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For several years now, the dominant form of communication with my mom has been text message. Not just because it is easy and convenient, but because unless she can see your lips, she can’t really understand what you’re saying. Living in a different state from her, texting is the only way I can stay in touch with my mom. That’s how I ended up going to the internet in search of videos that would teach me to sign Jingle Bells.

Texting with my mom I was trying to explain to her that G has taken to Christmas carols way too early for my liking. She demands I sing Jingle Bells to her regularly. Or as I told my mom, sign it to her. Both my mom and I quickly searched for “how to sign Jingle Bells.” Let me tell you that the videos out there to learn that song are many.

I started learning to sign in high school. Self taught from books, since YouTube wasn’t yet available. I would look up words to my favorite songs and teach myself how to sign those.  I can sign an endless amount of Backstreet Boys and N’Sync songs. I was slightly single minded then. Now, though, all I have to do is search and so many videos are available to such a variety of songs. To a variety of subjects, and just basic everyday words.

American Sign Language has always seemed like such a beautiful language to me. The way your hands just flow and correspond with your facial expressions and body language. It’s like an alluring dance. I wish I would have put more effort into learning more back then.

It was about ten years ago, I believe, that my mom’s hearing seriously declined. She completely lost hearing in one ear and only has partial hearing in the other. I remember going with her to her appointments to figure out what had happened. I joked that I was her “hearing ear daughter.” I don’t think I ever told her out right that I never felt obligated to go. That I enjoyed going with her, whether it was an appointment or just hanging out. I also don’t think I ever told her that I sometimes worried when she would interact with other people, because they didn’t know how to talk to her so she could hear and understand them. Sometimes, I worried about how frustrated she might get just trying to talk with family.

I wanted to learn ASL even more. Yes, she still has partial hearing, but I wanted a way that was easier for her, even if just with family.  B is the one who really took off with it. Her and her Nana started learning more and more together. I taught D, G and A basic signs. Sadly, I didn’t stay on top of it as well as I wish I would have.

When you live fifteen hundred miles away from someone who can’t talk on the phone, our primary form of communication is texts. it’s the only logical way. There are days that I miss the ability to call and talk to her, but then I wouldn’t have near as much motivation to continue learning ASL, and to continue teaching it to my children.. Also, I wouldn’t be eagerly trying to teach the littles how to sign Jingle Bells.

G isn’t very thrilled with my new desire to teach her to sign Jingle Bells. When I start singing it now she specifies “Sing it without the actions.” A looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, even though I still catch him signing some words when he talks. Despite the fact that D thinks if you just talk louder or yell Nana will be able to understand you, she’s very excited to learn something new.

I want all of my kids to learn how to sign, learn as much sign language as possible. I want them to talk to their Nana without thinking that yelling is the only option they have. Even though her hearing isn’t the best, my mom still has so much to tell them, so much to tell me, and I want us all to be able to communicate, even if it means starting with a simple song of Jingle Bells.

 

 

 

Life is busy. There’s no way around it, not really. I’ve been told to Find myself. Those are the words that both my therapist and boyfriend have used. As it turns out, there is no room in my life for me. No time for me to take those simple minutes for myself and do something I enjoy. No patience for myself and how I reacted to the simple change in my plans. No commitment on my part to anything that has to do with yours truly.

“We all wear several different identities” Therapist says. “Lets name your’s, Lets start with the easiest. Mom.” As I continue to make the list of identities, Therapist just looks blankly at me. I say “Of course Mom, Girlfriend, Daughter, Sister, Best Friend, Friend, Volunteer”. I trail off. I see it. The moment she has been waiting for. Kristina. There at the very end. After all of those things, I am Kristina.

It’s great that I love my family. It’s great that I take great pride and joy in everything I do for them. That is, in all reality, not the best thing for them. I’m teaching them that my worth is based on their happiness. Sure, it’s great that my kids know that I will move mountains for them. It’s great that Boyfriend knows that he doesn’t have to come home and do the dishes or cook dinner. It’s great that my children can expect me to be at their games or school functions. It’s not so great that I’m teaching them that I need them to be happy so I can be happy.

