My 11 year-old son doesn’t believe in Santa anymore.

He figured it out about a year ago two years ago… more, probably. I don’t really want to know… *maternal weeping*

The same with the Tooth Fairy… Now when he looses a tooth he hands it over and says, “You owe me.”

We laaaaaaaauuuuuuugh…..

Recently Joel and I whispered a conversation about his Santa present. He is always careful not to “blow it” for his little sisters. He elbowed me and spoke out of the corner of his mouth, ‘And when I say ‘Santa’, I mean YOU.”

Then comes the guilt.

For the lie.

The LIES.

The YEARS of LIES!!!

Would he ever forgive our parental deception? Our LIES about a non-existent chubby man – with which he was made sit on the lap of AND take pictures with?

!!!

The horrors!!!

I had to ask. “Joel… How do you feel about the fact that we pretty much lied about Santa? Do you feel like we deceived you?”

Of all mercy on the earth… my boy. His eyes twinkled as they met mine. The corners of his mouth formed a smile that melts a mama’s heart, and I swear his mind went back to Christmas morning when he was 4. He spoke… his 11 year-old smile warmed his voice,

Not at all, Mom. It was fun believing…

Merry Christmas all… here’s to believing… and to hope…

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• Don’t miss my daughter’s post about Christmas – on her blog – Bubble Gum Rocks! She got her fist taste of Picnik too!
  

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"It was fun believing." is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

If you took the time to search the early years of this blog, you would find many posts documenting the struggles, the humiliations, the exhaustion, the exhaustion, the desperation, and token precious moments this mom has had woven into the fabric of her motherhood journey. My earliest posts were heavy. It was a dark time. Post-partum, pregnancy, sleep-deprivation, yadda, yadda, yadda…

The young years with my kids were tough. For me. I thought I was prepared, but I had no idea.

I HAD NO IDEA.

And as I talk with moms, those are words I hear over and over and over and over again.

I HAD NO IDEA.

The biggest revelation to me was, despite all the excellent parenting information out there – when the wind separated “the wheat from the chaff” – I found my husband and I produced 3 little people with their own little wills and little hopes and little agendas. I found one size didn’t fit all… and it was hard to reason with those little people. Mostly because they had wills and hopes and agendas, and no reasoning skills.

Not unlike some adults, but I digress…

Light bulb moment in 3…2…1…: I think I had such a hard time because in the early years I failed to recognize the independent, growing spirits developing in my little children.

I thought kids should respond to parenting, obey… bend, be shaped… Which we do guide them, but… I was so focused on the concept of “performance” I often missed parenting to their individual hearts. By this I don’t mean giving them their way, but by guiding and disciplining according to this, this… “bent”.

In a nutshell – it’s not bad that kids have wills of their own. It’s not bad. They will need that when they don’t need US.

It is just bad when those wills kick, scream, yell, spit, or bite.

That’s not OK. No matter what your bent.

One day I stopped. I looked at my kids. I remembered… times I was frustrated as a kid. When I didn’t feel listened to. When I didn’t feel acknowledged in ways I hoped. I have always had “Jenny” on the inside… whether 3, 10, 16, 22 or 37. And that is true for my children. The young people they are now are the roots of who they will be. My job is to work with their bent. Guide and not squash.

That day I realized parenting was not about making a circle fit into a square hole.

And for the record: I don’t care what kind of bent a child has, it is never OK to dart into a parking lot. But I’m not talking about issues of safety here. I’m talking about the heart.

For me, parenting has become about figuring out whether my kids are circle, squares or trapezoids.

I think I may have a rhombus in the mix.

Those wills. Those natural personality bents… Oh, it’s hard.

Why? Because I have MY own personality. MY own will. MY own bents. ME ME ME. And as an adult, it can be quite disconcerting when someone is 2 feet tall and they try to run the show.

This is MY show. I’M the adult!

See?

Were I Yoda, I’d have sage advice, I would.

I leave with this — If I got to have a do-over, I hope I would consider their wills…. then at age 2 instead of 5, 8 and 11 I would have:

• appreciated earlier that my son is wildly compassionate and feels deeply… I would see how that affected his extreme reactions to stress and frustration and feeling choice-less when he was a little guy.
• appreciated (or just plain recognized) earlier the quiet, curious fire in my middle daughter… I would see beyond the mess and guide the budding artist.
• seen earlier in my youngest her need to touch things for what it is – joy. Her body and mind NEEDS to feel to understand, and I believe to *joy* in her surroundings Her tactile bent would not have been misunderstood as destructive… guiding & teaching rather than blocking and fighting.

