Santa and Your Screaming Kid

So, I was talking to my office mate the other day about Santa and everyone's Santa and  screaming kid pictures we see on our feeds. I posed the question: Why is this an acceptable thing to do? 

It sort of goes against the child's basic instinct, and should go against the parents instinct as well. For some reason every year from the time you sneeze a baby out of your hoo ha, we shove them on some strange mans lap and tell them to like it and smile. 

After instilling in them never to go with strangers, we force them upon a stranger's knee while they scream, cry and look completely terrified, wondering why you aren't saving them. Am I the only one that thinks it's weird? Telling a kid to ignore that little thing in the pit of their stomach, that's there to help them sense danger, seems weird to me and confusing. If not for that gut feeling, they may not know when someone or something feels off. Like I said, the feeling is there for a reason. Yes, sometimes, especially in an anxious child, they need to know that the feeling can be wrong from time to time. It still exists to keep you safe.

I've never made my kids do the whole photo with Santa thing because it didn't sit right with me and we didn't really do Santa as a being that would creep down your chimney and instead of robbing you, leave gifts. 

In fact, my daughter actually had a very sound and logical point about Santa; if he were a real person, he'd be charged with stalking and breaking and entering. Granted, she said this while I was furiously hurrying out of the bathroom before she scarred my then 5 year old for life, but she had a valid point. 

So many parents give Santa the credit for their hard work and to keep thier kids in line throughout the year. I'm here to tell you, Santa is a bit creepy when you think about it, and to make your child sit on his lap may kind of freak them out.  

I'm not saying if you want your traditional santa pic that you're doing something wrong. You can do what you want, after all you sneezed them out. 

Merry Christmas, 

~J~

Sweet Boy, I saw you: A Story from Behind the Front Lines

         

            Oh, sweet boy, you were my unexpected birthday present. I was still a green worker at my county’s social service office when I first met you. How did you end up here on this side of social welfare? You came from a good family, and your parents had the multiple degrees to prove it. Your mother was a Nutritionist, and your father a Psychologist. At one point your parents were both licensed and practicing in their fields. I guess drugs have unlimited boundaries, because of all the children I have had to remove, you and your sisters had a good start.

            On the day I met you, you had no idea about the celebration I had at the office that morning, or that I didn’t get to kiss my kids goodnight. When I met you, your world was being pulled from underneath you. Nothing you could have done in your life would have prepared you for what was coming. Nothing in my life could have prepared me. I related too much. You were the same age as my daughter. Your sisters, the same age of my sons. In social work there has to be an emotional disconnect, but you sneaked through a small crack that I did not realize was there. You were the first chink in my metaphorical emotional armor, and I love you for it. You changed me.

            When I met you, I had just finished putting the pieces together, but I pray that you never do. Your grandmother called in a report, and it had been the third or fourth report in a short period of time. I thought you were homeless. I thought no one loved you. I thought you were hungry and dirty. I thought you needed to be saved, so did the judge that ordered an immediate pick up. It didn’t matter that my friend baked me my favorite red velvet cupcakes and decorated my office. It didn’t matter that my own children would not see me until the next morning. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know if I would have the gas money to get back. It didn’t matter that I had nearly 70 investigations that had not been touched, and three more had been placed on my desk that morning. I was to save you, sweet boy. You.

            Your grandmother called several times while I drove the four hours to come and pick you up. The county you were in, did not have the workers to spare to meet me halfway. Your grandmother directed me to wait in a gravel lot about five minutes from where you were. She went on to explain that your father was there and she was not sure how he would react when I had to remove you. This was unusual. I called for a police escort and headed to save you from your deplorable conditions.

            When I arrived, I was overwhelmed and confused. The house that stood before me could be considered a mansion. There were four new cars in the driveway and your grandmother met me and the officer outside. We walked into the house to find you and your younger sister sitting at the table in Catholic school uniforms. You were clean, well fed and healthy. Dinner was still cooking; I can remember the smell. Your mother was there. She did not look as well. She had sores on her face and hands from all the scratching. Her hair was oily and stringy. Her clothes were ill fitting and her feet were dirty from walking barefoot.