The truth is, I am not modeling the best behavior. By nature, I am a people-pleaser. I have my moments of clarity, though not often, where I can see that my children have grown to expect me to cook, and clean up after them. Where Boyfriend has come to the conclusion that I will simply take care of it or ,as I like to say, “I will figure it out.” As previously stated, this is my nature. I’ve placed my value in the hands of others. I dare to say, I have even forgotten who Kristina is.

This is for you, my dear. I know you are in there. You may feel alone, confused, angry or even sad. I know I am. Somewhere along the way of loving my family and being the nurturing companion, I’ve lost sight of myself. At this point, I can not even begin to imagine what I am looking for. How do I take one whole hour to find something Kristina enjoys doing? How do I ignore myself when I explain away the need for time for Kristina? What are the things that I like?

Kristina enjoys writing, telling stories, and even talking about tough subjects. So here I am. Taking a small step towards my own version of Kristina. Not Seven’s Mom, Boyfriend’s Girlfriend, or even Grandmas Daughter. Simply Kristina. Reading is my favorite sport, and I think crime shows are where it’s at. I’m making an effort to find myself. It’s difficult though. The guilt is really strong. Especially during the day when there are things I could be doing to make everyone’s lives a bit easier.  I feel less guilty about doing it at night after everyone has gone to bed, but I still feel the urge to get up and clean, cook, and prepare for tomorrows busy schedule.

Baby steps I guess. I took about 30 minutes to myself just to write my thoughts down for you. Personally, I enjoyed it. I enjoyed reaching out so you know that you are not alone, and to me that counts. I don’t want you to ever forget who you are and if you have forgotten, I want you to know that you are not alone. It happens, LIFE happens. We forget who we are. We become consumed by where we place our worth. We don’t have to be consumed by that. We can take the baby steps and teach our children that self care is important. Teach ourselves that we are worth so much more than another persons happiness. Selfish? Not really. Necessary?  Definitely.

As I sit here and watch my kids clean up the mess they’ve made, for the third time today I take stock of the whole picture. Not just the toys and clothes and random trash, but everything.

The rug I bought two weeks ago is already stained and has food ground in, never to be removed. The stools we bought for them to sit on have stab marks on them from where G decided to attack them with a pencil, because it was fun.

I look at our bed with fresh sheets that have orange marker on them, because when they’re quiet they’re scary. A is proving to be a fast learner as well as a fast child. Just like his sister’s his favorite canvases are human skin and my sheets.

We’ve gone through three toy boxes in two months for various reasons, all of which are kid related. I’m already looking for a new one “just in case” I don’t have high hopes for the one we have now lasting. Especially since A is using it as his current mountain to climb.

My wardrobe is mostly black or darker blues. I don’t own white any more. Light colors, when I’m feeling like throwing away money, don’t fare very well in my house. I’ve learned how to take care of most stains, but there are days when “Why bother, there’s just gonna be a new one five minutes from now,” takes over my mind and I just say screw  it.

When we go buy new things I wonder how long it’ll stay nice. Not just my things or Hubby’s things, but the things we get for the little’s as well. I’m not a materialistic person. Sure I like nice things, but they don’t make or break me. I would however, like to walk out of my house not worrying if I have a stain that I missed when inspecting my outfit. I like not looking over at my children and groaning because somehow they’ve managed to turn their nice picture/Easter/Christmas outfit into a rough and tumble mess two seconds after putting it on, before I can even try to get one “picture perfect” moment for memory sake.

I love my children and all the messy, crazy, stained chaos they give me daily. Even when I’m wondering why I bothered with a new rug, outfit, toy box, or even cleaning out my car. I smile at the excitement they get when they show me the Lego house they’ve built. Or how bright their eyes sparkle when they do a fashion show with their new clothes.

