Mind your own damn business

Grace is a contributor to this blog. This blog is public. Sure, we don't advertise it to our friends and family, but it can be found. So I gotta be careful what I say and don't say.

Same goes for Facebook. Grace and I are friends on Facebook. Always have been, hope we always will be. She's never done anything to make me want to limit my profile to her, and I've respected her "space" in the social networking world.

(That being said, I'm thinking her honest comments on this matter would be priceless ;-) )

Moving on.

While I was growing up in my family, there was this curiosity about my romantic feelings that induced well-intentioned intrusion. My mother would question me about every boy I mentioned. And then she'd speculate about it with my grandmothers. Or my sisters. Or her friends at church. I hated it. It made me never want to date anyone. By the time I was in high school, I avoided discussing boys with my family at all costs. I had one boyfriend during all of high school (it lasted less than two months) and the rest of the time I hung out with gangs of friends. I remembered this feeling of resentment when I came time for me to parent my own adolescent daughter.

When Grace started high school, my advice to her was to have fun and not to get too serious with any one guy. Why? Because what's the point, really? You've got a lifetime to settle down with someone and commit a good bit of your time and resources to them. But you only have one chance to be a teen. One chance to make friends and hang out with them without too many time pressures. One chance to be carefree and find out who you are. In my opinion, the best shot a teen has at figuring out who they are is to do that independent of an attachment to a significant other. I told her that while she's a teen, she should look at romantic relationships and dating as like a best friend you happen to kiss sometimes. You don't start that relationship by someone walking up to you and saying, "let's get together this weekend." You don't have that friendship to the exclusion of others. And you don't hold on to that friendship if the other person isn't being a good friend.

Grace has been interested in boys on and off since she was in 7th grade. In these four years, there have been many episodes of fluttering feelings, heavy beating hearts, excitement and nerves, followed by cooling offs, mellowing outs, and resolutions to "just be friends." All in all, I'm fine with all of it. She seems to be able to identify the deadbeats and steer clear of them, regardless of how many times they hit on her. In the last month, she's been hanging out with one guy, trying to decide if he's someone she likes. Good, just as long as she keeps me up to speed on what's going on.

See, I figure she doesn't want me meddling in her life and getting off on the emotional volatility and possibilities of her romances. The best thing I can give her is a solid foundation to lean on when she needs me. She needs me to protect her, but not in a meddling way. I protect her because I love her, not because I find it exciting. I am not a matchmaker, an advice columnist, a gossip blogger, or a girlfriend. I am Grace's mother. I need to behave accordingly when she is a teenager in love.

Unfortunately, I'm not the only adult in Grace's life. There's lots of people who do get off on her possible romances. And meddle.

A year ago, Grace had her first real interest in a boy that she wanted to go on a date with. Nice kid. She mentioned it to her father. Who said he wanted to meet him. He told his sister. Who flew in to visit without Grace's knowledge. And at an orchestra concert where both Grace and the boy were performing, Grace's father waited to be introduced after the show. Grace's aunt pulled me to the side and said, "I hear Grace has a boyfriend! Was that him sitting to the right? With the brown hair? What do you think of him?" Ahem. Grace was 15 and the boy was 14. I think they are friends.

And then there's the times people meddle on facebook.

The last time Grace had a boyfriend, her father took the liberty posting on his facebook wall that he had just friended the boy as a way of keeping up with who he was. I think he was trying to say something witty about how technology today had completely changed his role as a responsible father. The romance was over a week later, in a quiet way. I don't know whether the boy retained his facebook connection with Grace's father.

Every time Grace puts up a picture on facebook of herself with a boy, my mother calls and asks who it is. Truth be told, most of her friends who are boys are gay. I never know what to tell my mother at that point. And I can never figure out why she asks me who the boys are and never who the girls are.

And then there's the latest event, the one that set my mind to blogging on this topic. A few days ago, Grace wrote on her facebook status that she went downtown with a boy. One of her aunts opened a facebook account less than a day ago. When she saw the status, she wrote, "Your aunt is asking who's [insert boy's name here]?" Subtle.

Is it any wonder teens avoid letting their parents see their facebook profiles? Grace happily accepts friend requests from all sorts of family and adult friends of the family. And she allows everyone to see her complete profile. Both her grandmothers, all her aunts and uncles and cousins, her parents and stepparents, and troves of friends of all these adults. All wanting to get a deeper look into the life of this teen. And comment on it. I give Grace a lot of credit; if I were her, I would have cut most of these people off a long time ago, what with their constant commentary on everything in her life.

Adults, remember what it was like to be a teenager. If a teenager allows you to take a peek into their real life, don't abuse that permission. Respect who they are and don't make embarrassing comments. If you do that, you only reenforce the teenager's desire to limit your access. And some of us parents are grateful that the teens trusts us with that peek.

Meddling, being honest, and how to keep friendships

Grace was at music camp last week. Choir concert, Grace looked and sounded great, I loved seeing her enjoy herself. Last night she told me that there was some drama during her week away. You know, the kind where the girls all talk late at night in their cabin and one girl confesses her undying love for a boy? And then some of the girls decide to intervene, you know, to help the fledgling lovers out? 'Cause their communication is breaking down? Except that by intervening, the girls make things worse. By the end of the trip, the one girl who was in love asked Grace what she thought of her. Grace was more than blunt. She told her she was being bitchy.

Did I mention that Grace didn't know the girl a week earlier? That she's an incoming freshman?

I told Grace she might not want to be so brutally honest with the girl. And that she shouldn't meddle. I don't know whether Grace is going to take my advice.

