"If you wanna know the truth..."

To Holden-

This is Us.

This is my favorite picture. I think its perfect. You are three years old. We live in the apartment. We are taking "selfies" in our bathroom mirror, and you are trying to pull the septum ring out of my nose. It was pierced then, and I wore a small silver horseshoe. You were fascinated by it, sort of in the same way you are still fascinated by my glasses. 

You are quick, and always have been.  Your innate sweetness is my foil. I get so caught up in my delight at you, I forget you are up to sneaky dealings. When your preschool teacher called me to inform me you were "Out of Sorts", she described a boy I didn't recognize.  I was told you had been knocking over other children's blocks, and calling your classmates bad names, like "Pumpkinhead." In my mother's heart, I knew "Pumpkinhead" was not complimentary. 

"Could you speak with Holden?" Ms. Viv asked.

I steadied myself. "Put him on, please."

You came on the line and said, "Hi, MomMom."

I thought: Hello, four-year-old. I said, "Hi Holden. I hear you're having a rough day. Do you want to tell me about that?"

You said, "Yeah, but MomMom, You are So Beautiful."

I thought: Damn it, four-year old. 

I thought: Sweet talker.

I said, "That's fine, Holden, but you need to be nice at school."

You said, "OK, MomMom."

***

The first time you stole my glasses of my face, you were probably six months old.  You were only making sounds then, but we all tried to get you to talk. You didn't say anything until you were about 11 months old.  It was your first real word.  It was: Cheese.

When you said "Cheese:, you got cheese. We would say it back and forth to each other, as if we'd had some kind of breakthrough in communication. Everything was Cheese. Did you bump your head? Cheese! Did you like that book? Should we read it 54 more times right now? Cheese! 

Cheese. It's my favorite.

You are so special.  If you don't know, you are named after my first true love: Holden Caulfield. 

I get shit about it. It's stupid. Holden Caulfield is the protagonist of my very favorite book, Catcher in the Rye.  People who criticize it don't understand it. We'll talk about it one day.

I have always wanted you.  In the same way I wanted your sister, and she was planned, and here is my life with her. Mabyl and me against the world. I thought my chance to have you was gone. But, here you are. My boy. My Holden. I love you more all the time.

You are funny, You are smart. You are so sweet, considerate, compassionate, and kind.  I don't know adults that behave as well as you. You seem guided by a deeper intuition, an innate morality, and your absolute sweetness- your good nature- I want it to endure. 

You have made me a better person.  You have made me a better Mom.  I am grateful and thankful to know you, and I'm reminded everyday just by being in your company 

I love you, my son. 

Mom

At Work

A coworker wants to smoke. I agree to watch her section.

I check on her rowdy group of ten.

A large man says: "You're rocking that 'Geek Look' tonight!"

I tell him this is how I always look.

He laughs. He muses, "Imagine waking up to you every morning."

I ask if there is anything I can do for anyone.

He tells me: "Nah, you already got my wrinkles out."

...

Comment

So, I’ll add mine. My son(5) is Mexican, my daughter (10) is not. This election has been hard on her, and we spoke openly about the issues and candidates. She wanted Hillary all along- she’s a natural feminist, and had some trouble accepting my support of Bernie Sanders, because- as a woman, I should support women. We delved deeper into values, and why it’s important to educate yourself. She was frustrated with me after the primaries, but she understood. As long as Trump was out of the picture, she respected my choice.

Her grandmothers both voted for Trump. I promised my vote to Hillary- it was a concession- but never Trump, obviously. She was devastated. She came home in tears. #removethe19th was scrawled on the bathroom walls, she said. Her best friend was not himself. His family had been preparing to move in case Trump won. Today he left early from school. She’s positive she will not see him again.

She’s pissed at her grandmothers. How could they vote for Trump when their own grandson is Mexican? I explained that he isn’t the target population for whatever crooked “immigration reform” Trump has cooked up. But does it matter?

What if they know he’s Mexican? Will they hurt him? She asks.

