Mom to the Screaming Masses

All the Colors of Cuba

One of the things I was most struck with in Cuba was color. 

The second thing I was struck with was the absolute disparity of the city. There are parts of Havana that are absolutely gorgeous, some of the most breathtaking  buildings

and directly leading up to that square were absolute ruins. 

Probably one of the hardest things for me was the poverty. 

While we were still on the ship, we met with one of the tour guides, who told us that she had candy, pencils and makeup for us to distribute as we walked around. She told us that everyone would be so happy to see us, absolutely delighted to take our handouts - and that we would never see mamas so happy as when we would give our American pencils to their babies or hand over our makeup. 

Our Dollar Store Wet and Wild makeup. 

We were just - supposed to walk up to these random people and hand out candy and pencils and makeup. My husband didn't see the problem with it, but I really felt awkward and uncomfortable. More about my feelings in a minute. 

See these ladies?

There were gaily dressed women like this all over - they would walk up to you, plant a kiss on your cheek, and let you take a photo - and you'd better hand over the money. 

Same for these puppies. 

There were very gorgeous churches and government buildings and lots of places to buy things - but immediately around the corners of the buildings, people congregated in the alleys so they could get internet access - it's government controlled, super slow and only accessible at certain spots, so you will see groups of people hanging out. 

There's also rationing. 

And yet, we ate very, very well on the cruise ship, as one does, while on a cruise ship. 

  

So, back to me. As we always should be, haha. 

We took our stash of pencils and candies and makeup on the second day, and as we walked into the square, we were immediately mobbed. All of the locals rushed us, showing us photos of their children on their smart phones, begging us for candies and pencils, crying please and more, please, please. It was overwhelming, and quickly, it became scary. I had to leave. My husband rushed me out, and I was almost in tears. 

Now, let me say this. 

I work, every week, with the homeless. I am not afraid of working with impoverished, with hopeless, with dirty and unwashed. This was not that. 

What I felt when I was handing out candies and pencils and cheap makeup was not a sense of helping others - but a sense of condescension. I felt patronizing. 

My husband gave some school children pencils and candy and they gave him a look of skepticism, but I imagine they must be used to this weird life of strange American tourists handing them candy and pencils, because they took them and went off to school. 

I felt dirty. I hated handing women cheap American cosmetics. It felt tawdry.

And it was obvious that the Cuban people really, really don't like Americans. 

One other thing - I was unprepared for the fact that the public bathroom had no toilet paper, no running water of any kind (to flush or wash) and no soap. There was a man outside selling toilet paper, but I didn't notice him, in my haste to make it inside. Because this was the first time any of the cruise ships had stopped in the port, no one knew anything about any of this - we were the guinea pigs. So, if you are reading this, and traveling to Cuba - bring some tissue with you, and some hand sanitizer. :) Also? You can't use American money of any kind, in any way. So definitely be prepared. We weren't. You can't even buy a bottle of water or a soda. Anywhere. It made for an incredibly hot first day, until my husband begged a bottle of water from an unsympathetic tour guide. 

Yeah, he's a keeper. :)

We went for a tour the first day, and my husband really, really wanted to hear every single thing the tour guide had to say. I was more interested in taking pictures, and we had a slight disagreement when I saw a statue I wanted to take a picture in front of - I may or may not be one of those people who takes pictures with statues

but our tour guide was busy telling us that there was absolutely zero crime in Cuba and she felt entirely safe leaving her doors unlocked and letting her kids roam everywhere unsupervised and no one owned guns and that everyone was happy and my husband did not want to miss a single word of what she had to say

And, long story short, I missed getting my picture with my statue. And I was so irritated with him. So the next day, we got up, and we went back into the city, and we walked and walked, and we finally found the statue, which really wasn't a big deal at all, except that I just wanted this one picture, which is really silly in the grand scheme of things, but he is a good guy and he lets me do super crazy stuff like this. 

And then he took me to see where Hemingway lived - top floor - 

And I took him to see yet another church

So, in reality, we both got what we wanted, and before we knew it, it was time to leave Cuba. 

(Next post will be my last Cuba post - we went to the Tropicana Club!)