The whole story threw me back to my own middle school and high school experiences. (I confess, getting an invite to my 20th high school reunion this week helped the speed of my total recall significantly.) Remember when it was so exciting to be "in the know"? To be the one who was the facilitator? The helper? The one who was just trying to make everyone happy? I do. I seem to also recall stirring up quite a bit on controversy. Which was also exciting.

The point is, being the girl who was meddling oftentimes meant I was the one who caused unpleasant situations to come about. In the midst of my conversation with Grace about the situation, I told her that there are precious few times in which it's worth telling someone what you really think of their romantic inclinations towards another person. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I started challenging my own advice.

Is that true? As an adult, there are so many of my girlfriends who have gone through dating and marriage and divorce and cohabiting and reuniting...and on and on and on and on it goes. Most recently, one of my longest-term friends asked me to meet her boyfriend. Her idea was that I am one of her dearest friends, one of her closest and most intimate friends, and someone whose judgment she trusts. She wanted my opinion on the boyfriend. It's not the first time she's asked. Anyways, the end of the story is that I told her I thought he was great. Was that the truth? I ask you a more relevant question: Does it matter what my opinion of her boyfriend is?

Being honest with a close friend, especially about someone they are involved romantically with, is dangerous stuff. When you're in love, when you're physically close with someone, you really don't want to hear an objective opinion on what someone outside of the relationship thinks of your lover. Sure, you want to hear that your lover is great, fantastic, friendly, kind, smart, clever, funny, generous, thoughtful, or talented. That's the feedback you're looking for -- a confirmation that, in spite of your giggling and silliness and inability to see things objectively, you are being wise and smart and making good choices. But when you're in love, when your heart is spilling over with admiration and adoration of another human being, you don't wanna hear anything negative about him.

So here's my dilemma. When is it safe to be honest with a friend regarding a lover? There are clear times, like if he's abusive or extortive. But what if he's just a jerk? What if you question his ethics? What if he just rubs you the wrong way, over and over and over again? What if you just don't click with him? I find myself weighing the value of what I think is best for a friend versus what is really best for that friend. So what if I don't agree with someone's politics or ethics? Or if I find them a jerk? Does that outweigh a friend's potential for unlimited happiness? Isn't it a bit arrogant of myself to believe that my long lasting friendship with someone is more valuable than someone else's relationship with her?

Of course, there is the other side to this dilemma. Live and let live, que sera, sera, and such. It's so easy to stay out of someone's business. So much easier than speaking your mind and risking the backlash. Then the question of what is more important is between my comfort and a friend's well-being.

Where does the line lay? Is there any way to formulate a rule that works in every situation?

I would love to hear the stories out there. One friend has already given me her sad experience, the moral of the story being, NEVER tell someone what you think of their lover. EVER. And the story really was very, very sad. Another friend, one who was separated from her husband when he was exploring the kinky side of middle age, she just reunited with him after six full years of feuding. They are happy as ever. Unfortunately, I was brutally honest with her and way over-involved in their complications. Now I'm wondering if we'll ever get the intimacy of our friendship back.

I'm just trying to figure out what I should tell Grace, you know? 'Cause like every good parent, this really has nothing to do with me (wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say-no-more, say-no-more).

My Addiction: McDonald's

I'm just going to come out up front. I love McDonald's.... it's as simple as that. My mom, stepdad, sister, and me are all in Brazil. I have been training by myself for swim team. I hadn't eaten fast food in like 3 weeks!... that's a long time for me. The last I had gone to McDonald's was with my best friend on June 26. I go to McDonald's almost once a week... yeah, I know, it's bad.

The other day, my mom, one of my tias, and me were coming home after my swim training. There was a lot of traffic (it was Friday night) and the ride takes about 20 to 30 minutes. I was supposed to have gone to McDonald's that night after practice with my stepdad, but he stayed home with Stella, so I couldn't go. I was quite pissed off about this new change of plans. Anyways, we were driving home and I talked about McDonald's the entire ride. When I say "the entire ride", I mean the entire ride, from the time I got into the car to the time when I got out of the car.

My mom started to get really fed up with my persistent talking. We were about 100 yd from the house when my tia got out her cell phone to call my stepdad. She said she was going to ask if I could go get fast food. My hopes were high at first, but nobody answered the phone so I just dropped it.

The next day, Saturday, my stepdad, mom, sister, another one of my tias, and I went to the hospital. We gone for the entire day. I was getting tired and bored. My mom and tia started telling me that if I did a runway walk down the hospital hallway, that we could go get McDonald's. I said no... of course! I mean, it's a hospital not America's Next Top Model! I asked my mom later if we were going to McDonald's, and she told me that she gave me a chance but I refused! As you can imagine, I was pissed off. I had spent the entire day in a hospital with nothing to do and now I couldn't even have McDonald's!!!

We went home and I started taking off my jewelry and shoes, when my stepdad told me we were going out to eat. I asked where and he said.... FAST FOOD!!!!! O.Mi.Gawd! You should have seen my face! I went from neutral to pure over ecstasy. The best part was that, I could see all of this unfold because I was in front of a mirror.

We got to the food court at the mall, I saw the golden arches, and I swear I had a heart attack. Mom: I think Grace is going to pass out if she can see the golden arches but she can't taste them.

My stepdad wanted to look around at the other places and I started to get a desperate look on my face. Mom: Grace is getting a desperate look on her face like she might not be getting McDonald's. I think you need to reassure her.

I went up to the counter and ordered a number 1 meal. The price? About $8.50!!! That's proof of an addiction right there. I sat down with my meal while my stepdad, mom, and tia (yes, another one) were still deciding what to order. I said that I would wait to eat. I ate one fries, two fries, three fries... so on and so forth. I offered fries to my tia and she took a couple. That's when she said she was going to get Giraffas (a Brazilian fast food chain). By that time I had already eaten all my fries.