I don’t know. But I share her fear.

Talking with my sons father, he says some aunts and cousins are leaving soon as well. People I know and love, kids I’ve seen grow up, my kids cousins and playmates. They are citizens. They don’t feel safe.

Friends of mine who are sick worry if they can continue treatment for degenerative diseases after Trump swears in. If he upturns Obama Care, they would suffer tremendously.

My daughter cannot reconcile this. She has not had an easy childhood, and I have not been easy on her. She is strong and independent, fiercely smart, loyal, loving, hilarious, and a damn good human being. She is already one helluva woman.

But witnessing her heartbreak like that. Her steel resolve shatter. I broke.

Parents give everything for a better world for our kids, and we love the shit out of them. This week showed me sometimes that’s not enough anymore. I can’t kiss a scraped knee and make it all better. No amount of Mommy Magic can heal this.

For her this has been a huge turning point in how she saw her county, the world, and her family. I can’t fix this.

I can listen. I can promise her I did what I could to be a responsible citizen. I can show her what it looks like when 49% of the nation doesn’t show up to do its civic duty. I can allow her the comfort to express her anger and sadness without clutching my chest if she says Shit! or Fuck! I can let her eat cookies and cool whip while I drink a bottle of wine and she shows me every YouTube video she loves ever, because we both need a break from reality.

The effects of this crap election are immediately felt. I am not hopeful. I am sad. I am pissed. They are Fucking with my kids. My family. My body.

I will fight.

Day 1

She came home crying today. A good friend of hers from school is moving because his family is terrified. All I could do was listen and comfort. Assure her I did everything I could to prevent this.

She asked: why can't WE move.

Too complicated.

She asked: what happens now?

I said: I don't know.

She asked: are things going to get really bad?

I said: ...maybe.

It was 3:30 in the afternoon, today, in our kitchen- the blinds were open, but there wasn't much sun.  I wanted to tell my daughter everything was going to be ok- but why? How can I look in her face and tell her something I'm not sure I believe?

I told her we'll be together, no matter what.

And we sat on the couch all night watching YouTube videos.

******

What the FUCK am I supposed to do??? How do you parent like this?? My heart is broken.

Final Boss

Mabyl is gonna be so pissed.

If Trump wins tonight, she is going to be a deeply angry young Lady. She has followed this election closely- all on her own- since the start. She fell in love with Hillary. She thought it was very important to have a woman president.  Mabyl was born while W was in office, but President Obama will be the first president she will remember.  So to have a second hugely historic candidate as a follow up was truly something special.

One day, a Bernie Sanders magnet showed up and went on the refrigerator. Mabyl took notice immediately.  She puzzled over why i- a woman- wouldn't support Hillary.  And so opened up a wonderful and weird range of political discourse that pervaded the past two years with my daughter.

I explained how I had loved Hillary, and had hoped she would run for many years.  But as I learned more about Bernie Sanders, I felt his values were more similar to mine. Hillary had changed in a fundamental way I couldn't quite put my finger on. I didn't give a damn about those emails. It was something about her. I remember thinking Elizabeth Warren would have killed it this year.

We had a mutual disdain for Donald Trump. We talked about who he is and where he came from. She thought it was obscene he has a golden toilet.  He became the punchline of every joke.

Q.  Why did the chicken cross the road?

A.  Because Donald Trump was there.

Her biggest problem with him is his overt racism, and the Mexican Wall. Her little brother's grandmother is from Mexico City. It is his heritage. It is his family. They are people we know and love. He is my son.

She says, "If anyone tries to take MY brother to Mexico they're gonna have to take ME, too!"

It was awesome.  Mabyl and Holden are best buds. They love each other. They talk. They share. They fight. They say I love you, and goodnight.

I fear the world my children will have. I've done what I can to participate- to be an active citizen, and responsible- to be a good, and better example- to be the mother my children deserve- to be loving, forgiving, and good.