Get Out of Your Head - No One Cares About Your House

 

So, it may not be knowledge to everyone here, but I am somewhat of a control freak. I like things done a certain way, mostly because I've determined that they are best done that way. Why waste time trying new ways to do things? At least, that used to be my motto.

 

I have high standards for the way that I would like my house to look. My husband shares these high standards, and some in my extended family would say that I got these high standards from him. I don't really much care where I got them – I just like the house to look a certain way. But, as anyone who has even one child knows, very often, children do not share the same energy and enthusiasm for orderly, tidy surroundings. So over the years, I've developed a little bit of tolerance in this. I let a certain amount of untidiness go, but I'm always extremely vigilant that when people come over to my house it doesn't present in a messy manner.

 

It's an area of pride for me, I guess you might say. 

 

I tried to use my crockpot on Saturday, and realized that it had given up the ghost. A friend saw my Facebook post lamenting this, and offered to give me one of hers that she never use. It was an extremely generous offer.

 

Early in the morning on Sunday, while I was sitting on the floor in my great room, wearing pajamas, my glasses, and a ferocious, impressive bed head – my friend texted me. She was in my neighborhood and wondered if she could drop off the crockpot. 

 

I was not ready for company, is what you might say. My house, also, was not ready for company. The reality of children home from school coupled with a father who works multiple hours and is never home plus a mother who works from home means that no one is devoting time to cleaning the house.

 

Wait. I don't mean cleaning. The cleaning, it's done – the counters are wiped down, the tables are clean, the floors are clean. What I mean is the general tidy up that needs ALWAYS to be done, and if it's not done, you know that the piles multiply exponentially. The clothes everyone leaves where they fall from bodies, the wet towels on the floor, the turned over shampoo bottles spilling their lives down the shower drain, the ironing rack that decorates the TV room.

 

That kind of stuff. 

 

So my friend came over, and I had a kid meet her at the door, so that my kid could get the crockpot. Instead, my friend came in, sat on my sofa and visited with me for an hour. She didn't care that I had ferocious bed head, I had spilled coffee all over my bathrobe literally 30 seconds before she came in the door, and had no eyes for the mountains of laundry or the hanging rack of clothes waiting to be ironed.

 

No makeup. No brushed teeth. Wearing glasses. Ironing rack weeping from the load, baskets of wash, breakfast dishes everywhere, shoes scattered hither and thither. 

 

I was mortified. 

 

Because she came to visit. ME, not my house. 

 

In reality, no one cares about your house. They care about you. If anyone comes over to check on your cabinets/look under your sink/run their fingers over your shelves looking for dust – they're not a friend. 

 

Friends are going to want to see you. They come to talk with you, hear about your life, sharing your hopes and joys, or mourn with you for your struggles. They don't come to see if your dishes are piled.

 

But still, the next day, I did implement a summer chore schedule for my kids.

 

My mama didn't raise a dummy.

 

Helping My Child on the Meandering Path of Learning Differently

One of my kids has learning disabilities. A bunch of them. I prefer to think of them as "differences" rather than "disabilities." A difference just means that this child learns in a different manner, much like driving to a locale by taking an alternate route. You still get there. You just go another way -- maybe it's a more scenic way. Maybe your travel path meanders and, along the way, you see a cool stream and you stop and put your feet in and catch some fish for lunch and then you take a nap and you eventually get to where you were going, but a bit later.

And now you can probably see how my kids all learn in a different manner. They come by it honestly. SQUIRREL!

All kidding aside, when your kid learns differently than other people, it can be a super real challenge. You might have a fantastic teacher, one who thinks outside the box and explores alternate ways to learn and it might be the best school year ever. But the next year, your child might be assigned to a teacher who yells and is rigid about a quiet classroom, with all students in their seats and quiet and every piece of learning is done by the book.

One thing that I've found that really works for my ADD kid -- who has the inattentive type of ADD, and trust me when I say that I struggled with that diagnosis for, I'm not kidding -- five years -- is determining ways to make success within reach. I have to find ways to help this child succeed. Instead of trying to solve the problem, I look at what I want the result to be -- and work backwards. Which sounds like the exact same thought, but it's not.