Baduh duh duh duhhhh I'm lovin' it

Sorting out the symptoms

I called our US pediatrician on Thursday afternoon. They told me the following: we don't worry about a fever in an infant unless (a) it goes over 105 degrees F and/or (b) it lasts for over 24 hours and is not accompanied with other symptoms. If it goes over 105, go to emergency; if it lasts over 24 hours without breaking at all and there are no other symptoms, go see a doctor.

The fever started Wednesday night. After taking tylenol and ibuprofen nonstop, Stella still had not broken a fever under 103 by Saturday morning. We decided to take the baby to see a pediatrician at a local private hospital through their emergency services. After seeing that doctor, there were blood and urine tests ordered, an adjustment of dosing of medicine due to her weight, and a conclusion that she was fighting some infection, most likely roseola or a South American strain of rotavirus. Within 12 hours, she broke her fever and now she is mostly herself again.

Here's the part that made me unexpectedly reflective and calm.

Remember, exactly three years ago our family was in the same city and I was pregnant. Or not. Well, that I was miscarrying was confirmed during our visit. The visit was a whirlwind of doctor visits, exams, international phone calls to my ob/gyn, and a tragic loss of the pregnancy, and me feeling like I had left a dead child behind when we returned to the US. In the end, our little family had a common experience that brought us together; it gave us a way to understand each other differently...and better.

Yesterday as we were driving to the private hospital, I remembered that this was exactly the same place my husband and I went to when a doctor showed us clearly on a sonogram image that I was hemorrhaging. Before my husband could the bill, I quickly walked out of the office and spontaneously burst into tears in the hallway.

Yesterday, after our visit with the pediatrician, we went to the public hospital to have lab work done. I knew this hospital. It is where my sister-in-law works as a nurse. As we parked and walked in, my mind was flooded with the memories of the images of being there three years ago. I had an exam with a doctor who wanted to do a D&C immediately. I was numb. I came to Brazil with good news of a coming child and the three short weeks later, I was facing a surgical procedure due to a spontaneous abortion. Again, I left holding my husband's hand, filled with sadness.

And yet...

Where was Grace during all this?

At home, with her aunts and cousins, mostly being sheltered from the impending bad news. I don't have any idea what it would be like to be her in that situation. I would be remiss to not say that Grace is remarkably mature and flexible in unusual situations. Once she understands what is going on, she often surprises me in her ability to adjust and cope with difficulty. When she finally did find out what had happened that summer three years ago, she responded with sensitivity and empathy. And with her own way of coping with things.

Yesterday as we were all in the car driving to the hospital, when my husband and I were discussing whether or not this was the hospital we had visited when I was miscarrying, Grace was in the back seat talking with Stella in her car seat. I overheard her saying something like, we were all here this summer but it wasn't time yet for you to be born. We had to wait for you. And now you're here.

My heart melted with love. For both of my daughters. Instead of continuing my downward spiral of worry about how much more could go bad with Stella, I became grateful that I had her. And that I had Grace. And that we were all there. And that no one was dying. Because that's what happened the last time we were all there together.

Contemplating with Myself

Wow.... I haven't posted anything for a while. I feel like such a slacker ;)

The other day on facebook, I wrote on some friends' walls... note that I hadn't talked to these people in about two years... and (shocker!!!) they wrote back on mine. The problem is that I don't really want to talk to these people anymore... I mean I do and at the same time I don't. I mean they're still my friends and all, but it's awkward now, 'cause I hadn't talked to them in so long. I feel like some kind of facebook stalker.

So, I haven't wrote on their walls yet, 'cause I don't really know what to say. I mean at the time when I first wrote on their wall, I thought i was a great way to regain and restore a old and dying friendship... but in actuality I realized that I have like NOTHING in common with these people any more.

I feel kind of guilty though, 'cause I should write on their walls 'cause they wrote back on mine. But I don't really know them anymore...

Speaking of friends on facebook, my cousin friended me on facebook. So, I was like "yea. sure. He's my cousin and all." Note that he is only 14. He messaged me today and asked me how I was and stuff like that.

But then I realized that their are things that on my facebook that I don't think I really want my younger cousins seeing. I mean, I don't have like drunk pictures or like porn on my page... it's just that I'm the oldest cousin. There are pictures of me on facebook that are mildly inappropriate in a sly kind of way. For example:

This is a picture from summer camp '09.

I don't want to de-friend him though, 'cause he is my cousin and all and I want to keep in touch with him. I mean I am friends with my parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles on facebook. If THEY hadn't said anything yet, I don't think I should go making a big deal out of it. I'll let it go and see what happens.

"Grace, there's a big chore you have to do."

Grace just came in the door from school at about 3:30p. It's Friday afternoon and she's ready to kick off her shoes for the weekend and relax. Frankly, I think she's already bummed that she had to go to school today since I think she and all her classmates were hoping for more snow overnight. They didn't get enough for the district to call a snow day, but there was enough to make our already snow covered driveway unable to be traversed by our little Honda Civic. My husband left town yesterday (in the middle of the storm) and thus clearing said driveway is left to us women of the house.

As Grace was pulling off her newly acquired varsity letterman's jacket, I told her I guessed she realized there was a big chore to do before the sun went down. She said yeah, she would get right on it after she got a snack.

Wow, that was easy.

I told her to remember to clear the front and back walks, too.

Huh? she asked. What do you mean the front and back walks?