Trump just won Alaska. I...am not optimistic. I can not wonder how this happened anymore, because I was here and I saw it happen. I tried to stop it. My efforts did not matter.  I am devastated.

A Love Letter (kinda) to Mabyl

Everyone seems to be searching for the unicorn of a person who can "handle them at their worst" at the benefit of "having them at their best". To my fellow parents, I want to tell you, that person is already there, and its probably not your spouse. Its your kid.

Kids are terrible, selfish, rude, and demanding, yet sweet, loving, perfect humans who smell bad and sass you. If you think your ten year old is viciously unreasonable for not clearing the dinner table, remind yourself that this little person has seen you cry. You have broken down. You swore in front of or at them. You were overwhelmed, and unfairly grounded them over minutiae. Maybe you were stressed out. Maybe you had a bad day. You may have spanked or shouted at your child over something that didn't warrant it, unlike running toward the street, or touching a hot stove. You have broken promises. You are not the parent you SWORE you would be.

Even after all the tears, the fights, the annoyances- your kid wants you at the end of the day. I'm well into my 30s and I STILL want my Mommy sometimes.

The biggest gear shift in a parent-child relationship is to see each other as individuals, and to respect each other for who they were and who they are. If you love your children earnestly, it will shine thru- good days or bad. No one will ever know you as well as your child, because they see the real you.

And they love you anyway.


Over on Thought Catalog, an article popped up about "10 Things You Learn by Being Raised by a Strong Mother."  It was nice, but very saccharine. I don't doubt the author's experience, nor do I wish to take away from it. But, I couldn't help but think- what if that was written by my daughter?

I have always prided myself on being very real, honest, and open with her. I don't censor or sugarcoat myself.  I don't hide my feelings from her. I don't pretend everything is alright when it isn't to make her feel secure. Its disingenuous, and she is too smart for that.

So, with a gentle nod to the TC article, I give you:

Ten Things You Learn Being Raised by Mandy Jeanne, with Asides and Opinions.



1. Independence- and how it doesn't always work out

I am not now, nor have I ever been a vocal feminist. I'm also not hip to the extreme fundamentalist/religious bent of total submission to a husband. I believe in self-reliance, but I also believe in partnership.

My daughter was very wanted. She was a tried-for and had baby. But she's a child of divorce. And I didn't take introducing new people to her lightly. When things didn't work out, well, that's life. She was young. I was left with my own heartache, compounded by hers.  My heart always broke harder for her.

But I let her see my sadness. We were in this life together, for better or worse. I let her know it was OK to be sad, and it was OK that Mommy was sad. Life isn't a string of things that happen the way you plan. Maybe she learned this lesson early, but she learned it by my side. We picked up our pieces together.

2. Unconditional love- and not always smiling about it.

Of course you feel unconditional love for your child. Even Jeffrey Dahmer's father still loves him- and he ATE people. That doesn't mean you plaster a smile on your face, tie an apron around your waist, and cater to your kid's every whim.

Part of loving someone is saying NO. Teaching your child that the needs of a parent are secondary is a slippery slope. Reaching a balance for wanting better for your children and outright spoiling them is tricky. Sometimes it's easier to give in, but you need to be cautious, lest you set yourself up to be a doormat.

I have always been honest with my daughter. If I felt bad- if I had a rough day- I told her so. She would-and does- ask questions that are difficult to answer. She wants to know the motives and intentions behind other people's actions. She wants to know why.

I often cant craft a delicate response. I tell her: the world is full of people who say things to get things. People who lie, and pretend to be your friend. Life is hard sometimes, but beautiful, and sometimes it makes mommy cry, because one day you will be in the world by yourself.

But she knows that wherever I am is home. And home is a safe place. Unconditionally.


3.  Loving yourself- because not everyone will.

I was picked on in school quite a bit. I was chubby, awkward, weird- once I farted in class, and all the kids called me "Mandyfart "for the rest of the year. (Mabyl finds this particularly hilarious.)