Then I sigh because I look around at the chaos they’ve made while creating their masterpieces. We have kids. Not nice things, and that’s okay, because I can have all the nice later. We will only have kids for a moment.

I know I’ll look back and miss having the kids, the mess, the clutter and chaos. Then I’ll wish I could still have the kids and not the nice things. We don’t have nice things. We have kids. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

As we get older and our lives change, so does the dynamic in just about every single relationship that we have. Sure, we gain friends through work or school. We also gain them through experiences that we encounter such as school functions, volunteering or even by chance at an appointment we’ve made.

As I’ve aged, ever so gracefully I might add, I’ve lost contact with many people in my life. Interests have changed, priorities alter, and schedules vary. My social group has gotten smaller and I have a tendency to stick to people who my children know and are comfortable with.

I have also noticed that I am becoming more socially awkward and anxious, especially when I attempt being social without the children in tow.

This is why I am eternally grateful for the handful of people I call my friends. They accept my social anxiety and awkwardness. They let me be me. They let me hang out with our kids, they let me ramble, they help my awkward become normal.

My friends not only encourage me to simply be myself, they encourage me to accept and conquer my social anxieties. They encourage me to take the steps I need.  The time we spend together is not only greatly appreciated but it is quality time. Quality time for quality friends.

I would take a handful of quality friends over an abundance of people who don’t understand that life is always in the way and plans may need to change. The quality of time my friends and I spend together is more effective and enjoyable because of the quality of our friendships.

Whether we are standing on the corner talking about life in the early hours of the morning, text messaging back and forth about blog ideas, or just getting together for some football on a Sunday. My friends and I find ways to connect and thrive in the chaos of life.

Tonight, Boyfriend and I are kid free. Fourteen and Nine are with mommy for her birthday. We let Seven go visit Grandma so Boyfriend and I are going to do a date night. Our date night is going to a Halloween Party together.

It is a family friendly Halloween Party, but these are some of the closest friends I am lucky to call mine. Even if they came into my life through Boyfriend. I’m excited to get dressed up and go relax at their house with Boyfriend. Excited to eat snacks, play games and just have the company of some good quality people.

I’m anxious about my role. My children won’t be there to buffer my awkwardness. I told Boyfriend that I was worried that I would be a fuddy-duddy, that I would become awkward and start cleaning. His response was astonishing to me. “That makes you a grateful house guest.” You know what? I feel like he’s right.

These people are my friends. I’m not going to offend them if I start cleaning to center myself from the stimulation of a social gathering. I would be appreciative of someone who periodically cleaned my house throughout a party. Of course, we all know that this person probably wouldn’t have a chance to clean because I would already be on top of it.

I’ve  decided that I’m grateful for the quality of friends I have. They accept me as a whole and understand that I’m not perfect. So I’m excited about date night tonight with friends. I’m excited to get that extra quality time in with friends as well as Boyfriend.

The quality of the people I surround myself with is beyond compare, and I am incredibly lucky to have them in my life. Surround yourself with people who understand and who don’t judge. Those people are the ones that make the quality of life better.

Where do you draw the line when it’s family that’s toxic? How much emotional abuse is too much? When is it okay to stop being polite? When is enough, enough?

It took me eight and a half years to finally say those words. “Enough is enough”. To stop giving out the do-overs and second chances. To choose my children, my family, even my own sanity over trying to keep my husband’s family in our lives.

My in-laws are toxic people. I know that sounds a little harsh. I didn’t always think that and once I did start thinking that, it was a gradual thought that made me feel like I was a terrible individual. These people are Hubby’s family and before I came into the picture they all functioned together. As a family, their family, his family.

It started with my mother-in-law. She would make comments about B or C, even myself.  We were never her ‘real’ family. C and B weren’t her granddaughters. I was the woman her son had married. A means to get a grandson to carry on the family name. . . Cause let me tell you, that’s a reason to want a child. I know you felt my eye-roll.