She thought the big chore was cleaning the cat litter. Oh my. Imagine her reaction to understanding that in addition to her regular afternoon chore of cleaning the cat litter, she would have to clear our driveway.

Nevertheless, after a bowl of popcorn, she pulled her boots and jacket right back on and went at it.

Here's the view from my bedroom window:



Just so you can get some perspective of how long the driveway really is, here's two views from the first floor. I include the picture of the school bus going by for the full effect.



I stayed safely inside the garage to take these pictures. I didn't even put on shoes, I just slipped on my slippers. I snapped the pictures quickly before my arms got too cold since I was only wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt.

Imagine the joyous reaction I got when I snapped this last one out the back door:


By the time she was finished and came in, she called to me, "I know you took more pictures of me." Thrilled, she was, I tell you.

God, I love that kid. She's the greatest.

This year, it's just about bourbon. And Grace.

Two years ago yesterday, on December 20, 2007, I started this blog with a post about bourbon balls and how furious I was at Grace for eating a slew of them without anyone's permission. That seems like an eternity ago. Let's visit an event involving bourbon that is more recent and far more challenging: what my husband found after Grace's five friends had been over for the night unsupervised.

It was an innocent enough idea. On Halloween night, Grace wanted to go out trick or treating with a few friends then come back to the house for movies, candy, and a sleepover. Our house is set up so that the den can be isolated from the rest of the house. So I welcomed them home from trick or treating at 8p or so, showed them to the den, and closed the door for the night. By noon the next day, all but one friend had gone home and Grace was cleaning up the house. Grace seemed tired and a bit irritable, but there was nothing else notable about her behavior.

The following morning when I came down for breakfast, my husband told me we had a serious situation that we needed to address. On the counter was an empty bottle of Jim Beam. The last time I saw the bottle, it was almost full. We only have one bottle in the house; it gets stored along with the rest of the hard liquor in a inconspicuous chest in the den. Grace knows it's there, but up until this point, I never dreamed she'd touch the stuff. As I stood there staring at the empty bottle, I wanted to believe so much that it was an adult that had drunk the whiskey rather than a group of Grace and friends. Unfortunately we just don't serve drinks that often; the Jim Beam comes out only once in awhile, like when I make bourbon balls at Christmas time. I could feel my stomach sinking deep into my belly. THIS was not a bridge we had ever even come close to crossing previously.

I'm not stupid or naive. Teens drink. Lots of them drink. Lots of them drink a lot. I'd be deeply in denial if I believed that there was no chance that teens might drink in my home if left unsupervised with alcohol. I wanted to believe that Grace would never touch the stuff and never let her friends touch it either if she could keep them from it. But as Sherlock Holmes says, "once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." The whiskey didn't vanish or evaporate. It didn't get up on its own two legs and walk out. Someone drank it, and no one who would have drunk hard liquor in high volumes had been in the house for months as far as I could remember.

So we brought it up over breakfast. It didn't go well. Grace was angry, upset. She absolutely denied knowing anything about the bourbon. She pitched a hissy fit. Her irate, insistent refrain was, "I can't believe you'd think that I would do something like that!" Despite all her protesting, I wasn't convinced of her innocence at all since she'd pulled this kind of a fit before, lying like mad, in order to cover lesser transgressions.

Then finally when I had given up hope and started to accept that my young teenager was drinking and lying, she said, "It could have been one of your friends! What about M?!?" Indeed, M had visited for a week this past summer. I had told him to make himself at home during his stay, our home is your home. He spent the week trying to quit smoking. As a result, he ate ravenously...and he helped himself to plenty of hard drinks after work day hours were over. As soon as Grace brought it up, I realized that there was a good likelihood (actually, a much better than average likelihood) that the bourbon had been consumed by M.

I was quiet for a second. I didn't apologize, I just thought for a second. Did I owe Grace an apology? All I did was ask her what happened to the whiskey and she threw a huge temper tantrum. If she was the kind of kid who was always forthright and honest with me about everything, it would have ended there. I would have trusted her and thought of what else could have happened. But Grace has lied to me before. Suddenly, I realized what the biggest problem we had was. It wasn't teenage drinking; it was lack of trust based on a history of dishonesty.

We talked for a few minutes longer at the table about how this whole episode illustrated exactly why it is so crucially important for Grace to NEVER lie to us about anything, no matter how small. Not about a bad grade on a test, not about losing something valuable, not about eating candy in her bedroom after hours, not about ANYTHING. For years I have been telling her that if I can't trust her, all is lost. Finally we had a crystal clear example of why that is the case. My guess is that this episode finally made the point clear to her. Never, never lie. I don't care what you've done, I don't care if you've killed someone, just don't ever lie to me. If there isn't trust between a parent and child, everything else about the relationship will become painfully difficult.

As I'm looking back on two years of blogging, I'm realizing I've grown a lot as a person, a woman and a mother. It's taken a lot of difficult moments to grow, some that I'd rather not ever go through again. Now I've grown to the point where I want my teenage daughter to learn from me by reading and writing with me. At this point, I know I still have growing to do, but I hope to do it in a more interactive way with my oldest daughter.

Grace is going to comment on this after a bit in order to give her two cents worth on the event. I'm probably as anxious as all of you are to hear what she has to say about it.

Regardless, I am reminded at this time that part of why I started this blog is that I love my daughter dearly. In order for me to show that, we have to traverse very bumpy parts of the road. All of you out there have helped me and her through some of these patches. As we keep traveling along, I know there are many more bumps to come. But I don't look at them with quite the same dread I used to. I am cautiously optimistic that all will turn out fine if the two of us keep holding hands during the journey.