            Upon seeing this scene, I was angry. I was more than angry, more than livid. You did not know I was coming to forever alter your lives by the will of your grandmother. Your mother needed help, as did your father. Drugs had gotten a hold of them and turned them into shells of their former well educated selves. Your grandmother couldn’t bear to continue to see your mother suffer. She knew that the only way to get your mother help was to create her rock bottom. Your grandmother knew, you three beautiful children were your mothers Achilles heel. But, I want you to know that your mother loved you fiercely. She did the best she could in her fog to ensure you had a good life. She took you where she knew you would be protected when she left you for hours or days at a time. At some point she gained enough clarity to get you three to safety. Please know she was doing her best. Drugs are powerful, and your mother and father had to fight a battle against a demon they never saw coming.

            When I explained to your mother what was happening, she sobbed. Her shoulders shook with an unimaginable pain, she looked smaller than a child in that moment. Your sisters came out the door and immediately started to wail, though your mother tried to contain her tears for them. You were inside helping your grandmother gather totes of clothing. You were strong when you emerged. Placing the tote in the garage, you hugged your mother and kissed her goodbye. You told your sisters that everything would be ok and tried to calm them. Your youngest sister clung to your mother’s waist with her legs wrapped tight. She locked around your frail mother’s neck and wouldn’t let go. I reached for her, but she wouldn’t come. Your mother had to pry her off of her to hand her to me. Her neck was now red where your sister clung for protection.

            The wailing was now uncontrollable from your mother and sisters. You strong, sweet boy didn’t shed a tear. Your hugged your sisters tight and directed them to get into the car. You told them I was nice and they were safe. You calmed their fears. I offered up my birthday cupcakes and your sisters eagerly accepted. You sat in the third row quiet, long brown hair in your eyes watching your sisters relax. I explained the best I could what was happening and where you were going. You only had one concern, “Will I get to stay with my sisters?” The answer was the best I could give, “I will fight for you to stay together.”

            Silence fell over the mini-van as darkness fell. The littlest blue eyed girl was hungry. After making a quick stop to get food, those beautiful sisters of yours were fast asleep. You held out sweet boy. Just when I thought I had made it through, I heard your quiet sobs from the dark back seat. I turned the music up a little more. Not to mask your crying, but to mask my own. You were so strong for so long, and when you broke, I broke too. How long did you have to be the strong one? How many times did you have to play this role?

            When we made it to the shelter, I got my answer. It was late, the little ones were still sleepy, but you were alert. You knew your job was not through. When we entered the shelter things became very formal, and you adjusted. The youngest sister had a hard time sitting still, so you wrangled her and held her next to you. The shelter workers asked questions I didn’t know the answer to, but you did. You gave them everyone’s birth date, allergies and medication with dosage information. At that moment I knew, you had been the adult in your house for a very long time.

            Your grandmother called me the next morning to make sure you made it to your destination safely. She asked me an important question, and there, my fight began. Your grandmother asked if she could gain custody of your younger sister. My heart raced, my face felt hot, and I had to work to control the tone of my voice. “No, ma’am. You cannot have the middle child. If you take one, you take them all.” I was yelled at and berated. I gave her the information on the upcoming hearing, and she gave me the information for her attorney that would be fighting for her to get her wishes.

            I fought for you as I said I would, since you could not fight for yourself. I fought for your mother, as she was too far gone to realize her mother wanted to separate you three. I fought for you, as I would fight for my own children. You stayed in the shelter for six weeks, but you were together. I kept my promise to you sweet boy, and I visited you often. Your grandmother eventually took you all back into her home. Through it all, you remained strong for your sisters. I hope your life has a happy ending my strong, sweet boy. You deserve the world. 

My Kid is “That Kid,” and I’m OK with It!

Everyone knows “that kid,” or has had some sort of encounter in the general public with them. This is the child that throws a tantrum over the smallest thing or is a master of manipulation. My kid is the latter. He’s the king, or I should say prince of manipulation.

This sweet child of mine has been “that kid” since he was yanked out of my baby sized incision. He’s the only one of my children that came out being nosey. Most babies are born with their eyes squeezed shut, screaming at the top of their tiny lungs. My youngest came out, eyes wide open looking around the room and didn’t make a sound until the doctor gave him a few swift pats to the behind.

Before my youngest started school, no one knew he was “that kid.” It was kind of a family secret. He was always well behaved in public and could professionally flirt with grown women by the age of six months. If only I could have recorded his reaction to pretty women when he was an infant. I should have known that sweet batting of the eye lashes would mean trouble in the future.

