You; Tiny Poems of People in my Life

You,

With the weathered skin

The guilt in your eyes

Addiction has overtaken you

I will love you anyways,

You know that I do.

You,

With the soft blushing cheeks

Your plump rounded feet

Your sweet loving grin

You’re my best adventure

Since your life began.

You,

With your wild heart

Your inventors mind

Your endless curiosity

You are one of a kind.

You,

With your heart of blackened gold

I’m thankful you didn’t let the world

turn it cold

Smiling, an easy step into laughter

You are the kind of soul

I pray to follow after.

Asking Questions, Gaining Knowledge and Connections.

I feel like we often miss out on a lot of learning experiences and lose out on opportunities to make deeper personal connections with those around us.

We could so easily add more substance to our day by stopping to ask questions. Whether they be simple and basic like asking how someone’s day is going, or taking a moment to ask a family member or friend about a specific time in their lives or insight on something that is important to them.

“What was it like in the military?”

“What was it like going to college in the 80’s?

“How is your newest project coming along?”

“What was I like as a baby?”

Asking questions that go further than the common “How are you?” Which does have it’s place in the world but is often overused and unsincere, can bring a sort of emotional tether between you and another person. Asking questions that are uncommon or potentially personal can spark ideas, give inspiration to maybe research some thing that interests you, finish your own project, or great gratefulness. We overlook the fact that every single other human has a life and world just as intimate and complex as our own. We overlook that every person has a past and has experienced things that we have not and may never experience. It’s easy to forget that we are collectively one world, but still individual entities that live amongst each other without hardly ever interacting. There is so much to learn from the people in our lives and those we have not met yet. We should be actively seeking out answers to questions, we should have sincere curiosity about the lives of those we love. The barrier of unasked questions is what keeps it easy to feel apathy but do nothing. It makes it easy to move passed those walking by us without seeing the potential of friendships and knowledge harbored within those people’s minds. Sit down and talk, text, email, reach out and don’t be afraid of being questioned in return. It’s time we connect in a world of cold disconnection.

Humble Brags & Parental Jealousy

So I witnessed something that intrigued me the other day while scrolling through one of the many “mom” groups I am a part of (I’m a glutton for punishment and gossip I don’t have be directly involved in 🤷‍♀️) and the discussion I witnessed has stuck with me the last few days. The post was something along the lines of “What humble brag posts annoy you the most?” Simple enough. Short, to the point. Confusing. We’ve all seen posts made by other parents that often lead to feelings of worry, jealousy and annoyance, but why?

When another mother posts “my 8 month old says 40 words” (not a thing that actually happens, trying to prove a point) or

“my 3 day old sleeps through the night, should I be worried?” Or

“My 2 year old knows all of the species of exotic birds in their native names”

ok, you get the idea… when we see these posts, a baseline reaction is confusion at how any child could possibly pull any of those things off. Then the comparisons start. Your precious angel hasn’t slept through the night maybe ever, your 5 year old is non verbal, your toddler doesn’t even know that birds are a thing that exist because he’s busy taking all the tires off of his toy trucks. Why doesn’t my kid do insert awesome rare desirable thing here ? Some parents move on after reading such humble brags, but some, more often ( judging from the comments on the post I was following) jealousy kicks in. Jealousy of another parents children is common and normal. Everyone wants the best for our kids and everyone expects a certain amount from our kids. We want them to walk and talk and share, we want them to have manners and be kind and only listen to mommy when she’s not saying bad words when she drops her lunch on the floor (yesterday was hard.) But when someone else’s child meets those goals first, or meets and exceeds them, while your own has perhaps settled on a particular skill and is lagging behind in others we can feel discouraged and frustrated.

