any second" kind of way. I got frustrated and said "Okay, let's go. You are being a pest and need to go to bed." That was it. She didn't protest, we found daddy and left the store. Might I add without spending a dime, thank you very much.

Natalia spends the drive home quietly playing on Jeremy's phone, we pull into the driveway and then she lets it fly. Okay - be prepared for some potty talk because I am quoting my child and even I will blush as I type this. "Mommy made me sad because she said we had to leave the store because I was being a pussy!"............. Oh My Gosh.

First of all, I don't even want to say the name of the movie "Puss in Boots" because it's embarrassing let alone use the "P" word ever. Jeremy knows this, so we looked at each other and tried not to laugh at my sweet cherub using such a vulgar word. Jeremy asked her to repeat herself just to make sure we heard her correctly. Ya know, every once in a while your kid will say something that sounds like a cuss word, but she was just mispronouncing something or making up words and has no idea what she said. I ignore those. Nope. She repeated this verbatim. I asked her if she knew what it meant. Okay, now when she was complaining about my rudeness to her she was loudly bawling and carrying on. All of a sudden she realized that something was up and clear and calm as could be said, "No. What does it mean?" It's amazing how she can turn off the drama so quickly when she wants to.

So here is another one of those panic moments when you have to think quick on your parental high heels. This is my explanation of cussing to Natalia: Cuss words are usually bad words to describe potty words. We were watching TV (a prime time show on ABC, mind you) a week before and they said the word "ass". She knew right away that was a cuss word and told me she won't say that. I told her that "ass" is another word for butt, the "sh" word is another word for poop and the word "pussy" (ewe!) is another word for a girls potty or vagina. These are the cuss words I knew she was already familiar with. Jeremy pipes in and says that there are different cuss words for other boy body parts too. She wanted to know what those are, but increasing her inner obscenity thesaurus was not the point of our conversation. I told her that cuss words are ugly and that no matter how beautiful someone is on the outside, if they use ugly words it makes them appear ugly. She was right on board with this and told me that it is is the things people say and think that makes a person beautiful. Okay, see me fanning my face with misty eyes all proud mama, beauty pageant winner style right now.

Since I knew she had that concept down, I told her that the best thing to do is to always find clever words to describe something without having to cuss. Jeremy told her that someday she will want to say ugly things because some of her friends will talk that way. This is yet another one of those times when she looks at us like we are poor pathetic parents who have a combined IQ of about 100, but she tolerates us anyway. She assured us she will not fall prey to the potty mouth peer pressure. I told her that there are always funny words she can use instead and told her that instead of the "P" word she could use peekachoo. Whoops. Why the whoops? She thought this word is in fact hilarious and she is so proud to use this word for the rest of the night. Picture my darling seven year old dancing around the house in her undies laughing and singing "I'm shaking my peekachoo, I'm shaking my peekachoo." That was not the point I was going for. Jeremy just looked at me while trying not to laugh and simply says "Nice job."

You may be wondering where my little piece of human perfection heard this nasty word. I blame the playground. You just cannot insulate your child from other children and whatever they pick up from their families and older siblings. I assume the kids who pass this information along to children as young as this have tween or teen siblings. It's fascinating fodder for a second grader and must be passed on at recess, even if that child has no idea what any of that means. Jeremy and I are not cussers. Well, I have to admit an "sh" word has spewn from my mouth all Exorcist style a couple times when I have been pulled over by police and Natalia was with me. Of course, the words "stupid" and "hate" are also bad words in my house and I am also guilty of those a time or two. I can assure all of you that the "P" word is not a part of my vocabulary, and since Natalia obviously had no idea what she was saying, she didn't get in trouble or yelled at for her obscenity. Just a loving "coming to Jesus meeting" about cuss words and to please not say it again, ever.

Cursing seems like the absolute character foil of who I think Natalia is. I know there are so many worse things that a person can do, but she is such a sweet, thoughtful, intuitive and sensitive person that hearing such blatant ugliness come out of her mouth is down right shocking. I'm glad that she gets the point that what we say determines how people see us and can take away from our outer beauty. That tells me that I'm doing a good job - okay, I'll give some props to Jeremy too. We are doing a good job. I know that it was ugly and I sure as Hades didn't want to condone it, but oh my gosh was it hard not to laugh. I'm glad it happened in a dark truck with her in the back seat because Jeremy and I almost lost it. My sweet little angel and that beautiful potty mouth. Lord help me.