Child has homework to do but cannot remember to bring home books. Instead of reminding child to bring home books, I think about the end result: I want the child to be able to do the work at home. Getting the books home is the issue, so I sign out a second set of books from the school. This way, we can still get the work done, and if the book doesn't make it home, well, it's not the end of the world.

Child also has a pack up buddy. And I've insisted that this child be allowed an extra two or three minutes to pack up at the end of the day, in order to verify that all of the books and notebooks are taken.

The best piece of equipment, though, is a little piece of paper that my father created. My father was a high school teacher and he saw many kids who struggled. He created a sheet of paper for my son - it looks like this:

 

He put the Lego guys on the top because this kid loves Legos, but you could put anything you wanted on your own version. The side says "subject" and I fill that in weekly. The child is responsible for writing down the homework and what books, notebooks, copybooks, etc are required. At the end of the day, I have requested in the accommodations form that the teachers take a minute to look over this sheet and sign off. Which, yes, does make work for the teachers, but at the end of the day, if it helps the child succeed -- well, isn't that what we are all working towards?

There are other accommodations, tricks, tips and secrets that we use for this child. That's not to say that everything has been amazing, though. I wish I could say that I've "solved the puzzle!" and we know EXACTLY how to make this work, but we don't and it's an ever-evolving mix of "Let's try this!"

And in dealing with learning disabilities, for us -- that seems to be the way to go.

Making It Through Summer, Week the First

One week down, nine more to go.

No, really - so far, it's not been bad. It helps that the shorties are the only ones out - tomorrow is the first day with the high schoolers home - but we all know that they won't get up before noon, and that's half of the day right there.

We've not been swimming yet, mostly because every day has featured rain and thunderstorms - but I'm holding high hopes for the next couple of days. Not so much because I have a burning desire to appear in public in my bathing suit - oh no, not that - but because it wears my kids slam out.

And I am ALL about that.

One area that my kids often struggle with is snacking. When they are home all day - and let's face it, when I'm home all day - the kitchen beckons and before you know it, they are all in the pantry and the cabinets, raiding the fridge and begging for food.

So this weekend I created the snack bin.

With breakfast whenever you get up - and one kid gets up at 6 STILL, but that's ok, because I'm wide awake for the day at 5:30, sigh - you have breakfast. They know the drill: choose frozen whole grain waffles, bagels, cereal, oatmeal, and muffins with either fruit or yogurt. Breakfast is strictly on your own. Sometimes, one wants a hot pocket - yes, I do try to feed them pretty nutritiously, and I think we do a good job and I know hot pockets aren't great, but whatevs - everyone loves them and it's a non issue here. My two youngest are big smoothie fans.  

Lunch is between 12 and 1, and that is again serve yourself. I will provide guidance - give choices of sandwiches/leftovers/help make quesidillas/enforce the fruit and veg rule. In other words - we've got the meals down pat.

Snack time is our nemesis. Everyone wants to snack as soon as the meal is over, and they all want crap food. So we created the snack bucket. It has all of the approved snacks - granola bars, fruit cups, almond and peanut butter packs, applesauce pouches, nutrigrain bars, and fig newtons. (Those are mostly for me. I love me some Newtons.)The cards in the back offer the cold items - yogurt cups (we do Stonyfield and Oikos), string cheese, half of a peanut butter or soy butter sandwich, fruit smoothie, fruit, carrots. The deal is that you can have one of those choices at 3-3:30.

Not gonna say it's genius - but over the past week, it's become standard. I'm hungry! Well, is it 3? Nope, gotta wait. It's so far, so good - and that's the best I can do for 10 weeks of summer break.

Saturday is a Good Day, Usually

Saturday is usually my favorite day. It's a long one that stretches for hours and hours in both directions - I'm typically awake and vertical by 7, which seems decadent and slovenly after a week of 5:30. Or earlier.

I am able to eat breakfast and drink coffee in peace, unlike Sunday, when I'm trying to get everyone ready for church, or for school during the week. It's a day that I try to do some extra baking for the week ahead -  muffins, cookies, breads - get the wash caught up, the house organized, and spend a bit of time being good to myself.