Then I noticed that when anything happened in their family it was at MIL’s discretion. It mattered not if she was wrong, right, mean, or even nice. My father-in-law never said anything. He would just bury his head in his video game. All he wanted was to keep the peace, with her. I lost a lot of respect for FIL during our time together.

My sister-in-law and I were best friends. We did all the things together. Going to the Zoo, grocery shopping, even wandering around the stores for no reason. She treated my children as if they were her own, and I cared for hers as if they were mine. Then one day that changed, the rules for her kids were different than the ones for mine. I couldn’t understand, I was blindsided.

I admit I called her on it at a bad time, for her. We were not productive and helpful like we always said we would be, if problems between our children arose. Instead, we both let loose exactly how we’d been feeling. Before I realized what had happened, we spiraled to the bottom.

When I tried to fix it she told me to stop. So I obliged. Sadly, due to her circumstances, she did not. She went around to friends and family, really just anyone who would listen, telling them all how horrible Hubby and I were to her and her kids. One sided, but still destructive.

I tolerate a lot of things. Some things I probably shouldn’t have. I feel like family is always worth dealing with, rather than just writing them off after the first perceived slight. However, the things she was saying, and the people she was saying them too started to scare me. I had terrified thoughts. What if something she said got my children taken away from me? That thought alone, absolutely terrified me.

I tried to be understanding of her situation. However, at that time I felt that the best course of action was to remove my children, and myself from their lives. I told Hubby that they were his family and he could do anything he wanted with them. Until our children were older, way older, almost adults, I would not let them be around his family.  His mother was toxic, his father wouldn’t stand up or help anyone if something bad happened, and his sister had become a toxic person who I couldn’t trust to keep my children safe.

The lives and familial structure of my children were not the only casualties of this fiasco. Our nieces were involved in the fallout.

Just this past week two of our nieces contacted us. After a year of silence, a year of Holidays, birthdays, and milestones, they sent us a text message wishing A a Happy Birthday. Only A, no one else.

My knee-jerk reaction was to call them out on all the missed opportunities. One of them did try to get in contact with me twice over the past year. However, I chose not to respond then as well.  My SIL and her second oldest reached out to me about two times each. Both times with what I call blanket apologies.

A blanket apology is something that toxic people keep in their pocket, in my opinion. “I’m sorry for anything and everything I could have ever done to cause you to hate me so much.” You see how it literally covers ALL of the things, and it’s still My Issue. So when my nieces came back at us that same night accusing us of being selfish and not caring about them it took all of my will-power to continue with not responding.

I have tried my best to explain to them both previously. First and foremost I don’t hate either of them. I love them both dearly, cutting them out of my life has hurt me a great deal. Cutting them out of my kids lives, also hurt a great deal. However, that will never make it okay for them to pass the buck. That doesn’t make it okay for them to not acknowledge and own up to their individual parts of this situation.  The reasons why I had to remove them from our lives.

I tried explaining, especially to a specific niece. If she could just acknowledge her part in what had happened, then I would gladly sit down and talk with her. I had apologized to her, and I told her exactly why I was apologizing. I apologized to her mother and told her exactly why I was apologizing, in great detail. However, they continued to tell anyone and everyone who would listen that they didn’t know what they had done. They didn’t understand how I could just walk away with no explanation.

Toxic family members will never understand. They will never understand the logic of protecting your family. I would never ask Hubby to turn his back on his family, but I will not subject my children to the emotional abuse that is sure to follow. I do not have the energy to keep arguing over what it means to acknowledge and own up to your own actions. To continually explain how a blanket apology that you feel should cover everything will never undo the things that you have set into motion.  I don’t want my children growing up with feelings of not being good enough, or wondering what they could have done to be deserving of this kind of toxicity. So I finally learned when enough is enough.

 

 

I know it’s only been a handful of days since you left us. I’m finding it hard to put into words what I’m feeling or how much things have changed. Even though every evening still ends and every morning still begins, our time together has abruptly ended.