How about you? Is parenting natural? Is it a struggle? Do you find it easy to let go of your ideals? Do you parent to direct behavior or heart? Have you thought about it? I hope you take a moment to share…

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A Will of Their Own is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

It is still Christmas at my house. Not because presents keep pouring in, no… but because, as of this writing – January 16, 2010… the Christmas decorations are still — UP.

*hangs head*

I’m just keepin’ it real for y’allz. I am a classic type-a personality with a scattered-creative alter-ego who obssesses over glitter and fashion accessories. And fame.

Somedays it is just no fun to hang out in my head. I want order, but my alter-go (J-Bling) wants to play. I want timeliness, organization, predictability, and then my alter-ego hides my calendar and sprays glitter in my eyes… reminiscent of a Spitting Cobra.

A Spitting Cobra…

J-Bling…

Practically twins… Except for the scales…

You want to know what else? I orderded my Christmas cards, like BEFORE December hit… and they are still in my home… not hanging on a cork board across the country, bragging about how cute my kids are. Sure, I could send them late and pop in a little letter belly-aching about my self-induced chaos and apologize (likeanyonecares), BUT when I had my daughter stamp the return address on the cards… she also sealed the envelopes — andnowwhatdoIdo?

I am an over-sharer by heart and it kills me to not be able to explain why the Christmas cards are late. And gollysgoshdarnitto-H-E-doublehockeysticks I am gonna send those boogers even if they mail out next year.

Why?

Guilt. I spent the money. And my sense of guilt is FAR stronger than my sense of class.

It’s not that I’d feel guilty for NOT send Christmas cards this year… it’s that I feel guilty for spening money on over 100 Christmas cards that are laying on my floor in my bedroom in sealed envelopes.

Sealed.

And yes, on my floor.

I My alter-ego got this idea a week ago that if I put them in an obvious place (i.e. the middle of my bedroom floor), I would remember to take care of that little project.

(You’re tilting your head to the right in confusion, aren’t you? I can tell by the way my laptop is making churning noises.)

The floor idea? Not so much… now it’s like a fun game of cards, except I’m losing the game and it’s actuall not so fun. I hate losing. But the shuffling… the best part of playing cards is the shuffling, yes?

If you are on my Christmas-turned-Valentine-turned-St.Patrick’sDay card list, and your card is bendy… you’ll know why.

I don’t really know if I am type-a. I just know I WANT things to be one way, but my life demands another. My bliss is an organized sock drawer… matching baskets hiding organized “stuff” on bookshelves. Keys on a hook, coats in a closet, beds made, bills caught-up, laundry folded, 0 emails in my inbox, and veggies chopped.

Shall I confess more?

***wait for it***

When everything is in order and in it’s place… it makes me feel… it makes me feel….

SKINNY!!!

I just want to feel skinny!

*sigh*

Am I the only one dancing with chaos? I like dancing, but…

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The Confessional – It's Still Christmas At My House is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

I just feel moved to write about this treasure… as an outsider. I am not an adoptee, nor have I adopted…

Oh, but to bring a child into a circle of love and family where there was none… moves me deeply.

I hold adoptive families in the highest regard… for the effort and sacrifices they make to be able to make an adoption happen. It is time consuming. It is expensive. It can be emotionally draining and taxing in ways I am certain I have no clue.

I just want to use some of the space I usually fill with silliness to acknowledge families who adopt – whether local or children from other nations. A good friend of mine recently adopted a young brother and sister from Ghana. If you browse the blog of Kristin at The Jag 7, you can read about their journey. It was a difficult and long process, but if you peek, you will see it was worth it all. So precious.

Adoption is so heavy on my mind and in my heart simply because of people like Kristin above… and also because of new connections on Twitter… and one made recently via this blog. I want to tell you about them…

@NuttyElle, my new Twitter friend… she is a spicy one and called me out to buy truffles, for the children. Being the never-on-the-ball (a.k.a. I SUCK) kinda gal that I am, I missed this year’s candy sale *booo*…but how about a little shout-out for Sweet Hope! Sweet Hope is an organization dedicated to helping orphans worldwide. Instead of me knocking out rambly sentences, how about you go visit Sweet Hope. It is too late to order candy this year, but donations are always welcome and according to a tweet she sent yesterday $3000 is going to Mirnoe Orphanage! Visit @Nuttyelle’s blog too - Life of Elle.