Today I started with a parent meeting for Golf club, and then came the event I was really interested in attending - the Coffee Cupping at Whole Foods. 

 Sampling coffees, with chocolate chasers, was a great way to start the day. Even if I AM totally palate clueless.

Seriously. I taste nothing woodsy, nothing citrus or cranberry or anything - I have the most clueless and unschooled palate that exists. But it was super nice to spend time sampling different coffees and espressos and learning about them - and the dark chocolate didn't hurt.

Then I came home to see that my son's girlfriend, home on Spring Break, had brought me an Oreo cupcake - I am a cupcakeaholic, but they have to be GOOD ones and these are - she'd given me one once before and I loved it. Yum!

Then the mail came, and I got my Celtic bracelet - just in time for the best.holiday.second.only.to.Thanksgiving - please excuse the fact that I have the wrists of a two year old.

I bought a new book and read. I downloaded new music - more on that this week - and pulled out the hand me downs for my younger girls, who are growing like nuts and suddenly needed new pants and shirt and school jumpers. When all was said and done, I filled the back of my Jeep with bags and bags of too small clothing, an additional pile of clothes for a friend with smaller girls and another for a friend with smaller sons.

I worked and worked and loved my sense of accomplishment -  What a great day! - the feeling that I was!getting!stuffs!done!, I was so rockin', I was the MASTER of my DOMAIN, watch me now! - 

when the screaming started.

Knowing that I'm quite possibly the parent of the most dramatic child ever, I delayed, even though she was screaming, Someone come help me, please, please and Ow, ow, Mommy, please!!!!!

Really, those cries usually mean someone has stepped on a rock and fallen to the ground, convinced that they shall NEVER WALK AGAIN -

But this time, those cries meant that someone short and small had gotten her arm pinched in the hinge part of the door, gotten it well and truly wedged in there (ow!) and no matter how she pulled (double ow!) it wouldn't come out and no matter how much she beat on the door it was closing (ow!) more and more (owowowoowowwwwwww)

and, well, the feeling of being good and productive and getting a lot done and what a GREAT SATURDAY it was -

well, they were gone. For both of us. Liberal applications of arnica and ice and motrin, and this is the best it looked all day - since I took this pic, it's gotten purple and black. We've done lots of cuddling, but wow.

Saturday.

Well, tomorrow is another day, right?

Well, I DID Say I Needed to Deep Clean the Kitchen...

Last night, my husband had a work function. Yes, it was a school night, and I don't like to go out on a school night. But I weighed that against free drinks + free food + adult conversation, and the balance tipped a bit away from sleep and more toward party.

Shoot me. I enjoy a good party every now and again.

I think it's telling that I also said to myself, You need to post something on your blog. But you really have nothing to post. There's no stories, nothing is really going on.

OH! HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!

 

We didn't leave the house until almost 10 PM. It felt a bit naughty, as I'm usually crawling into bed at 10 PM. We got to the restaurant, ordered a drink, and sat down with a plate of munchies. Literally, I had eaten two bites of a quesadilla corner, when my phone rang. I saw that it was the house, handed the phone to my husband, and continued my conversation with a girlfriend. With one ear, I listened to the conversation, and caught the words water, ceiling, and turn off the valve.

Excuse me?

He hung up the phone, looked at me and said, "apparently there's a water leak."I think it's telling that both of us looked at each other, nodded, and continued to eat our food. After all, we left two almost grown up kids in charge, told them what to do - it should be fine, right?

I took a sip of my drink, and my phone rang, and his phone rang at the same time.

No. You definitely need to come now, there's water pouring out of the light fixture in the kitchen. There's water coming through the walls in the bedroom upstairs.

Come. Home. Now.

I haven't downed a drink that fast since I was 19. Hey - it was $12 - I didn't pay it, but still - I'm not leaving Grey Goose on the table.

On the way home, we talked about what it might have been. We both came to the conclusion that it must be the hot water heater. After all, the brilliant genius who built this house put the water heater in the attic. After all, that's exactly where I would put a water heater, if I were house builder.

Which, hello, I am not. Thank God.