I really struggled. In high school, I was well liked, but didn't quite fit the mold of the school I attended, or anything else for that matter.  I was strange, and I knew it. It was a difficult time.

My daughter has experienced some bullying, but I am slow to react. She's still too young for social media, and anything I've dealt with since 1st grade has been settled with a phone call.

Kids are jerks. They're mean, boorish, and arrogant. I've taught my daughter to disengage, but to stand up for herself. I get involved when I need to, but I  won't fight her battles for her. She needs to choose what she stands up for, and what to let go of. She is angry, but she meditates. She started doing that on her own.

I told her- Not everyone will "get" you, but that doesn't matter. If you are happy with yourself, you have figured out something most people never can.


4.  Being strong and soft- and learning how to navigate the world at seven.

I wasn't always around. I was married to her father for three years before we split, and another four before I could afford to divorce him. It wasn't easy. It was hard on both of us, even after he was no longer a part of her life. We had to figure out how to be us all the time- not just part time.

The article describes being scared by seeing her mother cry, but then being immediately comforted with a hug, and told everything will be fine.

I never did that. Mabyl saw the whole range of emotions. And I held her and said "No matter what, we'll be together." And so it was.  She never has said if she was frightened. But she knows I fought for her. To talk about those times now (as we sometimes do) I still find myself using language i shouldn't, or saying things a bit too frankly.

But you know what? That's her story- her life, and experience. I have no right to whitewash it, or take away from it. I fought hard and won for her. I'm soft forever because I will always carry her pain, regardless of her healing.

I'm proud. I'm sad, I'm happy, and I'm fucking proud. My girl is a warrior.


5. Not easy being a woman- or anyone else.

Yeah, this is true, its not easy being a woman. Or black. Or gay. Or Mexican. Or Muslim. Or Transgender. Or Poor. Or, you know, anyone, really.

I'll say it again, I'm not a vocal feminist. And I'll admit, there is a part of me that wants to escape to a mountain commune out West, and go off the grid, where we can farm our own food and sing Joni Mitchell songs all day. Buuuuuut......

In the meanwhile, to teach my daughter only one form of oppression is negligent. And to tell her she will be automatically dismissed due to her womanhood is bogus. So I teach her to speak, and to have a voice. I teach her to have an opinion, and I answer her questions- even the hard ones, like "Why is marijuana illegal?" openly and honestly. We discuss these issues. Her mind races for answers.

And do NOT get her started on Donald Trump.


6.Don't look back- except for when you need to learn from your past

Everyone has a past. Every parent has their glory days. Some of these stories you should save for when your child is older- like when you buy them their "First Beer Ever" on their 21st birthday.

But you and your child have a past as well. Every experience is unique.  I know- as a single mom, and speaking ONLY on my experience- I was not always a great mom.  I was often exhausted from working 2-3 jobs. I missed my daughter's first words, first steps- and so many countless other milestones, because I had to provide.

And I was so tired. So many days I would try to nap while she minded her own self- making her own snacks, and playing computer games while I caught up on the sleep I so desperately needed.  When it was time for me to go back to work, I would drop her back off with her grandmother. We did this for a long time.

I couldn't check homework.  I missed teacher conferences. I slept through her talent show because I misread the time and overslept. I disappointed her. I broke promises, and sometimes I snapped at her when I was overtired.  All she wanted was me, and I had almost nothing to give.

In the time I had alone I would sit in her room and cry.  Was I utterly failing her, or doing what had to be done?

She and I remember those times together now, and her experience is far different from mine. She remembers a mostly happy time, with lots of friends, and having her first sleepovers.  She recalls my absence as "Mom just working like always."

One day it may change. And I won't hide from her when she wants to talk about it.


7. Patience and faith- patience is a virtue, God is optional.

For the most part, I am very calm. I'm a little silly, but generally measured and responsible (...these days. mostly.)

Mabyl is impetuous. Demanding. Excitable. Intense. Intelligent. Witty. Gregarious. ....a little obnoxious. But, that's 10.