The First Rule of Fight Club

Once you get past about age two or three, you lose the crutch of those great baby books. Sure, there are parenting books out there all the way up to "How to Get Rid of Your 28 Year Old Squatter Child", but it's no longer broad spectrum cookie cutter behavior. Case in point: We all know babies learn to sit up at a certain age, go through some separation anxiety, and you cannot convince a toddler that the nightmare she just had about the store mannequin in her closet was not real (um, that was my issue as a child. Remember, this is a judgement free zone). There is no concrete, textbook way to deal with seven year old drama, social graces, friendship nuances or fashion faux pas. You gotta wing it sister because all those books out there are just someone's opinion. You can find one that supports the opinion you have already established, but seriously you might as well just save yourself the twelve bucks and just find a girlfriend who agrees with you. Even Natalia's second grade teacher, Mrs. Penney, is very patient with Jeremy and I when we give her desperate parent faces and say "We've never been through second grade before." Well, obviously we made it through second grade (damn you Ms. Dobson), but never on this end.

So, even though I think I have the best husband ever, there are days when there is unrest in Lacowland. Now, in my artful way of oversimplifying things, I have come to the conclusion that there are three basic schools of parenting when it comes to how parents deal with their children when there is civil unrest between the parental units. School number one: Pretend there is nothing wrong. The typical problem with this plan of action is the parents are either  never around each other, or they are constantly wearing this creepy fake smile like the people in "The Further" from that movie "Insidious". Haven't seen the movie? OMG - Totally one of my fav's and you must go to a Redbox now and rent it. I'll wait for you while you watch it....... Amazing huh. Totally scary. Alright, back to the point. Kids are super intuitive and will see right through your shenanigans and this usually just stresses them out more. They know something is wrong, but no one is saying anything, but there is something definitely wrong. Obviously this is not how I roll.

The second school of thought is the other side of the spectrum. These are the parents who really just don't give a fig and get down and dirty in front of their kids. They scream, yell and say very unflattering things without using their adult filter. Parents - unless you have a lead lined, sound proof panic room or your kids are comatose when they sleep - they hear you. Another thing to think about is even if they are asleep, your words are invading their subconscious because YES THEY CAN HEAR YOU! Think about it. How much fun is it to mess with your sleeping angel while she is in the throws of slumber. Jeremy and I do this all the time. You go in and start asking her questions while she is sleeping because you get the most random answers. We usually do this until she gets mad and then we leave her alone. She's so cute. I also go in and give her subconscious positive affirmations while she is sleeping. Hokie, but I'll give her whatever upper hand I can. Besides, all the things I tell her are totally true.

Finally, there is the Shauna way. When Jeremy and I aren't agreeing, we do so when Natalia is out of the house and Jeremy and I are always respectful of each other, inside the fighting ring and out. I've already talked about that, so I'll spare you. Do I dump on Natalia? No way, she's my child, not my BFF. I can be her friend, but she cannot be mine. That's how I think the whole mommy/daughter thing should work. I do want her to know that Jeremy and I don't always get along and I have a good reason why. When she was little, I thought I wanted to shield her from any civil unrest that Jeremy and I may have. Then I thought about it as she was older and realized that was selling her a lie. What I really want her to know is that Jeremy and I are a stable unit and that she doesn't have to worry. I thought that if she thought everything was always copacetic between he and I that she wouldn't have to worry about us getting a divorce. My thinking evolved a little and I realized what I really want her to know is that Jeremy and I can disagree, be poopie to one another (respectfully) and keep it together in the end. I tell her that just like her playground posse, we don't always get along, but we are still friends. I think that's a better lesson. Oh, and she is never privy to disagreement discussion details. She's a child and adult conversations are none of her beeswax.