I received a comment recently – a comment for my L’Bel giveaway. A question I asked in that post was, “What is a place you have been that makes you feel beautiful?” Lindsey of The Wheeler Journey answered, “The moment my little girl was handed to me in Guatemala was the most beautiful moment and I felt completely joyful and beautiful!!!”

I replied to her comment… I was so touched. She sent a link back to a post that just touched my heart. It is a story on another blog about an 11 year old girl, Lydia, who set a goal to raise $20,000… in 8 days… and if she did – could her family please adopt a specific child with Down Syndrome in Eastern Europe.

She raised over $26,000 in that span of time.

Read the story in full here.

I share all this… because there is so much *blah* around, it seems. And then there is Christmas and commercialism and… It just fills my heart to see what @Nuttyelle is doing, what Lydia is doing, and what my friend Kristin’s family is doing.

What am I doing? What are we doing? I have been so distracted by the busy-ness of living… Have I scheduled away time to be able to… do… or be?

Not everyone is “called” to adopt. But we are all called to something — something good and something bigger than ourselves. Aren’t we? Is life supposed to be about “me doing what I gotta do for me”?

I know people like that. They some lonely folk. I’m pretty sure that if all you’ve been living for is you, at the end… that is all there will be. So lonely. So empty.

I don’t want just me. Even if I am wearing glitter.

Where does one start? Right where we are? Sure! Have you ever noticed how one Cranky Crankerson can ruin your day? Makes me wonder about the times I have turned a good day into a bad one for another person. I feel extending kindness toward others can be a catalyst to greater things. Kindness begets kindness. “Angry” behaves the same way.

Who knows what momentum of goodness has been stifled by a terse word or a judgemental stare.

I want to remind myself and encourage others to step back. Take in the stories of kindness and love… let those things be your momentum… and push it forward for others to continue it… Go big… go simple… just go with kindness and a heart for others.

Of course, for me… you know what this means? Tomorrow I will be hit with the greatest kindness test known to man. That’s what happens when I get all deep-like. That’s why I do it so rarely. I also stopped praying for patience years ago.

I’m kidding. No. I’m not kidding. Pray for me tomorrow. Really.

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Adoption and Goodwill Toward Men is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

“What a retard.”

“That was retarded.”

When you read those statements, what did you feel? I wrote them with no context, but did you feel anything?

Did it bother you at all?

It bothers me.

When I hear people use “retarded” flippantly (as opposed to using it in it’s proper context), I feel my insides coil back. I almost feel like putting up a defensive hand move. Maybe plug my ears or wince? Last week I was speaking with an acquaintance who threw out that second phrase, and I felt like I was in high school. I broke a bit of a sweat. I wanted to tell that person not to say that, but I didn’t want to look dumb. I don’t tell other adults not to curse in front of me. But this was different.

It is far worse than cursing.

And I never said anything. I let it pass.

My internal “jerk” has only grown in recent weeks since having the opportunity to listen to Tanis Miller of Attack of the Redneck Mommy read the post that she wrote about this very issue at the BlogHer ’09 Community Keynote. She is the mother of a child with disabilities… She has also lost a child who was disabled. Unlike me, she does not let those interactions “pass”.

I am thankful someone captured her reading. I was deeply moved, and impassioned. I want to share that video with you. It gives perspective… is heart-breaking… and enlightening. There is nothing like the heart of a mother as she “goes to the mat” for her child. The video follows, but you can lay your eyes on each word of her post here.

Sticks and stones

May break my bones

But names will never hurt me.

Not true.

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Careless Words is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

I woke up one morning.

I got out of bed.

I heard my Mama…

And what did she say?

She said,

“What do want,

On your breakfast bread?”

I said,

“JAM ON IT!”

Heh. ‘Member that rap? Ah…. childhood. I’ve always been a wrapper at heart. Even as a blue eyed white girl… whose first experience with racism was against her (me). The boy I liked in 4th grade (3rd?) was Hispanic, and I was not (but my heart… if he only knew the Juanita Veronica Maria Carmen Montoya de la Cruz that lived inside). When he found out I had a crush on him he told me, “I don’t like girls that are white. I only like brown girls.”

I looked at the skin of my arm… then the skin of the other girls’ arms… and for the first time… I realized a difference in color. It was then I learned, for some people… color matters. And I was all, “Que pasa?”

