Tuesday, April 21, 2015

It Used to Take a Village

I am certain that you have heard the saying before...
"It takes a village, to raise a child."

Once upon a time, that saying stood very true.  In today's society, this is a fleeting concept, and I wish that wasn't the case.  I am shocked at some of the reactions I hear about and often see first hand.  Reactions from mothers who are ripping people to shreds because they attempted to help them in some way.
Last week, a mother walked into her child's school, went into a classroom, and assaulted a teacher.  She slammed the teacher's head against a wall, kicked and punched her viciously... all because the teacher tried to discipline the child.
Not all people feel comfortable disciplining another person's child, and that is understandable.  We live in a society that created a television mini series on a SLAP.  I am in no way saying slapping a child is okay, however, if someone's child was swinging a bat at my child, and kicked me when I attempted to take it away, I would without a doubt discipline them.
In our 5 years as parents, we have taken a few various trips out of town with friends that we love dearly. EVERY trip, I make sure that all adults know that I will in NO WAY be offended if they discipline my children.  Slap my child, and we will have to have a serious conversation, but if you see them harming someone, themselves, or doing something that they shouldn't be... I hope that you will HELP me.
I have seen children at the Children's Museum stealing toys, and not being nice to my kids.  9 times out of 10, I let them work it out with each other.  Parents aren't really needed for the minor stuff.  However, if I witness a child push, kick, hit, spit, scream, or terrorize my child... I will say something to the child.  Then I watch.  I watch that child until I know which parent they belong too, and if the situation warrants it, I will let the mother or father know what was going on.  If the situation is reversed, I listen to what the parent tells me, and then I have a discussion with my child.  This is the moment that I chose to scare my kids...

"I have eyes everywhere, and I see EVERYTHING.  I know what you did, and I 
am going to give you 1 chance and 1 chance only to tell me the truth and 
apologize to the child that you hurt."

The idea of allowing someone to tell me that my child has done something wrong, doesn't mean that I am a bad mother.  Moms these days seem to be so "super mom" driven that they have a hard time allowing and accepting help.  I think other adults speaking to my child when she does something wrong, teaches her that there are lots of adults who expect good behavior and responsibility from her.  It isn't just me, and she needs to learn to listen to them, and follow the rules always... not just when mommy is looking.  
Instead of getting offended that a teacher tells your child they are being disrespectful, marching into the class, beating the teacher down, and getting arrested for assault and battery... maybe we can begin to swallow our pride, and accept the fact that our children aren't prodigies (GASP... yes I said it.)  They are little humans that still need to be taught.  They need to be shown rules and held accountable.  Instead of being insulted that someone spoke to your child, thank them, and then follow up with your child.  
It STILL takes a village... accept the fact that you don't have to do it all by yourself, and be grateful that you have people to help you out!  


Saturday, April 4, 2015

A Letter to My Special Son


Dearest Brady,
I am sitting her listening to the sound of your laughter fill my kitchen. The smacking of your hand against the glass as you try to get your sister's attention. And the rhythm of the clapping that shows your excitement.  I know that you are happy.  You are content.
Yet my heart hurts...
You are laughing at our neighbor as he dances and runs in the yard.  You are clapping at your sister as she tosses a stuffed animal up in the air.  You are smacking the glass door to get them to do more.  I want to give you the ability to run through the yard, and laugh because you are running so fast.  I want to give you the ability to speak and tell your sister to throw the animal again.  But it's more than that.  I want to give you sight, so glasses aren't required.  I want to give you hearing, so you do not have to have gadgets hanging from your ears.  I want to give you back everything that was taken from you because of this vicious virus, and this brain malformation that it led too.
I am grateful for all of the medical marvels that allow you to live life fuller, but I want more for you.  I want you to be ...GULP... normal.  I hate that I want this.  I hate that word.  I hate any idea of being normal myself.  I don't want to be normal.  I want to stand out, and you do that so gracefully.  You stand out because your sweet smile and infectious laughter are always present, and it draws people in.  I don't want to blend into a crowd, but I am afraid that you will be treated differently... experience the horribleness and meanness of kids who do blend.  I want to give you all of the things that were taken from you for no reason at all, and yet I know that would mean that you would not be you.  You would be a very different child from the one whom has taught me so much.
I hear other moms talk about how their boys are so crazy, so out of control, so wild, and I want to throw something at them.  I want to tell them to whine to someone else.  I want to tell them that I have no pity for them, because I would KILL for my son to have the ability to be wild and crazy.  He doesn't, and somehow I resent them for it.
Instead of crying, instead of yelling at other moms, instead of dreaming that life is different...
I listen to you laugh.
Your laugh is beautiful, and I love it's melody.
You are beautiful.
I love you forever...
Mom