New Blogger

Hi....Okayyyy...this is kinda weird. Not that my mom has a blog written all about me and her, but that all of you readers know who I am but I don't know you. If you haven't guessed yet...(drum roll please)...I'm the one, the only, Grace!!! My mom calls me Grace on the blog, but people really call me GRACIE.

I told my mom the posts I like and the ones I didn't read:

Gracie: Mom, I read your blog.
Mom: Really? How much did you read?
Gracie: All of it.
Mom: Oh, wow. How long that take you?
Gracie: Not that long. It was really easy.
Mom: Did you read the comments too?
Gracie: Only some. I didn't read those "Daily...
Mom: "Weekly...
Gracie: Whatever. "WEEKLY Slug." I thought it looked boring.
Mom: Really. It's not.
Gracie: Yeah, but I already know the whole story and I live with Stella now.
Mom: Gracie, it's not just about that. It was how I was feeling too.
Gracie: Oh, well it looked to educational. I mean with the pictures and all.

I had to tell my mom my terms, though, if I were to write on the blog.
1) My wording is NOT edited. Only my spelling, etc. is edited.
2) My posts will be in my own font and color.

My mom is also like, "Gracie, you need to sound more mature when you post. You're audience is now adults." I don't know how to write to adults. This could be a problem.

My mom hasn't even posted yet that she told me! I guess she wanted me to post in my own time.

Some of my favorite posts:

And yet another cake fiasco
The Children's Day Caramel Cake; I actually LOVED this cake. Yes, it was really ugly, but it was soooooo good.

Being A Baby is Hard to Do
I told my mom that the last two photos make her look like a old man.

Handling the Boys
When I was writing that long made up story about why I couldn't meet him, I kept thinking in my head "I'm writing a frickin' novel!"

Handling the Boys Part II
I KNEW WHAT I WAS DOING!!! Plus, what was mom doing looking in my message box in the first place?!?!?!?!?

"As for where I've been" and other details to tie you over...

Yes, I'm here. Whoa, we've had quite a couple weeks here in my little corner of the world.

Yes, Ginger the Cat's birthday party is still coming. But much like Grace's birthday this year, I'm finding the rest of life getting in the way of throwing a proper party. Thank goodness the cat doesn't know or care. As for the rest of you who DO care...it'll be up in the next few days. If you still want to wish Ginger happy birthday from your own beast, send me your greetings via email asap.

Yes, I have been writing. If you are dying to read something from me, head over to Midwest Parents. I'm posting there all week. And hey, there's swine flu and Veteran's Day and discussion of the horrible mother-daughter communication we all know and love and even a recipe for Orange Cranberry Muffins. No lie. Check it out.

The trouble with psychiatric evaluation

I think I have hit a wall and I'm not sure I can ever get around it. I had to be linguist so that I wouldn't be able to answer simple questions...

Every so often, before I see my therapist, I have to fill out a battery of questions about how I feel, how my sleep is, do I feel sad or anxious, and a bunch of other stuff she would care about while treating me. The answers required are always on some sort of a Likert scale, like this:

In the past 2 weeks, have you been able to see the funny side of things?

• As much as I ever could
• Not quite so much now
• Definitely not so much now
• Not at all

Sounds easy enough, right? Well, here's where I hit a wall:

Try to characterize your mood in the last two weeks:
"I was always worrying about something."

• never
• very rarely
• rarely
• sometimes
• often
• very often
• almost constantly

How am I supposed to answer that if I was worried a couple times on a few days? What does it mean to say "I was always worrying about something sometimes" ?!?!???!!!?

Sheesh.

And just for kicks, here's my favorite question that I get to answer:

Have you felt peaceful and calm?

• all of the time
• most of the time
• a good bit of the time
• some of the time
• a little of the time
• none of the time

Have YOU felt peaceful and calm during the last two weeks? I feel like if I answer "all of the time" that I should walk into my therapist's office and say, "I'm cured! I'm outta here!"

About that toxic letter to my ex-mother-in-law

Last month, I wrote about Grace's grandmother and why I allowed my toxic feelings towards her stemming from events in the past continue to haunt me. I had written a letter to her spewing my frustration, only to throw it away.

That sounded very dramatic, didn't it? Like I penned a letter on expensive stationary in a Jane Austen-esque fashion and then, in a fit of frustration, crumpled the sheets together and threw them violently into the trash. Or perhaps I threw them directly in the fire to burn away forever.

Come on, it's the 21st century.

I wrote it in plain text, saved it while pondering whether I should send it by email or snail mail, then when I decided to scrap the idea, I threw the file in my trash bin. Where I could retrieve it later.

I got so many comments and emails about the posting that I put up a four-day poll on whether you all thought I should post the contents of the discarded letter here for you all to read.

7 ayes, 4 nays. I'm going with the nays. Sorry, y'all, no toxic letter will be posted here.

Here's why:

This past week, out of the clear blue, two people from my real life found my blog. One didn't recognize me and the other recognized and was offended. (Big surprise, I know. What blogger hasn't been misunderstood when someone from their real life found their blog?) But neither of these people are part of my daily life. And neither are people that I care deeply for. They are just people that I know. But other people in my life will read this stuff too, I presume.

Enter Grace and how my blog affects her.

I have been blogging for almost two years, always keeping in the back of my mind that I would let Grace see the blog at some point. It's only fair. I'm writing a lot about her and I want her to read it. Now, imagine for a second that you are Grace. You are reading along and suddenly you find a completely toxic missive directed to your dying grandmother by your mother. Words that your mother wouldn't actually deliver to your grandmother, but words that she was willing to put up on public display for anyone to read and comment on.