I do need to give some props to Jeremy for the past couple weeks. This blog was inspired because I have been in rare form, even for me. You see, I accidentally doubled up on my birth control, which is the Nuvaring. Now y'all can google the Nuvaring if you aren't familiar with that contraception, then laugh at me. Well, I did figure it out, corrected the situation, but I have had double the hormones on board for about two weeks. Now add that to a flood of hormones I normally get around this time and you can all get the mental image of me being totally labile and what I call "crazy pants". Women who have been pregnant understand how powerful hormones really are. It's creepy and frustrating. Because I have been in such a state, I actually sent Jeremy out of the house to poker night and told him to take his time, that's how bad it's been. Y'all know how possessive I usually am about my Jeremy time, so for me to give that up shows what a martyr I really am. Now that's true love. I am still riding this hormonal wave, but my amazing husband snuck into my work last night and brought me a balloon that said "Princess" on it. He loves me, in spite of me, high maintenance and all.

All the Pretty Things

I was hoping in my mommy delusional kind of way that if I raised Natalia with a consistent loving father and a family that placed importance on her inner strength I could avoid her being pre-occupied with her looks. It made me slightly panic and cringe the other day when she told me she wants a "skinny belly" while getting ready to step into the shower. I assured her that she is a normal size and most importantly everyone is built a special way. I also assured her that God doesn't make mistakes, so she is perfect just the way she is. Hello, my name is Shauna and I'm a total hypocrite since I really don't practice what I am preaching. Well, such is parenting.

I am convinced this thought process is genetic in nature, not just to my family, but to girls in general. I remember being her age and wanting my mother to tie the sash around my dress extra tight so I would look like I had a "skinny waist". Mind you I was seven. Natalia told me a few years ago that she wanted a belly like the Disney princesses. I had to explain to her that these were just cartoons and no one should ever have a waist smaller than her head. Besides, where would you keep all your internal organs? I'm pretty sure Ariel has only two feet of bowels, which means she suffers from constant diarrhea. Poor Ariel.

Now, I am not shady about the fact that I have had plastic surgery. I don't think plastic surgery is any more fake than upgrading the exhaust system on my car. Is my car less of a Mustang because I now have a Flowmaster Super 44 exhaust system with chrome pipe tips? Hardly. As a mater of fact, it's pretty awesome and has a fabulous growl to it. That being said, I know there are people that totally overdo it and end up the equivalent of Geo Metro with too many "upgrades", so the car is strange at best. Natalia knows that I have had breast implants and I was honest in telling her why. I was a fully grown adult who could afford my modifications and wanted bigger boobs. Bottom line. I still love them and they look great, which in turn makes me feel a little more self confident. I would like to say that I feel fabulous on brains alone, but I'm a horrible liar.

The tricky part of raising a girl is the dance of inner beauty vs. outer beauty. I think both are important. I let her know that I work out to be healthy, but that I also like the way my body looks when I am consistent. It is important to be kind to people and take their feelings into consideration, but it is also important to look your best self when you are out and about. Please put emphasis on "your best self" which means ya work with what ya got.

Natalia and I have already had a conversation about body types and the difference between my body and hers. I have said many times over that Natalia is all Jeremy for looks, and all mommy for attitude. She is going to be much taller than me and her body has an athletic build to it. She is like Jeremy in that they both have natural muscle tone that they barely have to work for. I on the other hand would be a doughy concoction of bones and skin if I didn't work out. Natalia and I looked through one of my magazines and I explained to her that a lot of the models in the magazine were totally unhealthy and that all the pictures were lies anyway. With the advent of airbrushing and photo shopping, there are no real human pictures in magazines anymore. How odd is it that when a celebrity has their untouched photo in a magazine, that is the big heading. When did normal become so abnormal?

I'm hoping that coaching Natalia along the way will save me from trying to convince an emotional teenager that she is fine the way she is. Is she going to throw it in my face that I have had plastic surgery? Of course she is. Not only is she a proficient back talker already, but her memory is uncanny. I want her to be fit, hygienically sound and not look like she just rolled out of The Sanctuary. However, I do not want her to obsess and nit pick her looks constantly - like I do to myself. That is the hypocritical part. I don't want her to feel she has to say something negative about herself to fit in with girly banter in a crowd. All you girls know how it is. Heaven forbid you actually love something about your self. The other girls will think you are a conceited snob instead of someone who is content just the way she is. I'm not saying all girls are like this because some of us have evolved past high school. It's the bad apples who spoil it.