It’s like parenting has morphed into some online competition of who’s baby does what faster and better and first. We realize these are babies right? Anyone? Babies! They are not Olympic competitor’s, they are not competing for the same job, they are not battling in the Hunger Games in a life or death race to say “Dada” first. Feeling salty that your sister in laws child is stronger than yours at this particular moment in time does nothing except taint your parenting experience and your relationship with other parents who might otherwise be of great help or support.

Another issue with this feeling of anger and inadequacy is that no one is addressing the elephant in the room, your child might be developmentally delayed, be on the spectrum or just be in a phase of physical growth which can often slow mental development temporarily while their little body grows. Relax. Each child will do what they need to in due time. Some will have a higher vocabulary, some will be able to head butt you so hard your nose breaks, some will have cool dance moves and a taste for colorful music, no matter what, they are growing and they will get there. Harboring this lingering angst is nothing but trouble.

Lastly, let them brag! Just because you are having a hard time with sleepless nights does not mean someone else should be silent about a major feat of having a full nights sleep with a child! Just because your toddler only wants to eat cereal (been there) does not mean someone shouldn’t share the exotic spicy/salty/veggie filled recipe their toddler loved! Let them be happy and enjoy their own experience! Find what you love about your own parental experience and relish in it, trust me, it’s much more fun.

Motherhood

My motherhood is bright & blissful

Tired and anxious

Broken and wishful.

Guilt ridden

As I erupt into rage,

My motherhood is freedom

And a thick dark cage.

I am hiding,

Inside my bed.

Depression grips me,

Filters into my head.

I love my children

But I don’t love myself,

Tuck these thoughts in

Place them back on the shelf.

Chapter 5 Daddy

Jenna had waited for the man to get far enough away from the house before popping the grate off from the wall. She had used the end of her zipper clasp and fit it into the flathead screws that held the metal cover onto the wall to get into the wall, now she twisted each pointed end of the four screws from inside her hideaway. One by one the screws released from the wall and clattered to the floor. She sucked her breath in each time, half expecting the man to walk through the door at any moment. She squeezed herself through the rectangular hole, the soft wispy fabric of her windbreaker caught on the metal edging of the hole and a thin strip tore clean off of the jacket. She stopped to pick at it quickly but left it when she saw lights flashing through the crack under the back door. Hastily, the grate was shoved back in its place, she pocketed the screws.

Jenna crawled on the gritty floor over to the door and listened, her eyes wide, everything was completely silent until boom! A reverberation of thunder sounded throughout the house. Golden light flashed under the door again, followed shortly by another deafening clap. She jumped away from the door, not realizing it was the storm until a moment after. All of her bravery slipped away as she sat, shaking, tears raced from her pale green eyes. Her whole body shook violently and she breathed deep heaving breathes, her heart sputtering and clenching. “Oh God, please get me out of here.” She cried for her bed, with her Moana blanket and matching pillowcase mum just bought her for her eighth birthday. She cried for the smell of breakfast each morning, scrambled eggs and jelly on toast, her favorite. She cried for her mommas’ hands, rubbing her back to sleep each night for as long as she could remember. She thought of her sisters, Daphne would be freaking out by now, Cloe would be worried but forever complacent and optimistic that the cops would do their job. Izzy wouldn’t have noticed anything had changed, she was just over one year old. Jenna sucked in air hungrily until her heart slowed. She thought of her dad, who had died 3 years ago, and she pictured him there, sitting beside her in the dark. She closed her eyes and imagined him, in his old blue t-shirt with the one pocket that always had a sticky note in it to remind him of what momma had requested from the store. “Help me Daddy.” She whispered, salty tears gathering on the edge of her lips. She pictured his short brown hair, cut military style because he never outgrew the habit. His smile big and wide and genuine. Warmth flooded her as calm replaced panic within her little body. She wiped the tears away with the corner of her jacket and stood up for the first time in days. There wasn’t enough head room in the wall space to move around on foot, she hadn’t noticed how sore her legs were until she tried to use them. She wobbled for a step and her tummy growled loudly. Her eyes met the deadbolts on the door in dismay. She knew by the sounds she had heard when the man left that there must be a matching row of locks on the other side. She pulled on the door knob slowly, millimeters at a time, afraid of what was on the other side. The solid barrier gave no hope of peaking through any windows. The door held fast, stuck. “Dangit!” She swore under her breathe. Turning, she saw her next option. She settled on plan B and pushed the plywood inner door aside, it moved without a fight and swung open into a small dated kitchen. The cabinets were a muddy tan color, the tile a chocolate brown with occasional red square thrown in. A round bowl-shaped yellow ceiling light hung precariously by a single brown wire in the center of the room. Besides a large black microwave, a black metal chair and a few dog toys, the space was empty. She opened the first cupboard she saw, the hinge squealed in protest. Six boxes of cereal greated her. Coco krispies, Lucky Charms, Captain Crunch. All breakfast cereal winners in her book and apparently the man had a sweet tooth because the next two cupboards held a mountain of junk food. She grabbed a Nutty Buddy Bar and a handful of beer pretzels and stuffed her pockets full. Without stopping to think she opened the refrigerator, and greedily drank from a bottle of orange juice. Drops of tart liquid ran down her chin as she chugged. With a sigh of satisfaction and crazed thirst finally quenched, she replaced the bottle in its spot on the top shelf and moved on with a higher sense of urgency now that she had something in het stomach, she could think straight.