On my phone, I priced a new water heater, turned to my husband and said, "I hope you like hot water for Christmas, because that seems to be what you're going to get." He chuckled and wished me the same thing.

And we walked in the house, and saw this:

Apparently, when they said the water was coming through the recessed lights in the kitchen, they were not kidding.

 Behold:

My husband  turned off the hot water heater and still the water came out. It filled the buckets, the towels were drenched, replaced, replaced again. And still the water continued. It covered the counters. It filled the sink. It went on the floor, it went –

everywhere.

Yeah, I know I needed to deep clean my kitchen. I just didn't think I needed to do it at 11:30 PM.

I finally went to bed, and my husband decided to stay downstairs to keep an eye on things. When I woke up early this morning, he told me that the buckets had continue to fill, and at 1:30 in the morning, he went up in the attic to see if he could figure out what happened. After all, he had turned off the water to the hot water here, so where was this water coming from?

It turned out that a pipe had burst. And being covered by insulation, it was hidden, and virtually unnoticeable.

So, today when I woke up, I deep cleaned my kitchen. We called the plumber. We got new pipes. We've pulled out drywall.

Next time, I think I'm skipping the party.

Holding Hands, Holding Hearts

I read this post somewhere this week. It talked about being "in the moment" all the time, consciously choosing to enjoy each and every moment of your life."You'll never get another moment just like this!" crowed the author.

The cynic in me, the overwhelming part of my personality, cries out, "But what if I don't WANT to have another moment like this one?"

If you are washing dishes, for example, one is encouraged to enjoy the feeling of the water and the soap on your hands. Live in the moment, feel the peace and the joy invading your soul. Become a living, breathing, thinking part of everything. Fully embrace all situations in your life and live them out to the fullness of your ability.

Or some other such fluff.

__________________

I was scheduled to be a server for Mass today. I woke up early to get a project completed for work, worked like a demon on super hyper focus pills, took an exceptionally fast shower, and flat out RAN out of my house with my shoes untied and my makeup in my hands. I fretted over being tardy all the way there. I got to church at the edge of the allowable check in time, dropped one kid where she needed to be, grabbed my husband's choir stuff so I could pass it off when he arrived, and as I sat down in the pew -

I released the breath I hadn't known I was holding. And forced myself to drop my shoulders and just - sit.

________________

One of my kids likes to hold hands. Actually, that's a lie - three of them do, and because I've not yet figured out how to generate another hand, sometimes someone's gonna get their feelings hurt. Every time I stand up, get out of the car, walk with my kids - there's people holding my hand. Grabbing for my hand, jostling others out of the way, crying if it's not their turn, hurt feeling flying through the air like donuts off a conveyor belt.

I'll admit, sometimes I'm not super happy to hold hands. My hands sweat. My kids lace their fingers, pull my fingers, twist their wrists and squeeze every last bit of air from between our clasped palms. They spread their fingers apart, pinch them close together, swing their arms wildly, cross their fingers over mine and generally, do what they can to blast all the pleasantness from a hand holding experience.

Sometimes, I try to avoid holding hands.

______________________

This weekend two of my big kids were gone, and one of my big kids was sick and had been for a long time. I had a stack load of stuff to accomplish and tried, as best I could, to power through what seemed to be a quagmire of responsibility in literally every single aspect of my life.  I worked and worked up until the very minute I sat down in that church pew, and as I did so -

my daughter grabbed my hand. And there we sat, holding hands and sitting still. It wasn't a long time, only a minute or two, but it was long enough for me to realize that I only have a couple more years of people wanting to hold my hands. A few more years of juggling responsibilities and needs, wants and desires of a multitude of people.

Sooner than I think, these little hand holding people will be spending entire weekends away with friends and girlfriends, and moving out and creating lives that will be full and cumbersome without me. I hope that they won't forget me, won't forget that they once fought over holding my hands

and hope that I won't fight to let them go.

It's Friday Night and I'm Super Proud of Myself

Let's see if I can manage to write this without pissing anyone off.

From the time I was a kid until a couple of years after I moved out of my parents house, I participated in a particular activity. I was pretty good - not the best, not the worst - at this particular activity. I took classes every day in this particular focus, but I was never part of the "in" crowd.