I’ve done my best to take care of your babies, and your puppy.  It’s not the same without you here. It’s quiet, almost lonely. The children play outside but their guardian no longer patiently watches through the window in case the wind blows, or the mailman drives by. The cookies sat on the counter a couple nights ago and stayed there long enough to properly cool, and that made me sad. My feet get cold at dinner now because you’re not hiding under the table waiting for the messy children to accidentally drop food. Puppy gets cold without his giant pillow to hold him at night. The emptiness of walking in the door without the house shaking, because you’re jumping with excitement to see us all, is noticeably there.

I was as honest as I could be with them, your children. I hope you don’t mind. I told them what I knew for sure, what I suspect, and I told them that I found you. I have to be honest with you too, I don’t know if we are handling this right. I find myself second guessing every decision we have made right now. Should we have not told the children? Should we have lied to them? Should we have chosen cremation over a burial? 

Losing you has impacted me hard. Even while we talk about all of the amazing things you’ve accomplished during your time with us, the pain is too strong. There doesn’t seem to be any kind of respite. I know that time will heal. I know that the pain will eventually ease, but you are the one who helped mend our broken hearts before.

It’s crazy, you know? You came crashing into our lives when you were seven weeks old. Giant feet and a huge head on a teeny-tiny puppy body. Goofy from the start. You and Seven potty trained together and learned to sleep alone together. On his first day of school you sat at the window the whole day with a fraught silence only to excitedly greet him at the door when he came home. When Nine and Fourteen joined Seven in your little world, you became a determined protector and the perfect playmate. You even played with Boyfriend as often as you could. The only being in this house big enough to wrestle around with him. The silliest of friends with a perfect soul. Do you remember my snap chat jokes I did with you? Oh man, you weren’t very interested in the jokes but it brought such joy to me. You are always so great and patient with all of us.

Why did it have to be this way? I don’t want to sound as though I am throwing a tantrum, I just don’t understand. It’s not fair.

We miss you immensely. I hear your sigh, you know which one right? The one you used to give me when I was upset with you for doing something you shouldn’t have? It warmed me a little, but it hurt my heart at the same time. We don’t want to say good bye. I guess that can be seen. What can’t be seen is the emotional sate of our family. It’s one golden heart smaller than it was.

You are such a good boy. I can’t promise not to shed tears. I can promise to love your children, and help them to the best of my abilities. I promise to make sure Puppy isn’t alone and copes to the best of his abilities. He’s lost his best friend, his cohort and his partner in crime. I promise to be honest with your children and answer their questions, and I promise to give them all the hugs. You love hugs. I hope I have the strength to help them as you would silently do.

We love you, Vader, and we will miss you. We will share our memories, and we will love each other just like you love each of us. We just wish you were here to see it, Sweet Pup, we just wish it were different.

Would you like to know a sure fire way to start a fight with me, or piss me off?  Ask me if I’m done being pissy. Or in the case of my Hubby this morning, tell me “Go home and get some more sleep and maybe you’ll wake up in a better mood.”  It ranks up there with “Are you ready to be calm and rational?” Or “Are you done overreacting?”

In all honesty, I wasn’t in a bad mood this morning. No, I wasn’t bubbly and happy, but I’m not a morning person so no one is going to get bubbly and happy first thing this morning.  I was extra tired this morning because, even though I know I have to get up at the butt-crack of dawn, I still stayed up reading later than I should have.  That’s totally on me and I wasn’t taking it out on anyone. I was not in a bad mood.

Maybe he thought I was being grumpy because he had just come out of the bathroom and I practically ran him over to get to the potty.  I had been trying to get ready while waiting on him to come out, and I was mostly focusing on not peeing myself. I was not in a bad mood.

Maybe he thought I was being grumpy because I didn’t use my words when he was standing in the middle of the room blocking my way to the dresser. I did a shooing motion with my hands to get him to back up a step or two so I could get by. Then he explained that his knee was locked, and I was like “Oh, ok, move when you can please.” (Not my exact words, but I know my words weren’t grumpy.) I was not in a bad mood.

