Maneuvering Life and Motherhood with Twins Plus One
Test your accuracy with the Precision Target Set! The set includes everything you need for target practice: a Firestrike blaster, a target, and 10 Suction Darts in 2 different colors. Just stand up the target or hang it from a door, and take aim with the light beam when it’s your turn. Continue reading “Nerf N-Strike Elite Precision Target Set”
Transformers. Who knew the come back of an 80s favorite would be so viral!? The movie was a catalyst for a whole family of toys for kids of all ages. Of course the most beloved character is the fearless and noble leader, Optimus Prime. Continue reading “Transformers Rescue Bots Optimus Primal”
Teppenyaki was the dinner treat for our children on a Friday night. The call was theirs on the cuisine, two out of three identified Asian, orange chicken called out from the youngest and sushi from the eldest. The perfect blend of each equals teppenyaki. While at the dinner table and enjoying the various rolls ordered to curb any grouchiness and angst 
from impatiently hungry children, and husband, I found myself wondering if I should grab my phone to document the moment. Post the food hashtag on Instagram and carry over to Facebook, with the exploits of my children as the forefront. The picture would literally eek of SOB as I would succumb to the, “look at me I am a fabulous parent taking my children out for Japanese cuisine” cliche of today’s Facebook parenting. I took the picture anyway, only to be saved until today.
Everyday I am reminded of how connected we are as a society to social media, the net, technology. Facebook posts are riddled with exploited children in their seemingly normal and mundane daily life. Nothing too out of the ordinary, just their natural habitat. Parents capitalizing on their children in vulnerable moments, Instagram posts of ER visits for a broken arm after falling off a bike, tweets about the drowning of a child, or a blog about how their child is so amazingly special and you are an asshole for not agreeing with their parenting style or fashion. Such individuals will even go to such devastatingly great lengths to validate their useless points.
For the last four years I have trudged through the whoreson of the corporate existence. I have lost much of my desire for exploitation due to the lack of overall time I had to spend with my children outside of the workplace. Many of the women who post today are stay at home mothers. In no way is this a bash to the important job and responsibility as a mother. However, how much of that time is actually spent being a mother? Are these mothers spending more time death gripping the smart device to see what Sally Shoemaker is up to and what she is doing for her children today. Or Josie Jerkoff and how she is always taking her children out for processed foods and other corporate infused noxiousness. Can you count how much time is actually spent with your children? Can you recall what they learned in school today? Did you assist with their homework? Have you had a legitimate conversation with them about their feelings, how today’s world impacts them, their future, are they physically, emotionally, and mentally prepared.
“I don’t have to worry about such nonsense right now” is the flippant response. I laugh, because we are so engulfed in our own existence and the relationship with social media and overall technology, we have become a disconnected parent of sorts. Albeit, we are posting galore on Instagram, Facebook and making our opinions heard in 140 characters or less to seem as if we are so in tune with our children’s day-to-day and well being. I enjoy the parents who post about how they work and play with their kids and the posts are occasional, while I miss their engagement, I know most are a text away. I used to be that parent on both spectrum’s, engaged and disengaged all at once.
These days I find myself in an overwhelming amount of joy, albeit sometimes bombarding, that my kids run to me first when they get home. The past five months have afforded me a gift and a blessing I will never regret. I will never look back on this time and think I missed anything. In spite of looming financial hardships and the overall frustration of not working (contributing financially), I have never been so connected to my kids and my life. I will never regret being able to experience these times in their lives.
Each day I have the pleasure of seeing them off to school. My former life I was already at the office by the time they would even wake, if not tied to a conference call as I waved each goodbye and scooted out the door. My oldest has mastered the fine art of using the telephone, calling me on days to make special requests like bringing his refillable water bottle to school for him since its a warm day (and he’s susceptible to heat stroke) and or calling to remind me of something he wanted in particular. I find his calls so heartwarming, even though just a simple phone call, the fact he thought to call me is priceless.
Every afternoon I see them barreling through the door, near breathless from racing each other from the bus stop, but managing to rattle off all they did that day or the major accomplishment. While a slave to the corporate master I would miss these moments, only to be told secondhand by my husband, missing all the excitement from the original storytellers, breathless, sweaty and grinning ear to ear. The story and moment didn’t hold the same weight.
I find myself soaking in more time with them now that they are older and more aware. We talk about real issues, concerns, feelings, planning for the future. The transactions are phenomenal and comedic. Avoidance of technology at the dinner table and throughout all our meals has become vital. Reconnecting with our kids, our lives and blocking the noise of social media and technology in order to be parents, to be engaged and to be aware. Ironic as this post may be, writing it while my children are in school. With less time attached to my phone I am taking fewer pictures as well, mental snap shots of the raw beauty of just being with my family, admiring the blessing.
My mind often travels around the thought of His plan. Maybe His plan all along was for me to re-engage with my kids. Shutting out my corporate life, disowning a part of my online life, so that I can be the influential woman for G and teach him to cook. To be the strong, confident, girly-girl mother my daughter needs to own her identity, and to be the teacher of language for my sweet middle sheep Seth, so he can one day arbitrate towards world peace with his exceptional communication skills.