Yeah, I have a feeling you are coming to the same conclusion I did. There is no way I can put that up here. It would be really, really bad.






But it's not all disappointment for you 7 aye-voters and those who didn't vote but also wish you could read that letter. I will give you the biggest realization I had out of writing that letter and rereading it and then digesting it. I wrote one paragraph with an imagined tone of tongue-in-cheek sarcasm in my head, only to discover later that what I had written was absolutely true. Here it is:

"When your son and I separated and filed for divorce, I spoke to you and your husband on the telephone twice. What I understood through those phone calls was that you both knew everything that was going on and were praying. Your son also communicated to me during that time that you and your husband were entirely supportive of him and his decisions at that time. Nothing I saw then or since has contradicted these facts. So I trust by this that you and your husband stood solidly behind your son and I in ending our marriage immediately. Further, it should be clear to anyone by now that your son and I should have never married. After searching for so many years, he finally found his soulmate in his current wife, and I am more than blessed in my marriage to my husband. Your son and I were a mistake, two people who should have never been together."

A mistake. Two people who should have never been together.

It's true. After I wrote that and pondered the thought, I realized that one and only one good thing came out of that relationship: my daughter, Grace. I wouldn't give her up for the anything. Just the other night I was feeling sick and the thought crossed my mind (as it does all mothers once and awhile), 'what if I get sick and die?' The tears immediately came to my eyes as I thought of leaving Grace without me, as I thought of her going through life without me anymore.

It's difficult when two people are so wrong for each other and they have a child. Though I don't have the experience, I'm guessing it is most difficult for the child themselves. But as one member of the relationship, I can say that I have struggled with how to separate the child I love from the relationship I hated. I can reflect on my whole experience as a mother with Grace and realize that I have fallen short of being the best mother I could be simply because she was her father's daughter. It grieves me. Worse, it grieves me and I have no idea how to make it right.

ADD in our lives

It's been quite awhile since I said anything about ADD. Would you all believe me if I told you that's because it's not something that we deal with anymore? I didn't think so.

Grey at Second Verse has posted some entries lately that have hit so close to my heart. Her son has ADHD and they are struggling with finding a medication that will help him deal with the behavioral symptoms of the disorder. What's really hitting me about her writing is the raw emotions, the frustration and the helplessness, that she expresses as a mother. Like me, she writes that she feels as if educators don't understand that the behavior problems her son is having in school are a direct result of his ADHD and something he cannot just will into changing. The links to two of her most poignant posts are here and here.

As I have read Grey's words these last couple weeks, I felt as if I was reading my own words.

My journey as the parent of a child with ADD has been a difficult one. Not especially difficult, just difficult. In other words, being the parent of a child with AD(H)D is difficult. The disorder is not physically visible for all to see so that the child's challenges are understood. Rather, the symptoms of AD(H)D look like a typical bad kid. In my deepest moments of despair, I have wished that my daughter had a different disability, one that evoked more compassion and understanding from her educators, teachers, girl scout troop leaders, ballet instructors, babysitters, music teachers, family and friends, and on and on the list goes. With AD(H)D, I as a parent have heard a lifetime's worth of pejorative adjectives describing my daughter and more patronizing pep talks from others than I can count. If this is how I as the parent feels, imagine what the child hears and how she feels.

Serial Mommy published an essay by Emily Pearl Kingsley this past June, an essay about what it feels like to parent a child with a disability. When I read it, I felt like my feelings had been captured perfectly. Check out the link when you have time.

This school year is going well. Yes, Grace still deals with ADD. It's with her every day. Her friends comment all the time that she is the energetic and hyper one. But she's doing much better with her studies (all As and Bs since last March) and she's much better at coping with symptoms and advocating for herself now. By conversing with her teachers and guidance counselors, her pediatrician and other professionals, she has become much more aware of who she is and how she can accomplish everything she wants to -- with ADD. In the last six months, I discovered that two of Grace's closest childhood friends also have been diagnosed and that their respective mothers have gone through the same roller coaster ride I have. By no coincidence, the mothers are two of my closest friends. One of the things I wanted to accomplish by starting this blog was to find people who could support me and advise me on the struggle I had in parenting Grace. Thank goodness I found some.

And yet, it happened again

Grace was away for the weekend. She spent it with her father and his family.

Her younger sister, her father's daughter, turned three years old last Tuesday. Grace spent that evening with her father's family to celebrate. Then this weekend her father and stepmother decided to travel north, 150 miles, to her stepmother's parent's home to celebrate again. They left on Saturday morning around 10a and returned Sunday by 8p.

When Grace came in the front door last night and said hello, it was apparent she was sick. Not only did her voice sound like a frog's, she was coughing and then said her nose was stuffed up.

Over the weekend, she had taken cough drops from Friday night until she came home and she took an allergy medicine (given to her by her stepmother) on Sunday morning. Then she rode home in the car for 3 hours in a t-shirt and short shorts...when the temperatures were dropping and well into the low 50s already.

Once I had assessed the situation, I gave her a cough suppressant and a mild decongestant. Then I told her if she felt sick in the middle of the night to come tell me so she could take more medicine. This morning at 5a when she woke up for swim practice, she asked for more medicine. I told her that if she felt sick when it wore off to call me from school and that I would come get her. At 11a, she called from school. I went to school immediately and picked her up. She came home, put on her pajamas, and got in bed. She's sick.

The last four times Grace has been sick, this has occurred immediately upon her return from her father's house. In fact, I can't remember the last time she fell ill while being at home. Neither can she. In longer than the past two years, since she started eighth grade, I can't remember a time she was sick and missed school or anything else due to illness when she was home with me. But I can remember many times she missed school in that time period. Each one of these times immediately followed a visit with her father.