Kindergarten rolled around before we knew it, and I quickly learned that my child was “that kid” outside of the home when we weren’t around. I had a total of six parent-teacher conferences before the first quarter was over. The question was always the same. “Is he this much trouble for you at home?” You would think he was swinging from the rafters, but he wasn’t.

My handsome brown eyed boy was and is a refuser of work. I’m always complimented on his manners and respect, but he politely and respectfully declines to do anything. He will give the most experienced teacher a frustratingly long run for their money until they figure him out. I was told once that, “I’ve been teaching 25 years and I have never had a child like yours!” I would have been insulted, but she seemed so genuinely frazzled, that I felt slightly bad for the smirk I allowed to slip onto my face.

Yes, my kid is “that kid” and I’m Ok with it. I have learned to apologize before the first conference is called. There will be a conference. There’s always a conference. The reason I’m OK with my child exhausting his teachers, is not because I’m some crazy mommy monster.

I’m OK with my kid being “that kid,” because he’s smart. To convince college educated teachers that he can’t read, or doesn’t know how to do simple addition is amazing to me. Yes, I should be mortified, and crawl under a rock, but I won’t. My son, had his first grade teacher completely convinced that he could not read, at all. She met with me several times and thought I was the world’s worst mother when I told her, to tell him to stop it. Did I mention he can cry on cue?

This crying bit is what got him out of doing work. He works up these large, almost cartoon like tears. His little face turns red, and looks sadly pitiful. It’s all an act. He’s quite good, and I’m sure one day he just might win an Oscar for his performance. Right now, I’ll be happy for him to get to third grade.

This year, we have already had two conferences. It’s always the same story, with the same question at the end. To all of the teachers that get him in your class, I’m sorry. He really is a bright kid. He’s bored. Manipulating you is a game to him. He will always be “that kid,” and I’ve come to accept it. So, take this as my entire school career apology for him. All the best, “that kid’s mom!”

7 Steps to a Better Night's Sleep

Most mom's today carry this superhuman label. Being a mom in today's society is rough. Between "Mom Wars" and Cosmopolitan's latest article on "How to Keep Your Man," no wonder us moms are swimming in mom guilt while we try to conceal our dark circles under our eyes before Polly Perfect next door sees. We have soccer practice, ballet lessons, homework, dinner, laundry, and a full time job. If you find time for a mommy war between all of that, then kudos to you. Also, you deserve to be metaphorically blown up. The women I know, are so focused on how to stay afloat, that there's no time to focus on other women and how their families are run. After the blur of the day lightening bolts past you, it's time for that elusive thing, we mom's once knew as sleep. Follow these 7 steps and you too can have a good night's sleep, without that whole bottle of Pinot stashed in your nightstand drawer (just me?!).

Step One: Delegate!

There is no hard fast rule that says mom's must be the be all, end all of their children's lives. Guess what. You had a partner help you create these little replica's of you. One or two of your little ones may even resemble the person that helped create them. Look, I know it's hard, but your partner can help. If you don't have a partner, you likely have an older child (one usually comes before the other). This is a great time to teach them responsibility and accountability. It also teaches your sweet babies that it's OK to ask for help. Moms, (whispering) it's OK to ask for help. Try it! You may feel uncomfortable at first, but, the pay off will be worth it. No significant other, or older child, try a grandparent or close friend. Really, avenues for help are everywhere, just ask.

Step Two: Find Time for You

Moms, why do we do this? We have got to make time for ourselves. Even if it's at the butt crack of dawn, momma needs a little down time. Guilt free! I saw you trying to sneak in that mom guilt. Back away slowly. If you aren't taking care of you, then how will anyone else know that's something that you need. The time you take for yourself could be 30 minutes of uninterrupted quiet time before the alarms go off in the morning. Getting to enjoy your entire cup of coffee, before tiny people are pulling at your robe can be your saving grace for the day. For some people, going for a walk or run alone is all they need. Maybe you don't have time to run a marathon, but 15 minutes is all you need to get in a quick jog. Your heart and your stress level will thank you.

Step Three: Let Go of Perfection

I hate to burst anyone's rainbow colored, glitter filled bubble but, you're not perfect. In fact, no one is perfect, and it's OK. Really, it is. It's 9PM and it still looks like Hot Wheels cars and Barbie and friends were trying to reenact Fast and Furious in your living room? It's ok to leave it until morning or better yet, leave it for after school. No one will tell, you're the boss and can do what you want. Oh, the perks of being an adult. Dinner does not have to come from Pintrest or from The Pioneer Woman. If Mrs. Drummond wants to come over and cook your family a meal, by golly, you better run and answer the door, but you don't have to be her. I'm sure even at the pioneer house, sometimes it's just a chicken nugget night. Maybe, just maybe, coloring outside the lines is fun. If being a tulip in a field of roses means you get more sleep, be a dang tulip!