Questions flood about what would have become of myself, my family and my kids if my faith had wavered any further. Would I continue on as a Facebook parent, only displaying to the world the small, snapshot worthy, shining moments instead of actually living in them with my children; where they see my eyes instead of my forehead as it is dipped into my smartphone. Would I have tripped farther down Alice’s corporate rabbit hole wallowing in my own personal hell? Questions I am thankful I don’t have to answer.
Face the facts folks, we did not have children for the enriching joy, wonder and awe they bring to our lives. We had children to make certain aspects of our lives easier. Who needs to load and or unload the dishwasher anymore when you have kids. Who needs to mow the lawn anymore. Trash and recycle, done, with kids. They are cheap, affordable laborers. Why not create chores for your kids that are age appropriate. Engage your children in engaging in the family responsibilities.
Children by nature desire order, a sense of belonging and responsibility. They desire rules and engagement. While they may seem unruly and incorrigible in regard to rules and engagement, children are merely testing the boundaries and edges of those rules, assessing the grey area. When I had the twins I found two additional little people who really wanted to help and be part of our family unit. Since they are a team of their own I also discovered how competitive they were to each others actions and activities.
In order to curb their restless, and sometimes competitive nature, I found a way to engage them to teach them responsibility. We created chore boards to help validate their feelings of belonging to the family structure by giving them responsibility to their own rooms, areas of the house and specified chores that support the family. Additionally, certain chores apply to each of my kids. Since we have a five year range between the oldest and the youngest we were able to spread out quite a bit of small and large responsibilities.
The chore boards were super simple to make. I bought three cookie sheets with a lip and smooth base, three cans of different colored spray paint, 1″ flat round wood discs, 1″ square magnets (or a roll of magnet tape one inch wide) and choice or stickers or stamps and adhesive. Ribbon, decorative rope or other decorative tie to create a hanger for the boards to dangle. Create a “DONE” section so that the kids can move their magnets to this section when their task is complete.
I had my kids pick out their own stickers and pictures that would represent their chores around the house. The process committed them and heightened their interest in helping the family.My kids also added their own personal touches, Jeep stickers, ballerina emblems and karate emblems. We also made chores to pass around, taking out the trash, recycling and taking out the compost.
Since making these my kids have added more personal touches. Personal stickers, knick knacks and more are how my kids have defined their crowning glory of making chores fun.
Here are some suggestions for chores for kids in various age ranges:
Toddlers are especially tricky but tons of fun for assigning chores. We found the most constructive tasks for our two-some happened to be loading our dishwasher. Giving them flatware to load into the basket and plastic dishware instilled a gratifying sense of accomplishment and when they completed, the reward of pressing the start button was comparable to winning the toddler lottery.
Other easy tasks that my short people love to do are feed the dog, put away groceries and set the table. Since we taught them at an early age they have continued to help out the family through habit. Another easy chore for these little tots is checking the mail; mine used to run to the mailbox just to see what was inside.
What a great age to help with chores. Now that my twins have crested into this age range they are tremendous help, especially with two of them. Continuing to load and unload the dishwasher but with more responsibility, they can actually handle glass dishes. Laundry is also a great chore as I have my kids sorting their laundry into the color bracket baskets we have setup in our washroom and they can take their clean laundry and put it away in their dressers. Taking out the trash and recycle have been made easier as well with two more helpers that are big enough to take on larger chores.
When my oldest hit the double digits I watched him really grow and mature with his desire to want more from life and more responsibility. One spring afternoon we experimented and had him give a go at mowing the lawn. From that day forward we never looked back. Cleaning the pool, taking the trash and recycle cans to the curb. Some other inside chores are vacuuming floors, dusting and mopping.
These are just a few ideas for chores for your kids, in addition to keeping their rooms clean and picking up their toys. Creating age appropriate chores for your kids helps to build responsibility, accountability, and helps the parental units around the house. Make the activity fun and not a drag. I found that getting my kids’ input on what chores they felt they should be doing around the house really made a difference in their cooperation. Are you struggling to get your kids to help? Maybe they are willing to help, what other chores do you assign to your kids in your household?
I was talking with my friend Joie the other day and I couldn’t help be taken back to the last seven years of my life. Tripping over those years of nostalgia I pondered where the time went. Today as I look over and I see two individuals, different yet similar, completely independent yet reliant on the other. Continue reading “Surviving Twins The First Year”
As I make my trip to Costco today to stock up on Halloween candy I would have never guessed that trick of treating could be so contentious and cause for controversy. Kids and their parents are seeking out neighborhoods that offer more opportunity on Halloween. The newest outrage is whether or not you BELONG to that neighborhood and whether or not you are DESERVING of free candy. So if I understand this correctly, a holiday that is generally reserved for small children to dress up and go door-to-door begging for candy simply by saying “trick or treat,” are undeserving? Do they have to fit some criterion in order to get candy on Halloween? Aside from a costume and catchy line. No candy for you if you come from a different neighborhood.