I spent the entire hour I met with my therapist this afternoon unloading all my frustration about this. Now that I am finished with that, I have only one question left. What is her father doing in the 48 hours she spends with him that gets her so sick so fast? I mean, this is a kid who never gets sick in any other situation. My God, how oblivious do you have to be as an adult in order for a teenager to get sick so often when she is in your care?

For those of you who (rightfully) give me the following advice every time I broach this issue, I talked with Grace last night about how she can take care of herself. I told her that since she is the only person looking out for her health when she visits with her father, she needs to start paying attention when I teach her about monitoring her own symptoms and about over-the-counter medicines. And I told her that whenever she feels sick, she should call me and ask me what she should do. The last thing I told her was to try and figure out what the factor is that causes her to get sick when she visits with her father (some ideas: not wearing warm enough apparel? not eating well? not getting enough sleep? sleeping on the floor? inhaling second-hand smoke nonstop?)

I wish the courts would mandate that non-custodial parents parent during visitation, not just visit. Maybe they should rename visitation 'parenting time.' Just an idea.

What Not To Wear

A few weeks ago while my mother was still visiting us, we made good use of her time by asking her to run errands around town and buy things we needed. One of those errands was one she enjoys very much: buying Grace new clothing for the school year.

Grace likes this activity with her grandmother very much more than she likes doing it with me. See, my purse strings are a bit tighter than grandma's and my willingness to allow certain items enter into Grace's wardrobe is far more conservative. But alas, this year there was no contest. I was home in bed with a newborn, and grandma, and with her money bags, was ready and willing and eager to go to the mall.

And so off to the mall they went, the two of them, to spend copious amounts of time, energy, and most importantly, money, at some of Grace's favorite stores. High on the list was H&M. I can't stand going to this store with Grace. Sure, it is filled with tons of clothing for less than what other lines would charge (like Abercrombie & Fitch, Urban Outfitters, American Apparel, American Eagle, Hot Topic, and Forever 21). But there is still one problem with H&M. Grace has the impression that anything that is for sale at that store must be (1) fashionable, (2) useful, and (3) worth the money they are charging for it.

I would like to interject at this point that my mother is not the same woman I grew up with. She did not take me or my sisters out and spend money like this. We wore uniforms to school and thus the only other clothing we needed were church clothing for Sunday and shorts and t-shirts for doing chores. I cannot remember my mother ever taking me to the mall and buying me more than 4 items in one trip. Period.

Back to my mother's and Grace's shopping trip. I am sitting at home with Stella when the phone rings. It is my mother calling on her cell phone from H&M. Grace is in the fitting room. Mom is calling to ask about one item she is trying on. See, even though my mother is generous with Grace, she still strives to not buy anything that is out of line by my clothing rules for Grace. So she was calling to make sure that the miniskirt Grace was trying on wouldn't cause any problems.

After talking to my mother a few minutes, I asked to talk to Grace on the phone. She happily got on the phone and told me that the miniskirt was three inches below her fingertips and thus wouldn't cause any problems at school. I asked her to describe the skirt. It was a form-fitting knit miniskirt with a black and purple leopard skin print.

[pause. I breathed deeply here so as not to tick the teenager off.]

I said to her, 'I would prefer that you not spend money on that because it wouldn't really be appropriate for school.' She accepted that and we ended the phone call.

Come to think of it, I'm not sure what a piece of apparel like that would be useful for. A job interview? A night out on the town? What do you pair with this skirt, a black tank top and high heels?

But I didn't tell her all that. I just told her it wouldn't be worth buying because she wouldn't be able to get much wear out of it.

I would like to interject at this point as well, that this is also a piece of evidence that my mother is not the woman I grew up with. My mother would have never dreamed of allowing me to even consider clothing that was risque or questionable. If I tried on clothing that she didn't approve of, I got a very unhappy mother in the fitting room. And there was a lot that she didn't approve of. Like form-fitting knit miniskirts with black and purple leopard skin print.

Grace and my mother came home two hours and $350 later with an enormous amount of new clothing. She put on a fashion show for me and the final verdict was that she had done good. One dress would need to be exchanged for a different style and she was required to let me borrow the uber-cool, hip length, black trench coat she got, the one that she picked out to wear with the black riding hat. Yes, a black riding hat. Like the ones Princess Anne wears when she rides her horses.

My sister is coming in town today for Labor Day weekend. She told me a few days ago that she would like to treat Grace to an afternoon out at Starbucks and then clothing shopping at Plato's Closet. I told my sister the story of Grace's recent trip to the mall with our mother. My sister suggested that before she goes shopping with Grace, the two of them should "shop Grace's closet." In other words, make heads or tails of what she's got already, since it is likely she needs nothing new. Really. Because even though I know nothing of fashion trends and what's hot this summer, Bossy keeps up with this stuff and posted a very informative primer for this year's fall must-haves. And Grace has got all that stuff. Tons of long necklaces? Check. leggings? Check, check and check in three neutral colors. Knee high boots with flat soles? Check. Boyfriend jacket? Check (and mother is educated to know that the aforementioned black trench coat is actually a boyfriend jacket). Sequined skirt, jeans with baroque backsides, tailored plaid tops, and items with ruffles? Check, check, check and, check. Oh yeah, she's stocked.

Grace has a unique sense of style. She does her own thing. For a 15-year-old girl, she does pretty well. But when I see some of the outfits she puts together, I am reminded about how much teenagers don't see the whole picture. There are some outfits you never put together unless you're sending a not-too-nice message.