Maybe he thought I was being grumpy because I screamed his name as he turned a corner in the car and his drink proceeded to spill on me, but my hands were full so I couldn’t do anything about it. I understand he couldn’t do anything about it either, but my reaction was to cry out at him.  I wasn’t mad. I was not in a bad mood.

Dropping him off at work is one of my least favorite things to do. Not just because I have to get up and out the door by five in the morning, but because I have to leave him for the day. I enjoy spending time with him. As much time as he will let me have, I want it all. So leaving him at work makes me sad every morning.

Except this morning when he leaned in to give me a kiss and he followed it up with “Go home and get some more sleep. Maybe you’ll wake up in a better mood.” Instant grump. At that point I became grumpy. Then I intentionally snapped at him. I lost my temper.  He kept hinting at thinking I was in a foul mood, but I wasn’t. I was tired.  So when I left him at work, he didn’t hear my parting remarks of “You’ll be lucky if I wake up in a ‘better mood’ and come pick you up.”

Sometimes he jokes with me and I know he’s joking, but I just don’t have the energy to joke back. Sometimes he jokes with me and I don’t know he’s  joking and I get mad. This morning it was the first one.  I thought I was coming across as my normal self, but all he saw was a grumpy person.

I wish instead of saying “Maybe you’ll wake up in a better mood.” He would have said, “Baby are you okay?” or “You seem off, did you sleep well last night?” I know there have been days when I thought he was in a bad mood and being grumpy.   Does he remember some of those times when I approached him to see if everything was okay?  “Baby, is everything okay? Did I do something to make you mad?”

I’m not saying there have been times when I have said “You really need to stop being an ass.” I’m not perfect. I do snap at him. I do lose my patience  and just want to yell at him sometimes because he grumps around like an angry dog barking at everyone.  There are times when I only have snotty retorts and grumbled remarks for all in my path.

We both have our moments of grumpy. I just wished this morning would have gone differently, if he thought I was grumpy. I wish I could’ve gotten my good-bye kiss with a side of sweet concern.  I don’t like that I left him this morning angry. He, of all people , knows that a sure fire way to start a fight with me is to tell me that I need an attitude adjustment. Usually, I give him one, but it’s never the one he wants. Instead of “I love you have a good day.” He gets “You’ll be lucky if I come pick you up.”

So I’ll say it now, because I’m not in a bad mood, “I love you. I hope you have a good day. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

We all have those days. The good and the bad. The ones where we wake up excited and ready to take on the world. The bad ones where we can’t possibly fathom why anyone would want to get out of bed. Let’s have a conversation about the bad days.

Today was one of the days where you didn’t want to take on the world. I understand that. When you stumbled out of bed and demanded breakfast, I obliged because I’ve been hangry before. When you immediately started whining because you are no longer allowed to take your screen time in the morning, I shrugged it off because it’s a change in your schedule.

When you grew increasingly annoyed with me because I wouldn’t cave in to your multiple demands, I drew the line. A solid line. I’ve not done anything this morning to upset you. I politely woke you up, I served your breakfast with a smile, I even helped you with a button on your pants. Yet, you’re upset with me and have the tone of an eighty year old war veteran.

I get it Boo boo, I have those days too. Days that I don’t want to get out of bed, days that I don’t get my caffeine in time, even days where it seems that nothing is going my way. I don’t yell at you because you haven’t made my breakfast, because I’m not watching a show that I want to watch, or cry crocodile tears because you told me no.

I understand the frustration you feel. Not being able to make the rules. Having a strict schedule for things like playing on your tablet or watching the television. Feeling as though every decision in your life is made by anyone else, except you.

This is only partially true and temporary. I make the rules that you live by, yes. I set your busy schedule, yes. I even have a say in what you are allowed to eat. You get to make the decisions that matter most in your little life.