So if they arrive on your block by vehicle we are taking note and not answering the door? Are we conducting profiling? Age, race, creed, social and economical demographics? Those appear to be a few of the factors in determining who will be recipients of this years sugar haul based on various interweb discussions.
Apparently some of our more affluent residents, neighbors and parents are up in arms about children who are shipped in from other, (and sometimes) less fortunate neighborhoods in order to partake in the festivities. These affluent neighbors, citizens, possible fellow parents, are indignant about these less fortunate children taking all the good candy.
I was rather confused to hear this and saddened all at the same time. Many thoughts ran through my head of which the first was: so only the “entitled, affluent” children get the good candy? Are you checking ID at the door before they trick or treat? Validating they live within a one square block radius of your privileged home? Maybe you are evaluating them based on their costume? Clearly that is not this years chic Halloween couture….here’s your fee for entrance to my neighborhood, oh and no candy.
Halloween was and is always about the candy. If not for the silly costumes, it’s all about how much candy you could stuff into a pillowcase. Or that was the case back in my day. Our goal was to hunt down as much candy as possible and brag about who or which house doled out what type. In fact our friends would tell us how their candy excursion was the following school day, and we would plan to converge on their neighborhood the following year if we found their loot to be far more superior. We could only dream of receiving the epic loot they incurred on the door-to-door adventure.
One post by a woman who boasted celebrity neighbors indicated that her paying higher property taxes is sufficient enough payment for social services within their community and that the candy should not be an additional charity.
I can’t be too sure of how taxes equates to free candy for children but okay. Your economics I suppose, or your ignorance to understanding social services.
Maybe I am older and wiser, or just delusional, to think that candy is just candy and kids are just kids. Could it be that my faith has shown me that Jesus didn’t preach and love in Talbiye, one of the more affluent neighborhoods in Jerusalem. He wasn’t hobnobbing with the tax collectors, boasting and denying the less fortunate his love and knowledge. Above all, he NEVER denied a child. He loved people. He loved to be out and among community.
Why do we act this way today? Is candy really that controversial that we would deny children the opportunity of one night of joy? Have we become so selfish and self absorbed that we have lost our sense of community? Or is it that our charity comes with a form of recognition. We only give to charity if we get our picture on the wall and someone recognizes us for our deed.
Do you remember when you took your child, or saw another child, trick-or-treating for the first time on Halloween?
I recall all of my kids as they sheepishly approached the door, shy and sullen to speak, barely uttering the words “trick-or-treat” loud enough to be heard. When the first plunk of candy echoed in the pails their faces lit up with confidence. Running to the next house. Shouting to the next resident their holiday beggars line. The joy was overflowing based on their accomplishment and they beamed.
How could anyone deny a child that moment? Well unless you are a total a-hole I suppose you could deny them.
Maybe I am missing their point. I could be missing the reason these folks feel so outraged about passing out candy to additional kids. As a resident of a middle-class, well maintained neighborhood I am blessed to have the opportunity to purchase the better candy. I am blessed to have awesome neighbors, community, and my children are able to partake in Halloween festivities. I am even more blessed to share with other children and their parents who may not be as fortunate. I am blessed to have folks knock on my door who aren’t from my neighborhood that want my candy. I am blessed to show my kids the power of giving and community. These children may come to my neighborhood or your neighborhood or other neighborhoods not only for the candy, but maybe their neighborhood is so overrun in crime and violence that they cannot enjoy this fun holiday. Maybe their parents cannot afford to pass out candy so they seek out neighborhoods that are seemingly friendly and inviting for the opportunity to see the excitement on their child’s face. Maybe you are the talked about neighborhood, the holy grail of awesome candy and awesome people.
Has our society become so detached from one another as a community and a whole, that we no longer connect on a basic human level? Or have we become entitled to our socioeconomic demographic that we are intolerant to people who aren’t in our salary bracket? I fear a community and neighborhood where the residents no longer wave. I fear a community and neighborhood where we do not chit chat with other residents and folks on walks or doing yard work. More over I fear the day that children stop knocking on my door for Halloween. That would suggest that our community is completely devoid of love, happiness, safety and opportunity for everyone. If you happen to be that person behaving like a stuffy ass about candy where is the harm about purchasing additional candy? Where is the harm in loving people and being with people. Again maybe my naivety for the love of Christ and all my neighbors, but I see a wondrous beauty in something so simple.
Take a moment of humility and be thankful you can brighten that child’s face for the evening. At the end of the day it is one night. One night a year for candy. You are not serving rack of lamb to a group of ungrateful toddlers, you are sharing confectionery goodness with a child who looks forward to pretending to be someone they are not for the night just for the opportunity to see what candy you might share. Because it is all about the kids, costumes and candy. If you have to, just pretend for a moment you are not that selfish and , pretend to be love this Halloween and share in the joy of children.