So Natalia, here is what mommy wants you to know: A pretty face and a cute body will only get you so far, and even that is short lived. Enjoy your beauty, but make sure you have the inner stuff to back up that gorgeous face. Your kindness will make your skin glow and a genuine smile is always your best accessory. Never hide your intelligence because you are afraid people will treat you differently. There is no reason why you can't be a knockout and a brainiac at the same time. Feel free to wear lip gloss and have your hair set while you are formulating how to split the atom. Being pretty does not make you dumb any more than being smart makes you dowdy. Make sure that you make life choices based on what it means to you, not to someone else. That is just sage advice all around, not just for looks. God made you just right, but I understand if you want to tweak a thing or two. Just remember not to go overboard. Not only are you beautiful just as you are, but you don't want to end up looking like that weird Geo Metro.

Beware of the Competative Mommies

So, most of my close friends are aware of this, but the universe has shifted a little for me and I now have this normal relationship with my baby sister. We were on the phone yesterday laughing about how we don't dread each other's calls. It's nice to talk about cooking, budgets, husbands and what the kids are up to or in to. Another fabulous thing about this new normal adult sister relationship is we get to throw advice each other's way. She recently got her GED (super proud) and has been accepted to an online college program in the spring to start on her core classes, so she has been asking me for help on how to get started and I have been cheering her on. Have I mentioned how proud I am of her? I am. Super, totally, proud momma with tears in my eyes while fanning my face beauty pageant winner style kind of proud.

Yesterday while Katherine was helping me out with meal planning and recipes we got on the subject of how she has ditched her old crowd and is super picky about the mommies she hangs out with. That's when we got on the subject of competitive mommies. You all know them, and I bet that at one point your inner competitive mommy has come out and bared her well manicured claws. It happens, which is fine, as long as it isn't a habit. I'm talking about the habitual offenders. The clueless women who's children walked out of their vaginas, can read by six months, and have pretty much done everything better than your child, or at least accomplished it one week earlier than your child did.

It has taken me a few years to pinpoint these mothers and to decide to avoid them, rather than try and one-up their children with my own child prodigy. Usually they whisk into your life all chatty and fun, but soon you will find that you feel a little drained after being around them. It took me a few times before I really started paying attention to the conversations and I realized why. Now, before I go further I want to clarify. We ALL brag on our kids. This is how I tell the friends from the competitors: your friends will listen to you talk about your little superstar and then give your baby an honest compliment; your competitors will smile and agree, but then tell you how their child had a similar but better experience. Like I said before, once in a while is okay, but the repeat offenders are the ones you have to be on guard about. After a while I found that being around these moms actually made me a little tense about Natalia. Was her hair done right that day? Had she done something great recently that I could tell the other mom about? This was more of a subconscious kind of anxiety since I have not yet crossed over to certifiable nutville where these conversations occur as a running dialogue. That would be weird, but would make for an interesting blog. Hmmm, I'll keep that in mind when I do go crazy. Oops tangent.

Usually the charisma of the competative mommies are pretty strong and they are typically the popular girls of any group anyway. Yeah, that's right Natalia. That groupie stuff never goes away, it just becomes slightly more polite. So this is my advice in dealing with the competative mommies without becoming a social leper - wholeheartedly agree with the competative mommy. Ouch. Try choking that one down when you are watching your kids climb the monkey bars and her daughter is a double jointed Houdini-Tarzan wonder and your kid is "climbing" with her feet firmly on the ground at all times. One of two things will happen, the mom will either think you are the best friend a mother could have (since you agree that her child is the best EVER), or she'll move on to a mother who will feed her competative nature. I guess you could always suggest a dodge ball team to her. I have a couple of fabulous girlfriends who just won the Dodge ball Championship and it seemed all hard core. Smack talking, concussion causing, finger jamming/breaking fun. Not that I am saying you want to see competative mommy's fingers broken, or anything.

What it boils down to is this question: How secure are you with knowing your kid is amazing and how comfortable are you that your child is not perfect? What?! Perish the thought! But seriously, I know that Natalia hangs the moon in my world, but in the real world she has places she shines and places she needs to grow. That's okay. Really. I have to be okay with it because if I am freaking out or harping on her "needs improvement" categories all the time it is going to crack her confidence. That is the real cautionary tale to the competative mommy stories. How do you see your child when the play date is done? Can you agree with the competative mommy and KNOW that your baby is amazingly fine just the way she is, or do you start thinking about the "needs improvement" category. Natalia will figure out along the way places that she needs to work on. It is my job to build up the foundation of what she already has so her amazing baseline always out weighs the challenges of change.