You get to decide which toys you play with and what shows you like. You get to pick between roller skating and riding your scooter. You get to decide what you eat for breakfast, and if you eat breakfast. You get to decide what clothes you want to wear and how you want to wear them. You even get to make decisions and express your opinions in a safe environment.

You see, these are the decisions you get to make because these are the decisions that matter the most in your world. I make the other decisions because those are decisions that you shouldn’t have to worry about. These are the decisions that children shouldn’t give a second thought.

Please, before you yell at me tomorrow morning. Take a simple second to realize that I’m just doing what any parent does. I’m caring for you and encouraging you to grow in to those trousers that are just too big for you. Instead of complaining about the lack of electronics, go get creative with your lego’s. Go be a child and let me be a parent. I know you want to grow up so quickly, let’s both take our bad day and make it a little bit better. Let’s both be more compassionate towards one another and see how much better these bad days can get.

I’m a cheap and sneaky kind of parent. I use and abuse my children’s ability to do crafts for decorations. I use a pillowcase when trick or treating. I even buy inexpensive costumes or make them myself. I feel like this adds character to the Halloween Season or any season really, at least around our home.

It’s true that my children would probably prefer to hang the spider webs, or stick the window clings onto the mirrors and windows. I can say, with utmost certainty, that they would most definitely prefer to decorate for Halloween with amazing props and yard decorations bought from whatever retailer they see them at.

Here’s a few issues I have with that. One – They don’t have jobs to pay for those things, they do enjoy spending my money,   Two- Though I feel it would be fun to open a package and place an item where they choose, I also feel as though we connect while we create our own decorations. We talk, laugh, joke around, and give each other input or ideas on what we are making. That’s quality bonding. Three-  If I were to ask them to agree on some kind of neat decoration that they would all like, chances are I would spend the rest of my birthdays standing in the middle of the store.

I’m not saying that there is anything wrong with going out and buying decorations. I’m simply stating that I am too frugal and selfish to spend all of the monies on Halloween. This doesn’t take away from my children’s enjoyment of the holiday though. In fact, I would like to think that the way we celebrate it actually adds a little something extra for them.

This year we made a beautiful centerpiece for our dinning room table. Painted wine and drinking glasses that we have turned into candle holders. We have a ghost, a Mummy, a Pumpkin, Frankenstein’s Monster, a Witch, a Vampire and a Witches hat. We had a lot of fun making this centerpiece. Each glass adds a little bit of character to the whole project, and I am so proud of my children and their creativity. We made cute little flying ghosts because one of the children asked to make them. We also played a game I found on Facebook called Roll a Pumpkin. They took pumpkin shaped cut outs and rolled dice. What number they rolled dictated what they could put on the pumpkin. The first to finish decorating the pumpkin won. This game kept them entertained for a long time, dare I even say, hours. They went through fourteen pumpkin cut outs. They played it together, and I enjoyed hearing the giggles and conversations.

I’m not just cheap, I’m sneaky. I am encouraging my children to spend quality time together making memories and being creative. I can’t do that with a store-bought decoration in a box. Sure we will have fun picking out a decoration, and deciding where to put it. That would probably only last for a few minutes. Then they will be off arguing over who gets to do what and torturing one another. With my way, they get to enjoy each others company and hopefully strengthen the bond that they share as siblings. Helping each other and proudly showing off their handy work.

My children don’t really seem to mind that I have them to do these projects. They enjoy art’s and crafts in general, so making these decorations and doing it as a family seems to be the icing on the cake. I’m lucky that my children enjoy doing these things. I don’t have to beg and plead, no arguing, not even the slightest sign of resistance. I feel as though they enjoy making these memories. Its has nothing to do with the most expensive and flashy decorations. It has everything to do with the time  that we, as a family, spend together creating these tangible memories. I am very blessed that my children enjoy the fact that I’m both cheap and sneaky. Maybe they don’t see that as being cheap and sneaky though. Maybe, just maybe, they see I’m creating memories with them and for them.