Her eyes grazed around the lower level of the two story home. The open floor plan led the L shaped kitchen directly to the living room where a beat up fawn colored couch and a new leather Laz-y boy chair sat a few steps away from a small flat screen TV. A trio of remotes rested on the arm of the chair, ready for their charge to come home and watch his nightly Frasier.

She made her way quickly to the front door and found herself facing only one lock that hung open on its ring. Her hand gripped the doorknob to leave when a loud rattle came from behind her and the backdoor crashed shut.

My 4 Year Old is a Shitty Sleeper.

Why is it that eyes roll when a parent dares to vent to another that their child doesn’t sleep well? If little Jonny doesn’t fall asleep on his own in his own room at 6:30pm with a kiss and a farewell, and sleeps through the night for 14 hours without a bathroom break, he never wakes from a bad dream or for water. He doesn’t ever need reassurance from mom, the dark doesn’t bother him, I mean he’s 6 months old after all WHY WOULDN’T HE BE A PERFECT SLEEPER?! Why are the expectations so ridiculous? Other parents, if you have a perfect sleeper, good for you, I have 1 and do you know what I don’t do? Rub it in a new parents face, or a veteran parents face. If you have 6 children and none of them have slept through the night, do you know what that means? You have normal children!

We so often forget our own struggles when someone mentions their own, or we jump to the ever so helpful “advice” mode of sleep curealls that you’ve tried or your cousins sisters neice tried and it worked that one time.

Children are people. Read that slower. Children are people. Meaning just like you, your child might experience the occasional nightmare, they might have to pee at 3am, it might take them an hour of laying in bed, staring at the ceiling thinking about all of their faults and mistakes of the day before they can make their little brains shut off and sleep like you’ve been screaming at them to do since basically birth.

“Aw beautiful baby. Is she sleeping through the night?’

I don’t know Susan, are you? Do you consistently fall asleep immediately with minimal effort and not wake for anything ever? No? Oh, what a shame.

Others sometimes form the opinion that the parent of the sleepless child (I have one of those too) must be doing something wrong. I have to tell you, it isn’t something that is being done incorrectly. Big boy beds, cool new blankets, dream catchers, night lights, teddy bear shrines. You could do them all simultaneously and a shitty sleeper would (surprise!) Still have a hard time sleeping!

If a fellow parent confides in you that their child isn’t sleeping or has trouble falling asleep, pour them some fresh coffee and tell that sucks but it will get better. Because eventually the shitty sleeper will find their groove, or move out, whichever comes first.