This week The Chad traveled yet again for work. A trade show in Tampa, really rough gig; shaking hands and kissing babies to the various vendors and clients. While this week is really no different from any other time he travels I personally am feeling rather “under the weather” to say the least, call it a funk. So in true fashion of a funk, my loving children have decided this is the week to test every boundary, push every limit, skirt every envelope. At the end of the day I just don’t have anything left. I hit the bed at 8:30 every evening and praise the Lord for that moment. Quiet. In that quiet I contemplate what am I doing wrong in raising my children, I judge myself in my solitude. Am I not stern enough? Hard to believe, I am a ball buster….or maybe I’m not with my kids. Maybe I am not nice enough? Should I raise my voice? I am not a screamer or one to yell, but maybe I could raise my tone another octave, that should do it right? Am I really being a good parent?
Struggling on where I am going wrong, I dismantle my parenting, myself and judge my ability. Even though I have small winning moments where I think I am doing things right when my children pray before dinner, thanking God for the nourishment of the food, thanking Him for their siblings, parents, grandparents, great grandparents; they show the most amazing kindness and love for strangers, exuding a strength in their quest for equality, standing up for what is right. All to be toppled upon by the simple act of defiance and disrespect towards me, I judge myself harshly in that moment. Am I really doing parenthood right?
Looking at professional fields, they seem to provide some form of training and formal education. Becoming a doctor is an arduous task with over eight years of schooling, then residency, all before landing at a local health facility. Annual training, certifications, re-certifications, more conferences, more training; I am always amazed at level of education and continuing education provided to professional fields. We often judge the accomplishment of a practicing physician based on their training and accolades, awards scattered throughout the office. One professional field I believe is always the most neglected is the parent. Scoff all you want, however I feel that this career path, because this is a lifelong career, provides the least amount of resources yet is judged and evaluated the most harshly. I stumbled across an article this week about how inhumane parents are to let a child cry themselves to sleep and learn to self soothe. When I hear inhumane I often think of the ill treatment of pets and not the ill treatment of children, to which I would correlate the word abuse as opposed to inhumane. I suppose someone was trying not to upset their readership. Why do we have such intense training and rigorous standards for the paid career paths but we lack proper training and education for the job of parenting, the basis for the future of humanity. We judge and criticize the ability to parent as if there is some grand handbook and training we are provided before, during and after birth.
At best, my first round of training came from a deaf nurse who groped my breasts shortly after I birthed my oldest son to show me how to properly feed my child and that if I didn’t breast feed I was a failure. Spectacular. Bar one had been set in my quest for perfect parenthood. Along came many other milestones, coaching from others who were clearly far more superior in their parenting, strangers in parking lots, Costco’s and even friends who had yet to rear children. All of which afforded me nothing, but more feelings of failure and made me question my ability as a parent, was I really going about this all wrong?
Where did the criterion for perfect parenting come about? Basic common sense tells me that we want the best for our children. Treat them with love, respect, no malice; we want to comfort them and ensure their safety, encourage their growth and development mentally, emotionally, physically. Somehow we don’t provide any basic training to parents on their emotional involvement of parenthood. At 25 when I became a first time mother I can look back now and think of how unprepared I was for the spirited toll to raising a child, a strong intelligent child, then add strong, intelligent twins later in life. The true meaning of double trouble. Our society has reared an ugly head in recent days that certain actions could be perceived as abuse, even called out for such actions when no harm or malice was displayed to the child.
Take for instance the new phenomenon of children who are left to play outside by themselves without adult supervision. Apparently this is the newest form of child abuse, to let your older children roam their neighborhoods on bikes and on foot to explore and play with their friends. The application of imagination is completely devoid, we must hold our children hostage to our homes. The daft choice of letting a child under the age of six (more specifically age two) roaming neighborhoods and parks unattended, this is unacceptable and a result of poor education, poor choices, and an invitational extreme where other parents (or people) take a singular event and are applying house arrest to all children. Even children who understand right and wrong and who have been afforded such freedoms to be about their neighborhood are at risk of confinement. Myself, I have let my children run like a gang of hellions. Each armed with their bicycle, helmet, and knowledge of our neighborhood and its inhabitants, their imagination the fuel for such adventure.
Call me reckless but I see a great joy and freedom for my children to be about their community, that the neighbors know my children, we have an understood respect for one another that in the event one of our children is injured or in need we would call to come to their aid. Not call the authorities. Humanity.
So why do we judge parenthood and create such unobtainable standards when we have no apparent bar for metrics? If we do have a temperature why is it that when I Google “parenting classes” and “education on becoming a parent” each result yielded advocacy, abuse prevention and my personal favorite, consultation. Not a single result offered simple classes on dealing with emotional tolls, psychological tolls, coping skills or even basic diaper changing. As a parent I judge myself with the utmost harshness, the last I need is some other parent with similar, or less than adequate coping skills determining my quality as a parent.