I know this because the person who led the "in" crowd - someone who was a good ten years, maybe more, older than me - always made it a point of her dealings with everyone else to let me know that I was left out. I was left out of activities, conversations stopped when I came in the room, plans for the entire group were not given to me.

I wanted to have a party when the Michael Jackson video Thriller came out - remember when the debut of music videos was a HUGE DEAL? My dad bought the video and I planned this party - and she didn't come and almost no one else did either - because she was someone important and I wasn't.

And for years, it has bugged me. What did I ever do to her? Was I so terrible at this particular activity that she was embarrassed to be associated with me? Not hardly. Was I ugly? Not especially, I wasn't winning any awards in high school - but I wasn't wearing a paper bag over my head. I tried to be kind to her, but it didn't seem to make much difference, and I really had few friends during this particular activity.

It's quite possible that there was a reason for me to be unliked. I still haven't figured it out.

I've tried, for several years after becoming an adult - to befriend this woman. When my girls - all four of them - wanted to participate in this particular activity - I took them where I had trained - and she was the new owner. And I paid my money and left my kids there, and they received good training. I've referred people there, and any time someone asks me where I would recommend - I mention this place.

But, recently, two of my kids have asked to go back, and I've said no. Not because of the money, but because of how she made me feel for the vast majority of my life. Why am I giving money, money that is hard to come by - to someone who spent several years trying to make me feel like dog crap planted on the bottom of a shoe?

And tonight, when I saw her, I didn't rush over and make friendly. I walked away. It makes me petty, I know, and makes me childish. Above all, it makes me human. I'm not angry - I just don't care any more.

I am a worthy human being. I am smart, I am kind, I am capable and I am good. I do good things. I am friendly and outgoing, helpful and work hard to do good. If you need something, I'll be there if I can do so to help in any way possible.

If you can't see that, I'll be damned if I pretend otherwise. And I'm certainly not going to make nice and above all, spend my hard earned money continuing to allow someone to lord over me.

I'm worth more than that.

 

Contentment

All my ducks in a row.

It's an odd feeling, and one which is almost completely foreign to me.

I was driving home from the store today - I had gone to a store that's not typical for me and is a good bit away from me - and as I rolled down the interstate, windows open, music blasting, it occurred to me -

I am content.

We've both worked really, really hard for the past couple of months on multiple things. For a long while, they didn't line up, and I despaired. When you are plugging away for a long time and you can't see any results - it can be uber frustrating to all of the people involved. And when those people are super frustrated, it can make them less than an amazeballs amount of fun to be around.

Ahem. I'm mostly referencing myself.

But slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y - those pieces are begining to fall into place. I'm understanding the nuances of my new job and I love it The time requirement means that I must both become even more organized - and I already thought that I was - and rely on the help of others a bit more - an area with which I struggle.

I'm sure it's not going to last - I'm kinda, sorta one of those "glass is half full of acid" kind of people -but it's a really nice, albeit slightly foreign, feeling. I'm not where I want to be in terms of lots of things - but the fog is lifting, for just a peek, off the road in front of me.

:)

And, for right now, it's good enough.

______

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I am An Enigma

I am fragile. I get my feelings hurt far too easily.

This is something I'm actively working on.

Sometimes, when people are crude or rude or in other ways socially unacceptable - it's not all about you. It's about them. The reactions to their actions, the way they feel about themselves and the experiences they may be currently undergoing.

It's a mantra I repeat to myself very, very frequently - with limited, although expanding success.

At the same time, I feel as if I am developing a core of steel, forged by incredible heat and situtations over the past few years that I have experienced. I no longer temper myself in certain situations. I've been known to be filterless, to call people on their shenanigans and nonsense and I no longer have patience with situations that are just beyond ridiculous.

The result of this means that I am more true to myself and more comfortable in my own skin. More at home with who I am, who I will be and what I want in my lfe. I believe in myself enough to allow myself to live the life I was meant to live, the life that makes me happy - not the actions and the reactions that would make someone else's life happy.

The other side of fear - is courage.