The article talks mainly on not enjoying instant gratification- well, we got that on lock. I treat my daughter like a queen when I can, but she is far from spoiled. Its common for her to hear things such as, "You may not have a year membership on <insert internet game of the day>. I have to pay my car insurance."

She'll frown, but she understands. A big splurge is when we take the family to the water park, or a movie. Every year she asks to go on vacation. She wants to see the ocean. (She also wants to visit the memorial of the Edmund Fitzgerald- but that's a story for another time.) Every year I can't take her. She is patient. She understands. But it hurts us both.

We talk about God a lot. I've never been religious, but grew up in a Christian Scientist Church, and mostly attended Catholic school. She has had questions I've answered honestly, without bias, and encouraged her to go to church with her grandmothers.  She was five the first time she went. When she came home, I excitedly asked, "Mabyl, how was church?"

She said, "Mom, I think you're going to hell."

In her short decade of existence she has wavered between being a BFF of Jesus, to declaring she's a staunch atheist.  I tell her its OK to believe a little of both. I've told her, if Jesus was really the person the Bible says he was, then he was a great person, and we should all strive to be like him. I tell her there is value in every religion, but it can be tricky. I tell her what I feel is true: There are a great many paths in the world, and you have to make your own sense of it all. The odds of a single religion "getting it right" are slim, but who knows? I tell her its pompous and foolish to insist you have all the answers, and the smartest thing you can ever say is "I don't know."

8. Creating your own happiness- and owning your life.

One thing I am always thankful for is knowing Mabyl has seen me fail. She has been there when I've not gotten my dream job, or gotten fired, or got a speeding ticket, or taken care of me when I'm sick.  She asks me what is wrong, and I tell her (sparing unnecessary details).

We are of a similar mind. And I think maybe allowing her to share in my emotional life has helped her feel comfortable sharing with me.

We are happiest in our own quiet time- with plenty of candy and horror flicks. We make irreverent jokes which are funny to no one else.  I tell her: "Go make yourself look human, we have to leave in ten minutes!"

To which she'll retort: "I can't take you seriously when your hair looks like that."

I'll huff and puff, but the girl is right. My hair is a damn mess- and I just brushed it! I can hear her giggling as I curse a blue streak in front of the mirror, trying to make MYSELF look human.

She doesn't except perfection from me, and I don't demand it of her. We give each other space to grow, stumble, and learn. It has made us who we are.

9. Knowing more love than your child- and how your kids grow you up.

If you knew me ~15 years ago, and suggested in any way I may someday have children, I likely would have thrown something at you... like my car.  Yet here I am today.

Being pregnant was a strange experience. I hated it. I was exhausted, but I did my best to keep in shape. I did yoga twice a day (which became rather unsightly as time passed), I walked a mile to work and back each day (uphill in the snow both ways), and took my dog on many, many walks. I ate well (never mind the daily Take 5 candy bar) and I smeared hundreds of dollars worth of cocoa butter on my rapidly expanding belly.

None of this mattered, of course. By the time I was five months along, I looked twelve months overdue. My skin stretched and tore- seemingly overnight- resembling what I can only describe as wildfire all across my stomach. I ballooned to a G cup, which had to be purchased at a specialty bra supply for around $100. I was weighing in at 215- a far cry from the rough 140 I'd been happily accustomed to.

Then, this kid was 2 weeks past due. I went through some midwives who implored me to continue to wait, because of Gaia, or something. And it was late July, 100° in the shade with 2X the humidity, so I was ready to have this baby on my own. 36 hours of hard labor, hemorrhaging, and almost no medication (Also, because Gaia) I heard her scream, and I was overcome with a great wave of emotions and relief.

Mabyl loves me to tell her this part: when she was handed to me, wrapped in a blanket, pink, and wrinkled, I looked into her eyes for a few moments- and I felt as though we had known each other a long time before.  I don't know that anyone plans their first words to their children, I sure didn't- but what I did say was: "Welcome to the world baby girl. I'm that voice you've been hearing for the past nine months."