I berate myself on how poor of a job I must be doing as I compare myself to some imaginary standard. I tear myself down that I am not doing enough. I don’t volunteer enough in class. I don’t provide sushi in their box lunches on Fridays. I do not always read to my children. I do not always save my children, aid and abet them in a time where they need to learn for themselves how to complete a task and understand the value of singular or team effort. I guess I am not doing this mothering thing right. I must be a horrible mother for subjecting my twins to the walk in cooler at Costco when they were infants, in order to purchase organic milk, because I should have left them with the strange woman who accosted me before entering. I must be a horrible mother for loving my children unconditionally, no matter what choices they make and guiding them with love as they struggle emotionally. I must be a horrible mother by limiting screens in their lives and forcing them to play outside. I must be a horrible mother for wanting more for my children. I must be a horrible mother for waking early each morning to make my children’s lunches because I choose not to subject them to the poor food standards of public schools. I must be a horrible mother for enforcing rules and issuing personal restraint to not yell, scream, or inflict physical or emotional harm.
God help me that I am broken. God help others that they are broken too. By no means am I perfect, while I strive for 
improvement everyday, raising my children a different way than my parents, raising the imaginary bar. Parents, even people who are not parents, should be reminded that we are doing the best we can with the tools in which we have been provided. Some have become parents way before their intended time and were not even prepared for adult life let alone the responsibility of a child as they were still a child themselves. Others are dealing with truly unique situations, because parenting is not a one-size fits all standard. We tend to blanket or umbrella the imaginary parenting standard across anyone who has taken on the role as parent, blinded by the individuality that may exist and applying our standards or the imaginary standards to everyone.
Sometimes I wonder if we should apply the career of physician to parenting. Practicing medicine; practicing parenthood. Doctors do not always have the answer, nor are they the utmost authority. As technology and information progresses they[physicians] conduct themselves in an improved manner. Maybe parents should be gauged in the same fashion. As information is shared and provided in a manner that is loving and helpful we can continue to practice to be better, ending previous cycles of bad operations, seeking enlightenment and not entitlement. Instead of prancing around in a demonstrative manner of our accomplishments.
Being a parent is not easy. Issuing myself mental lashings to be feared by the most nefarious villains. How different parenting would be if we banded together as a community. Lifting each other and speaking life into one another and supporting each other as opposed to applying our personal judgment of the other. Unbeknownst to their battle, their struggle, their situation. Being a good parent is not something we learned before we had children, I am finding being a good parent is something I work at each day, with no manual, no formal education, no training. So the next time you think to judge a parent, consider what tools, education, training you received or maybe the ones they did not receive. Maybe offer that parent a moment of assistance or a friendly smile, pay forward practicing humanity instead of practicing judgment.
We have all been lied to. A world where everything we eat, drink, sleep and breathe is completely fine. Fukushima, well that was ionizing radiation as a cancer preventative. Genetically modified (GMO) foods are completely fine and have no negative lasting impact on our bodies. For years, farmers have been cross breeding plants for hardiness and for food variety so the splicing of genomes in a laboratory to create a new tomato that is immune to Roundup is no different. Organic, its a scam. The new bottled water fad and sure to die a slow and painful death much like global warming.
Angry yet? You should be. For the second time in a month I have had a troll Scandinavian dwarf strongly suggest to me on Facebook how ridiculously wrong I was for supporting the organic movement and opposing GMO’s.
Let me be clear though on my stance with GMO food products; I AM in favor of a farmers agricultural tactic to cross breed plants in a field (nature does this on her own too), I AM NOT in favor of Dr. Kevorkian playing test tube roulette with a new breed of tomato for my dinner. I support the organic movement because I was educated about organic. I did not hop on some fad toting, band wagon of the newfangled fashion called organic. I did not wake up one day and make the Laissez-Faire decision to just up and rid my pantry and fridge of conventionally farmed, GMO laced foods. Did I clean out my pantry of the majority of those products? Absolutely, maybe not all at once, but I eventually did.
Why you ask?
In 2008 I delivered my twins and found a support group later that year for mothers of multiples. Among our group was a very well educated woman who yielded a fancy science degree, I will spare you her details, however she explained the facts and science of genetic modification (present state), organic foods, farming, how you become USDA organic certified, blah, blah blah. I soaked up every minute. Why? Because why not? I had nothing to gain or lose from her sharing her knowledge, or did I? What I had not mentioned to this point is this amazing woman’s journey defeating breast cancer. She defeated her progressive breast cancer and has been cancer free during the time I have been honored to call her friend. Her battle also included a diet rich in organic fruits, vegetables and meat and dairy products free of hormones or additives. While I am not a doctor and make no claim of the science, I did apply common sense and hear a truly moving
situation.I also applied this new found knowledge to another friend who also had breast cancer. A survivor or Stage IV, double mastectomy, reconstruction and lymph removal. She DOES NOT eat an organic rich diet, staying her course she still frequents all fast food joints, drinks large quantities of diet soft drinks, and just 18 months ago underwent another round of cancer treatment for a form of oral cancer found in her mouth and lymph nodes. She has continued failing health including joint inflammation, thyroid, diabetes, and a gamut of other ailments.