But that’s not funny. That was my token moment in social issues awareness. Also, I had a TERRIBLE bowl haircut. I can’t really blame Mario for rejecting me…

But if he knew me now, oh… he’d be kicking himself. Jenny done and growed up…

Um. That was the wrong picture. Oh. Here…

Hrmmmm… I just can’t seem to find that one picture… Oh wait. There she is…

I digress. Rapping, racism… awkward childhood moments… It’s Make Me Laugh Monday!

I was feeling quite “down” last week. It was noticeable, especially to my children because THERE WAS NERRY A MOMENT WE HAD AWAY FROM EACH OTHER. Aaaaaanywho. My son wanted to cheer me up. SO. While driving in the car, to the gym, so I could get my angries out, in a healthy way, my son piped-up,”Hey Mom!”

I could PHYSICALLY feel his little mental light-bulb turn on.

“I know! Listen to this!” And in an instant he went from my ten-year-old Joel to an age-ed Hispanic character from Nacho Libre and he said,

I have had diarrhea since Easters.

Some parents read novels to their children. We Some let our their kids watch Nacho Libre. You have been warned. I suppose while some parents feel children should be exposed to much literature, we feel our children should be well-grounded in comedy. But we read too. Really *deadpan stare*

If you are not familiar with this part of the movie, or are classy and refuse to be a part of this nonsense, here is a short clip. Note: the clip starts slow, be patient…. the video does work:

Ah. My children. We live a crazy life. They are my heart. My joy. My delight.

They are the source of my greatest laughter, but also my madness and my mania.

On the same day I will now call our “Diarrhea since Easters” day, Olivia made me laugh… however unintentionally.

She asked, “Mom? Do you believe in fairies?”

Because I am quick witted *snort*, with a laissez faire-type shrug I replied, “Honey. I believe in anything that sparkles.”

And Olivia got that laugh. THAT laugh. You know… the hard-core tickle-laugh, but without the tickle. Then she snorted. I love her sense of humor. For a 7-year-old girl, it’s pretty advanced. Some kids read at advanced levels, my kids humor at advanced levels. Priorities. We all have our priorities.

*wink*

And sometimes the best way to make oneself laugh… is to make another laugh. Ya know?

And friends… My lesson lately is the lesson of highs and lows. We could not truly appreciate the “highs” without the “lows”… *sigh* these random and unexpected sparks from my kids. While it (motherhood) has been a struggle, it really is my joy.

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Make Me Laugh Monday – My Children, My Madness, My Joy… and Also My Digressionses is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

My feet are a WRECK. Over the past 3 years I have stacked running and triathlon events in such a way that my feet have not have the opportunity to return to the intended state they were given to me. You know, 10 intact, cute-ish toes… all with nails. Not model feet, but I considered the nail shape and thickness all to be in normal-to-acceptable range. And give those babies a pedi by a pro… only better.

But now it is all about smoke and mirrors my friends.

I now have 6 normal toe nails. 1 ultra thick one, if I am not careful, I am afraid it might get taller than me. I am not posting a picture. Even I have boundaries. The other thick nail… a professioanl was able to wrangle her to a place of submission. Poor guy. Yes, I had a pedi by a man. It was uncomfortable, but it had to be done. I had a public to protect. I swear, left unchecked… my toes could hurt an innocent by-stander, or at least make them vomit in their mouth a little. I want my public to be a happy public, so… I will endure a pedi by a man… if that is what it takes. *folds arms*

I also have 2 toes (the center ones) with NO NAIL. Did you know you can paint the spot where a nail should be? No one can tell. Smoke and mirrors my friends, smoke and mirrors…

The 2 nails that have complete gone AWOL are a direct result of my marathon in early May. They were fine the morning before, and made big, throbbing protests the days following. One fell off weeks ago. The other fell off yesterday.

Being the sub-standard mom that I am… Our Tooth Fairy (this will make sense, I promise) has a reputation for not showing up in a timely manner. This was a letter my daughter left for our TF one time:

Aaaanywho. So. I lost my toenail yesterday. My daughter Olivia (who had lost a tooth the day before… made a note for our fair Tooth Fairy AND left her tooth just outside her bedroom door instead of under her pillow… she is a go-getter, I tell ya. Thank heaven the TF woke up at 3:30 in the a.m. and remembered to scrounge the kids’ therapy fund and paid the kid for her tooth… which, by the way… she RIPPED out cuz that girl is made out of pure Awesome and Tough Schtuff!)

Where was I?

Oh. My toenail. My daughter was there when I finally showed Ms. Nail who was boss. Olivia said, “Oh! Mom!!! You should put that under your pillow!”

“But Olivia, do you think the Nail Fairy will come?”