How do we know that what we say is the right thing? How do we know that what we’re saying is sinking in? The tough questions that our children throw at us, the heartbreaking concerns that they have about themselves or their friends. How do we know we’re getting it right? Their lives and well-being are placed in our hands from day one with no users manual. No guidebooks, or cheat sheets. Only the fear that we’re going to get it wrong.

When they come to us with those conversations that all parents are going to have with their kids. The hard ones. The ones that you dread having because they make everyone involved uncomfortable. No matter how much research you do. No matter how much you prepare. Is what you’re saying the right thing?

I was approached by one of my girls for a heart to heart the other day. I do my best to let them know that I’m always here if they need to talk, but I know that it still takes some courage from them to actually take me up on that offer.  I mean who really wants to talk to their mom about the embarrassing stuff. Shoot, sometimes I even have a hard time talking to my mom about things.

A few years ago she texted me “What would you say if I told you I was a lesbian?”. . .I’m gonna be honest, I am very grateful that she and I weren’t in the same place when she sent me that text, because I was a little discombobulated. I’d like to think I know my kids and I can usually figure out which one will eventually come to me with what.  Not that time.

Once I got over the surprise of being blindsided, I asked her a simple question, “What do you want me to say? I love you and if that’s how you feel then that’s how you feel. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”  I think she accepted that as a good response because she changed the subject and asked for cake.

She came to me again a few days ago with another concern. It took me a bit to pry it out of her because she wanted to talk, but I don’t know if she knew exactly how to say what she wanted.  When she finally came around to it, it wasn’t nearly as bad as I had imagined it would be. I know it was hard for her though, at her age, coming to me with concerns about her identity and who she is had to have been tough.

I again told her that I love her. I told her she was young and didn’t have to figure out everything today, tomorrow, or even ten years from now. I would always love her no matter what. She gets to decide who she is when she’s ready to decide and no matter what she decides she’ll always be the same person to me.

Within that same conversation there was a talk about how she felt about her father and I divorcing.  Both C and B were very young when their father and I split, and still pretty young when we officially got divorced. So young in fact I didn’t involve them with any of it. That didn’t stop me from wondering when one of them would approach me with the guilt that children can carry when their parents are divorced.

It broke my heart a little, having to reassure her that she and her sister were in no way the cause. Even with knowing that one day one girl would want to talk to me about it, it still kind of hurt to be faced with that discussion. We both walked away though having a better understanding and feeling a little bit better.

A few days later I had to have a sit down talk with another child.  This was apparently my week for the big conversations.  D was asked to help figure out what happened between some of her friends.  She answered as honestly as she could because she hadn’t seen what happened.

She did answer honestly, but she answered honestly with her opinion and not with what actually happened. I explained to D as best I could the difference between a fact and an opinion, which now a days even adults confuse.  I had her give me examples of what a fact was, something that can be supported with evidence, and examples of  her own opinions.

I feel I did a pretty good job on those talks. I did pat myself on the back a little. Even though I was completely making it up as I went. When I was done I immediately went to Kristina and bombarded her with a play by play of what happened and asked if I’d damaged my kids by the advice I was giving out.  Thankfully, she said it was sound advice.

There have been the conversations that have stumped me, or that I know have gone in one ear and out the other. The ones I know I’m going to have again, because no one got anything from it. The ones I go to the internet to see if they have any tricks that I can use to help the conversations stick.

I hit up all my parent friends to see if they’ve had to have similar conversations, that way I don’t feel like I’m the only parent in the world to deal with whatever the situation is. Sometimes, I even swallow my pride and go to my mom to see how she handled it when my siblings and I were growing up.

As parents, we all have that concern in our heads. What if I’m doing it or saying it wrong? The truth is, we make it up as we go. Fortunately for me, with my parenting style, my children know they can come to me with anything. I’m proud of them for their courage and I’m proud of myself for staying true to who I am, especially in my parenting tactics.  I may have worries that I worded it wrong but I was flying by the seat of my pants. Somehow though, I managed to make it through with minimal damage to everyone involved.