Which path would common sense direct you to choose?
Imagine my surprise when in 2011 I receive a phone call from my physician alerting me to an abnormal pap. Her phone call included “biopsy”, “cancerous cells of the cervix”, “advancing cancerous tissue.” I was in a panic. While my family had integrated organic into our diet, we still fancied some fast food and I still partook in an occasional Starbucks; I had not completely overhauled my lifestyle. November of that year, while undergoing a very painful surgical procedure to remove the cancerous cells and tissue I vowed to change my life for the complete good. My family went full organic. While we already had integrated the fruits and vegetables and milk, meat purchases were still from traditional farming, until that day.While nothing is wrong with traditional farming I could not support this mode of food production. The chemicals, the hormones, the pesticides, none of it seemed right or natural to me as someone who had been touched by cancer and as a mother. From that day forward I have been cancer free and my paps have all been normal every six months.
A little over a year ago my mother-in-law was diagnosed with Stage III ovarian cancer. Her treatment was and is aggressive. When we spoke shortly after her diagnosis she mentioned how doctors said if she was going to eat certain foods they had to be organic due to the pesticide interaction with her chemotherapy. I found great irony in that statement. So I went further and researched chemotherapy and an organic diet. At best I found the naturopathic and alternative healing methods like the Gerson Institute and the Breville Method, all supported an organic rich diet of fruits, vegetables and pesticide free proteins. Nowhere did any of the well known cancer sites indicate that cancer patients should be eating a diet rich in organic fruits and vegetables, in spite of the fact that each of these people I know, all strangers to one another shared the same simple fact of eating an organic diet during their cancer treatment. For the conservatives out there I beg the question, what does a doctor gain from making this medical suggestion? If organic is purely a ploy for higher taxation and a fascist movement towards primitivism then why not exploit this venture, especially when physicians and the medical field are supported so heavily by big Pharm and the liberals?
Quite alright, we can save the Ayn Rand style debate for another day.
Do I dream of one day a world where we are free of harmful chemicals in our foods? Positively yes. My Rogerian beliefs is that we are all inherently good, so I favor for optimism in any outcome. Do I claim any health benefits that organic foods are more nutritious? Absolutely not. I am merely making an educated decision for myself and my family based on the research and real life experience of the effects of a diet with conventional farming versus organic farming; cancer or no cancer. I am a protagonist for a diet free of laboratory created, genetically modified foods and substances. When science tinkers around in the genomes and the DNA structure of plants for “improved” purposes I wonder what happens when that DNA is introduced into our environment outside of a lab. My personal research found that children with food allergies, autism, digestive disorders, chronic illnesses and cancer increased dramatically with the introduction of GMO foods. Here is the timeline:
1975 was when DNA was lobbied to be engineered
1980 the first GMO was patented for the use to “gobble up oil spills,” because you know that has been a HUGE success
1982 an insulin produced by genetically modifying E.coli bacteria is on the market
1994 the Flavr Savr tomato is approved by the FDA for sale on grocery shelves and promoted for its delayed ripening and longer shelf life than conventional tomatoes
1996 the GMO resistant super weeds appear, weeds are found to be resistant to the herbicide glyphosate
1999 over 100 million acres worldwide are dominated by GMO
2011 Bt toxins (a soil bacteria GMO, engineered to be kill insects such as moths, butterflies, caterpillars) found in humans, specifically the blood of pregnant women being transferred to the fetuses.
From 1997 to 2011 the CDC reported that children with food allergies, digestive problems, chronic illness and skin disorders increased by 50%. Based on the above timeline, I can correlate that negative effects of GMO to our health. The FDA approves drugs on a daily basis that have a side-effect list as long as an ingredient list on a processed food box laden with GMO. Proven fact, Prozac which was and is the most highly prescribed anti-depressant starting in the late 80s has had the longest clinical study, spanning 20 years and is still being studied, continues to releases new and harmful side-effect which include the following: suicidal thoughts and behavior, birth defects, premature labor, severe skin reaction, insomnia, stuffy nose, sneezing, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, headache, tremors, dry mouth, low libido, dizziness. Oh and my personal favorites: heart defects in newborns, lung problems in newborns resulting in improper adaptation to breathing outside the womb, and last but not least, an increased risk of the baby developing AN AUTISM SPECTRUM DISORDER.
Argue that GMO is perfectly safe, despite the fact we do not have enough research, hence the Prozac reference. Argue that organic may be more expensive and it’s a scam. But when adults result to insults, personal attack, and the “if you don’t listen to what I am saying” since I think “I am right” attitude, I just stop responding. Now this is about you and your feelings, not respecting my choice of which I respect yours. I have no problem with anyone’s choice regarding organic, and I am not opposed to hearing their side, especially if new information of some compelling nature is shared. Maybe I am wrong. I am okay with that, but for now, until I have concrete scientific proof that the long term effects of GMO, herbicides, pesticides and hormones are safe and the whole ban GMO is bullshit, organic is always my choice.