Olivia was certain, “Oh yeah. You better not put it under your pillow… put it at your door.”

My poor girl. *plops 2 quarters back in the Therapy Fund*

The Nail Fairy? is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

I own this shirt. It says, “Legalize Frostitution”… Get it – FROSTING… cake… rowS of cake… rowS of cupcakes… with frosting….

A dear friend gave it to me. She knows my pure, unwavering love of baked goods. But I don’t wear this in public. I worry that if I wear this in public people might thing of me as “trashy”.

Instead, I wear this shirt to bed. It seems appropriate.

However, this is truly such a GREAT SHIRT, I needed to show SOMEBODY. So I decided to show it to a few of my closest friends here on the anonymous interwebz. Besides. No one will know it is ME wearing this shirt… I was careful to crop out my face. I am so “savvy” when it comes to protecting my online identity and reputation.

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The Confessional – But I Don't Wear it in Public. is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

TwitterMoms in partnership with Care.com is having a contest. The charge: 

What’s the rudest comment from a stranger you have ever gotten about your parenting style? 

Not. A. Problem. The hard part is — which story should I choose? Is it bad I have too many options? Here goes:

My daughter Lucy was 2, she had (OK, she still does) a love/hate relationship with water. She has been known to ooze, “I love you Wawa!” as we  drive onto the ferry. Yet she screams like a tortured victim from some “B” horror flick when her face gets wet while bathing. So, of course I am going to sign her up for swim lessons! I love to put myself in awkward situations, so it was a no-brainer!

Heh. No brain. How perfect.

“NO! NO! NO!”

Lucy screamed in varying decibels and inflections at her teacher when asked if she was ready to use the kickboard. She hates water unless she is on dry land or on a large floating vessel made of tons of steel. I knew her response wasn’t OK, but sometimes one must choose one’s battles. 

Instead of forcing her from the pool (cuz THAT would help) and calling a priest to perform an exorcist forcing her to “SHOOSH!”… I just asked the teacher if she could move past my rabid little girl and move onto a child that perhaps… wasn’t foaming at the mouth. As soon as the threat was lifted, her head stopped spinning and she began to splash and play alone on the pool steps like any child one might assume had social integration issues.

Only minutes later, a little boy rejected the teacher too – but he was nice. He softly said,

“No… I’m all done.”

I said to myself,

“That was nice. I like it when people notice nice things about my kids and tell me the nice thingthey noticed about my kid. Self… tell that mom how nicely her little boy responded.”

Like a fool, I listened to myself. *smacks head with palm, repeatedly*

Here’s what I got back,

“Oh, he knows yelling would NEVER fly in OUR house.”

Really? That’s crazy. I actually yell at my kids when they don’t yell enough… In fact, my best yellers get rewarded with a crown and gavel and a high chair covered in purple velvet and a sippy cup filled with Mountain Dew Red Bull and a bowlful of sugar! Little yelling people are the most delightful of people, and they should be acknowledged for such delightfulness. *tilts head to the right*

I think that whole situation happened to someone else… on TV…

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Mom Fail – the reprise of a past post for a TwitterMoms Contest is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

Last night I had to take my 6 year old daughter into the local urgent care. It seems my stellar skillz as mother are not at stellar as one might think. A wound on her arm (inflicted by beauty bark 4 days ago) grew to the size of a roma tomato between the hours of 9 and 7 yesterday… 

But that’s not what I was thinking about. I was thinking this:

WHY are there no CLOCKS in WAITING rooms?

Which naturally progressed my mind toward my next thought:

Speaking of waiting… I find it a bit curious that the people in WAITING rooms are called PATIENCE PATIENTS.

Just had my thinkin’ cap on… again. I look pretty cute in a tight fitting thinking cap… I bet I’d look pretty cute in one of those little white jackets with the arms the tie behind the back. 

***Olivia is doing fine, by the way. She screamed and kicked and was the bravest a 6 year old girl could be considering she was given 2 shots, lanced, then that owie had the dickens squozed out of it… and then to add insult to injury – the doctor packed it! Schnikies! I was so proud of my girl. And while I was busy being proud of her I was also busy not vomiting, though it would have been easy to do. I was also busy not passing out, though that would also have been very easy to do. As soon as I knew Livi was on the upswing, I turned onto my butt, cried, caught my breath, nearly stripped naked for I was boiling hot! And let my stomach regain it’s composure. Whew, it’s hard seeing your babies suffer.***

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Oh dear, Jenny's been thinking again… is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...