I wanted and planned for her. She was no happy accident. She was born on purpose- and I remind her of that. Sometimes when she says things like "I hate math and I wish I was never born!"  Alas...

I did not have any idea what being a parent- a mother- really meant. Yes I struggled and sacrificed- I still do. But my daughter "grew me up" as she herself grew. It was easier over time to not covet the free time enjoyed by my unattached friends. And learning to enjoy my private time when I did have it was a brand new lesson in a brand of haunting guilt only parents can understand.

I learn from her every day. How to be not just a better mother, but how to be HER mother.


10. Learning how to be a good mom- and hoping your kids learn from your mistakes.

If and when Mabyl ever has her own children, I will move far, far away, and send cards on birthdays and Christmas.

No. I won't. But I will encourage her not to read too many books, or blogs about how to be a perfect parent. I'll tell her what I know, but to take it with a grain of salt- only she can choose what is right for her, and I'll support her, just as I always have.

People are often so afraid of becoming too much like their own parents to understand its all one big guessing game. It takes a long time to see a finished product- and even then its never truly finished. Kinda like how you never stop being a parent. You evolve. Your child sets the pace, and you move on with the rest of your life.

In many (some quite unexpected) ways, I've become like my own parents.  I think many of us do, and will, as we absorb the good and the bad.  My hope is that Mabyl will remember how I was always honest with her- how I sometimes said, "I don't know what I'm doing!", and how I loved her above all else- fiercely, though it may have been raw at times.

If she remembers that, if she lives her own, happy life, full of successes that are meaningful to her, I will be grateful.  She was never mine, only mine to guide.  And, yes, I have told her this, too.

...yeah, no

"Then no matter who you are, in a crowded restaurant or on some desolate street or even in the comforts of your own home, you'll watch yourself dismantle every assurance you ever lived by.  You'll stand aside as a great complexity intrudes, tearing apart, piece by piece, all of your carefully conceived denials, wether deliberate or unconscious. And then for better or worse, you'll turn, unable to resist, though try to resist you still will, fighting with everything you've got not to face the thing you most dread, what is now, what will be, what has always come before, the creature you truly are, the creature we all are, buried in the nameless black of a name."  House of Leaves, Mark Z. Danielewski

  I pulled up the chariot the other day while somewhat aimlessly rifling thru my deck. I was glad to see it, due to a recent minor setback. Provided I can stay out of my own way, everything will be fine.

The more concerning card that turned up was 10 of wands, which of course was fitting. At face value, the card represents heavy burdens brought about by overexertion.  Well, obviously.  Anyone could tell. I'm worried that my youthful glow will faze and fetter far more quickly than it should, and the fine variety of salves and serums will no longer be preventative, but reactionary. I'm 32. In ten years I still want to look 32.  At the rate I'm going, I may be closer to THIS.

(Microsoft, however, gave me a helluva compliment yesterday. Try it! http://how-old.net)

The burdens I carry in my head, and my core are hard and somedays I find myself a willing participant in my own consumption. But that's on me. Other days, the fraught is external. And I can grin and bear it, and I can fly under anyone's radar- or try my damnedest- but I'm a person people take notice of. I'm someone that is assumed is up to something.  Being quiet does no good. Being gregarious is worse. There is a balance somewhere, but it's goddamn delicate, and I have a tendency to forget myself. Float like a butterfly, plod thru the banality like a combine.

When the 10 card showed up, it stuck in my head a day or two.  Being overwrought with so much negativity that isn't mine has caused a part of my brain to switch off- and it was something I felt physically- in a pivotal moment, where the only thing I had left, for myself or for anyone, was a big, fat fucking NO.

And... thats fucking ok.

I... just can't keep eating shit. I just can't. Part of all of this is my withered ability to stand up for myself, coupled with trying to please everyone- and the cracks are starting to show.  But I don't want to become a creature, I want to step thru, and shed, and so...

NO.