Prayer is a powerful tool, Amen. While I was dressing today, I realized how prayer has really transformed many of my life events. My most recent prayer was to escape the confines of my ever oppressive boss….and then I was fired. Prayer answered. Needless to say God has a way of keeping us on our toes with answering prayer. I began to timeline my prayers and how God is working in my life and that of my children. Only thinking about this topic as my grandmother posted a wonderful article to my Facebook timeline and from my recent attendance at a women’s conference. Over the years I never really stopped praying. Despite the fact that I did not welcome the divinely love of God and his son Jesus, I still managed to say prayers here and there, you know, being spiritual and karma and all. For years I prayed to become a mom, asking God, very specifically to allow me to become a mom and to be pregnant with twins so that I can “get it over with.”
As I mentioned earlier, He has a way to keep us on our toes, and specificity plus repetition equals passion. Oh did I have a lot of passion to become a mother. For three years I prayed. I prayed and prayed, I threw pennies in wishing wells, baited those same pleas on falling stars, you name it. Until one day in 2007, many years after I had prayed and after I had already birthed my oldest child, God answered my prayer to become pregnant with twins. God also answered me to become a mother.
I know this makes no sense considering my oldest was toddling and on the verge of entering kindergarten by the time my twins arrived in 2008, but I did not feel like a mother despite carrying him in my belly for ten months and delivering him in 2003.
For those early years I struggled to still be me. I struggled to be a mother. What is being a mom anyway? I changed my sons diapers, I fed him, rocked him, I loved and still love him with all my heart, I provided for him. Somehow I did not feel like I was a mother, I did not feel like mom. Going about my day-to-day I did not dwell on this feeling, but I know it nagged at my soul. Praying for strength, praying for wisdom, praying for the crying to please stop so I can sleep and praying for him to be potty trained so I could stop changing diapers. But those prayers went unanswered, for a bit, because I had the specificity and repetition to ask to become a mother. I asked for twins. I asked to get it over with. As I said, I asked for years because I struggled to get pregnant. God answered my prayer, my many prayers within a prayer.
In 2008 I delivered Seth and Sara via c-section in the throes of cold and flu season. My stint in the hospital was lonely, even though The Chad came to visit I did not have G with me to share in the love and experience of his new siblings. I could not talk with him and I could not share with him all of the happenings. I could feel his fear and sadness on my heart. At that moment I knew I had become a mom. I could feel the love transcend time and space for all three of my children. I knew my place in their life, I knew what they needed, I knew how they felt, I knew their voices, and I knew I was a mother. God answered my prayer to become a mom and to have twins, admittedly one boy and one girl and when I prayed to “get it over with” well that landed squarely on The Chad when he got a vasectomy.
Short of sounding crazy, delivering my twins changed my life in many ways; I stopped acting like a mom and became 
one. I was so busy trying to act like a mom and trying to be a mom. I was not grasping that being a mom, wife, and woman was all one person. I thought I had to sacrifice a part of myself , sacrifice one of those people to be the other. We talk about sacrifice as a parent that we would do anything for our kids, but a selfish part of us cannot let go completely. The sacrifice is that we let go of who we used to be, our former selves before parenthood. My evolution allowed me to let go…completely. I let go the ideal that this was about me and what I did for them and I accepted that this was about Him, them, and what I did for all of us in the name of love. Inconveniences of the kids bickering was not about their fight, but more about what was at the root of the argument between my children. The whining was no longer an inconvenience to my mood, but about showing my kids to speak assertively, stating what they needed and I was here to help fulfill their needs. Respect was no longer about what was right and if they liked the individual, myself included, but respect became about love, that respect is love.
God had a plan for me. His plan was more about self discovery, sacrifice, and above all else love. Today I pray for my children and their plans. I pray that He guides them in His divine plan and that He shows them the same humor he has bestowed upon me. I also pray for other moms. I pray for dads. I pray for those mothers who want to be moms without holding onto who they think they have to be rather than who they are becoming. I pray for those dads to become fathers and love their children without regret. His plan just happened to be different from my plan and the way I prayed to be a mom.
Talking with tweens is just another job moms carryout in our career. Nanny, maid, personal chef, short order cook, educator, project manager, team leader, manager, chauffeur, accountant, and double agent also come to mind on the short list of multifaceted careers as a parent. Double agent only came to mind as I crept into my six year old son’s room, like a thief in the night. Ever so carefully to not eek out a sound, plastering myself against the flat surface of a wall as not to be seen; which is ridiculous anyway when you have boobs and bright blond hair. All in the name of swapping a snarly tooth for various coins in an effort to challenge his knowledge and counting abilities. Alas I am the Tooth Fairy. I digress on the double agent job, if only it were sexier with firearms and thigh high stockings. Yet this is one of the the many careers we hold as parents.