Step Four: Establish a Bedtime Routine

No, Sally can't get water for the fifth time in the last hour. Set clear bedtime routines and boundaries for your children. Educate yourself on how many hours of sleep each child needs per night and set their bedtimes accordingly. If you decide bedtime is 7:30 for Sally, let bedtime be at 7:30. Get your little one in the bath at least 45 minutes before bedtime. Let them snuggle with you to get out all of their kisses, hugs, and bonding time before bed. If you know they will ask for water, give them a glass before bed or keep a small cup with water on their night stand. Unless they have a medical need, they will be OK without water past bedtime. Once they know you aren't budging from your new routine, quiet nights are ahead.

Step Five: Find Out What Relaxes You

It's the end of the night and you still have a million things on your mind. Did the trash get taken to the curb? Did the water bill get paid? Was that a murderer outside of my house, or the wind blowing the darn tree branch again? The ability to turn off our minds was not a gift that the universe saw fit to give us women. While you're on your overthinking marathon, think about what relaxes you. Every one has something that relaxes them to the point of feeling like your body is the consistency of Jello. It can be a nice bubble bath, paired with a good book. It could be a glass of wine or mind blowing sex. Whatever it might be, find a way to make it into something you can do nightly before bed. Establishing your own bedtime routine can be just as important as establishing a bedtime routine for your children.

Step Six: Have Sex

Did I just say that out loud? Yes, yes I did. I know, you're thinking, I'm too exhausted to even think about sex. Here's the thing, not only will your significant other be perfectly happy with you wanting more sex, but it will make you feel better. Sex releases these fabulous things called endorphins. These things can help elevate your mood, which in turn will make you less stressed. If you're less stressed, you sleep better. So, though you may be tired from the day's activities, don't throw sex by the wayside. Human's need sex, moms are humans; therefore, moms need sex. See how that works?

Step Seven: Allow Yourself Time to Sleep

Don't jam pack your schedule with your children's activities. They are little people, they need downtime too. They need you to model how to do that. Limit their activities to one or two activities a year, with none overlapping. Sally wants to dance, well dance lasts all school year. Sally can't join another activity until dance is over. I know it can be difficult, but this will allow you and your little ones the rest they need. Activities take up time, that time is usually homework time. If homework time gets pushed back, then bedtime gets pushed back. If their bedtime gets pushed back, then your bedtime gets pushed back. Eliminate the desire to overfill your child's schedule. This will allow for you to keep your schedule, and get the rest you deserve.

Overall, the key to getting a good nights sleep is asking for help when needed, and not overloading yourself. Everyone deserves to wake up well rested in the morning. Hopefully, by following these steps you will be among the elite few well rested moms.

First published here: http://community.today.com/parentingteam/post/7-steps-to-a-better-nights-sleep

This meme and it's sister memes bother me. I am not saying that real mean don't like curves, but I do feel that these posts are only furthering the need for women to go after one another. Really, when was the last time we saw a man posting something like this on their social media page? There's another one of these floating around that says something like, I'm not a size 0, because I'm not a twelve year old boy. That's not the exact wording, but close enough for you to catch my drift. Well folks, I am a size 0. Most of the female world that I've come into contact with, don't like me before they even get to know me. I have always been thin. I have three children and guess what? I'm still thin. It took me a long time to love the body that God gave me because of statements like the ones that are being shared all over social media in hopes to make thicker women feel more empowered. I am all for empowering women, just not at the expense of another woman's self esteem. Unfortunately, from the time we break out of our mother's lady bits, we are forced into the "pretty box." How silly is it that from the moment we take our first breaths, and our parents count our little fingers and toes, the next worry is, the little girls beauty. We are trained to value our appearance, our beauty, from other peoples standards of beauty. We value this beauty over intelligence and other valuable traits. Why is that? Women of all sizes should take offense to these memes, not because it is devaluing the woman without curves, but because it's devaluing all women. Who we are is not tied into our size, weather we wear make up, or if we like men or women. A person's value should only be determined by that individual person.