Anyway, this rewarding career I currently hold as mom. I never really wanted to become a parent; mostly because I was a spiteful child to my mother’s threats of “just wait until you have your own kids,” I thought depriving my mother of the joy of becoming a grandmother was the way to go. I’m glad I was a bonehead and figured that dumb-ass move in my twenties was not a wise choice. Now that I am a parent, I really could not imagine life without my kids. My eldest just crossed into the tween years this year as he turned 11. Being at home again, I am really learning more and more about my kids and the people they are, who they are becoming. I am in full amazement and awe as these small individuals evolve, learning so much about life from them; learning a bit about myself on our journey as well. G as a now 11 year young man is like taming a giant, or a rhino, sometimes both depending on the day.
The boy is massive in every respect. He is a lean, muscular kid, who lacks solid coordination but makes up for it with the heart of a hero. Like I said, MASSIVE, even his heart. G has always been a sensitive boy; my family has no shortage of emotions, we wear them like badges of honor to a four star general, exposed on our sleeves, loud and proud. The Chad, while he will deny such accusations, is also a sensitive man; though the harsh reality of society and family of origin issues we all succumb to suppressing such humane gifts.
So last night when I cornered the boy to have him finally sit down and write out his thank you notes to friends and family for his birthday gifts, I saw the twinge of tween. The boy got a little snappy at me, call it attitude. I don’t do attitude. But I’m a parent, this is not about being right and this is not about me. Strapping on my sweet mommy voice that would charm any viper, but with the stern assertiveness of a Clydesdale I fired back. “Dude, why am I getting attitude, what’s wrong? Do you have something bothering you?”
THAT.
In that simple question a world of opportunity opened for any adult to see what they were like at 11, remembering fifth or sixth grade, saving a giant of emotions. We huddled around the kitchen island as I pressed harder, like any good investigator (check, add that to the resume) and created a safe bubble for my son to share what he was experiencing. Free of expectation, I let my gentle giant unleash a barrage of daggers;
“I don’t feel accepted. I don’t want to be at school. I don’t want to be at home. My friends are good, my family is good. I don’t know how to explain it.”
Sweet Jesus. How DOES one explain this. So I went backwards, we initiated the discussion with the topic of his friends. No bullying, nothing alarming that would require an educator intervention, no name calling. Got it. Friends equal solid. Now onto the family unit. The Chad is good, twins…well they are who they are, and that’s all good, he is good with me. Solid. Home? Home is good, he wants to be here but something is nagging at him. Listening to his voice I fought back a rage of tears. When your kid is hurting you hurt. I don’t give a damn who you are; a pain sets off in you that causes your jaw to clench, your eyes burn with tears that you wish your inner super hero could dry away, and the muscles of your bottom lip curl and flex to maintain the stoic power of parent. Cue super hero music,I always think of the margarine commercial, Parkay. Now that we have excavated into the bowels of emotion, I clawed at my own scars when we addressed acceptance.
By this time my inner 11 year old girl was a blubbering mess. Recalling the pain of that age. The emotional turmoil. I watched the giant fall before me into tears as he rebuked his intelligence, his self-worth and his overall being based on grades he had received in his class. I felt my soul fall to her knees. Tears pour down my face now, but that moment they only welled in their ducts and I exercised parental stoicism to continue to listen to my boy, this young man, struggle with new emotions. New feelings. The new person he was evolving into, I couldn’t do anything to make this rite-of-passage into mid-adolescents any easier for him.
Coaxing my giant out from behind the island I hugged him with all I had. Pushing my love from my soul as it radiated into his arms and back, encapsulated him like a bubble, and smothered him until his tears had faded away. Sharing with him my timely story about failure, I related to him how I purposely failed pre-algebra. My parents were officially divorced, I now had a one year old half brother and newborn half sister to contend with, puberty that was very unkind to me with acne and school acquaintances that took great pleasure to lambast me at any opportunity. I reassured him that his “A minus” that he was so distraught over was a soaring accomplishment, his “D” that he received was not his lack of ability but his lack of interest to put forth solid effort and he failed to follow directions his instructor set out in the assignment. By no means do grades define who you are as a person. Constructive feedback is done lovingly, knowing his teacher, she knew he could rope the moon, she was giving him the lasso to do so. Reassuring G that he is intelligent, smart, talented, loving, able-bodied, and I could not be more proud of him.
My giant began to wield his rhinoceros style strength again as the tears melted into his cheeks and his sweet dimples appeared again. We both exposed our vulnerability, more so mine as a parent, relating to his struggles. Struggles I still encounter to this day as a grown woman. Part of me today ponders of the outcome had we not had this discussion after school, had I not taken the opportunity to talk to my tween. Had I been busy making a life for myself, engrossed in the delusional and empty corporate career path, I might have missed a career making opportunity of a lifetime talking with my son. Pondering other kids, who maybe lacked the emotional support of a parental unit/figure in their lives, to just ask, “how are you?” We forget how powerful our words impact lives, children and adults. How profound a simple, loving, truly genuine question like “how are you” can unlock a garden a vulnerability in anyone. How are you today?