Like last Sunday she was going to an outdoor cookout/sleepover up the street with a bunch of her girlfriends. She wore a pair of short running shorts along with two tank tops and her Adidas deck sandals. Easy enough. But then she puts on a pearl bracelet, faux diamond stud earrings, makeup designed for the Oscars and a headband covered with white satin with a big white satin bow on the side. It was bizarre. I tried to explain to her that when she puts so much effort into looking good that it's unclear what message she's trying to send by wearing so little clothing. I mean, if she hadn't put so much work on the accessorizing, she would have just looked laid back and casual. But instead she looked like she was trying to show off something. There was a side issue as well that the temperatures were dropping into the 40s that night and I couldn't figure out why she was wearing so little clothing. But by objecting to her choices in fashion, it was like I had committed the unpardonable sin. She was completely upset and argued the whole time.

I've been at this thing of trying to teach my daughter what is and what is not ok to put together in an outfit for years now. I feel like I'm making very little headway. I keep asking myself, how does a mother teach her daughter to refrain from wearing outfits that are never in fashion? How does a mother, in a caring way, tell her daughter that the way she has put herself together makes her worth less than she really is? I really wish I could get to the bottom of this issue and figure out the best way to communicate this message to her.

Facing your demons: Part 2

The first half of the story is here. And now we continue our story...

...And so it came about at 4:30p on the afternoon of Saturday, July 25th that Grace's father came by to pick her up. It's a month later and I cannot remember anything about the actual picking up. She was home on time at 7:30p.

The on-time pickup and the on-time return are something that hasn't happened, well, ever, I don't think. So what's a woman to complain about? And I was already feeling like an ass for hating my ex-mother-in-law for relatively minor offenses. I felt...unevolved...unrealized...emotionally immature.

After Grace had gotten in from the evening out and had had a few minutes to collect herself and relax, she came downstairs to the den. I asked her how dinner was. She said it was nice. I asked her where they went for dinner and what else had happened.

Grace told me that first they went by the hospital to visit Amy, her stepmother.



[insert the sound of screeching brakes here]



I involuntarily interrupted Grace. 'You went to the hospital to visit Amy?'

She explained, Amy was there for at least a week. She had been admitted a few days earlier because she was feeling down. A few seconds of explanation later, I understood. Her stepmother had been admitted to the psych ward for a week, probably because she attempted suicide again or told someone she was considering it.

It's not the first time it's happened. When Grace was 9, just after we moved away from her dad in Michigan and moved to the DC area, her father had planned a trip to come see her. He wanted to do it within a few months of us moving because he felt it was important to be part of Grace's life right away. He also had proposed marriage to Grace's soon-to-be-stepmother a few weeks earlier. They were deeply in the midst of planning a wedding.

He arrived in town as scheduled and called our house to let us know they would be coming by soon. Or rather, he would be coming by soon...alone. Because his girlfriend wasn't with him. Because she had attempted suicide and had been admitted to the psych ward for at least a week. Grace's father wanted to tell me this because he wanted to clear it with me. See, he wanted to explain to Grace over dinner what was really going on.

Good lord. I was still reeling from my divorce from the guy and poor decisions on his and his girlfriend's part. I thought they weren't wise in their parenting choices. (For more details, you can read this, this, and this.) And then, my worst fears were confirmed. This woman that Grace's father had hooked up with was psychologically unstable. To the point where she would take her own life. The only silver lining I could see was that if this guy ever sought joint or sole physical custody of Grace, this episode would be a severe dent in the whole 'happy family' picture he had been trying to create thus far. Worse, I was faced with entrusting my ex-husband to explain suicide to my 9-year-old daughter. In terms of someone in her family. Whoa.

I just took a deep breath and told him fine. I can't remember whether I asked Grace about it when she came home.

Fast forward to Grace's recent pre-dinner visit to the psych ward at the hospital. When you're 15 and your stepmother is admitted to the hospital for psychiatric evaluation, what do you say? What is appropriate to say? When this is the second time it's happened in your childhood, how do you react to this person in the long run? How do have a relationship with them? WHAT IS MY CHILD FACING?

She explained to me that her stepmother is sick and that sickness requires her to stay at the hospital sometimes. When I looked confused, she insisted, 'No, really mom, she has a serious illness, it's not funny.'

THAT'S what my daughter is facing and how she's dealing with it.




Talk about something that causes me to introspect. My kid is fine. She knows what is up with her stepmother and she can deal with it fine. Her stepmother is not ok. I've been expecting she and her husband to act like responsible, active parents and take good care of my daughter when she is in their care. During that week, Grace's stepmother couldn't take care of herself, much less her own kids or her stepdaughter. Under what pretense would it make sense for me to expect her to live up to all the high standards I have laid on her in my mind?

Grace's father called me a week ago to set up visitation for her now that the school year is starting. He said it would be too difficult to have weekly visitation with Grace. He's just going to have her to his house every other weekend now. I presume that holidays are also times he wants to have her at his house. I suspect life is getting heavy on his shoulders. So what can I do other than have compassion? His life is stressful, as is the life of every member of his immediate family. He's cutting things out that he thinks he can in order to get a handle on the logistics of daily life. How can I react any way other than to be understanding and compliant?

So there you go. I still regret that Grace's biography includes a scattered relationship with her father. She doesn't get to see him much and it's unclear that they have ever gotten past a level of superficiality in their relationship. But at least she has a father who likes her. She's learned to accept his limitations, both emotional and logistical; I can accept them too.

Facing your demons: Part 1

Grace is leaving this evening to spend the weekend with her father.

Since the last time she saw him, I've gotten a double-whammy of What-I-Never-Would-Have-Expected. It has created such a shake up in my perspective, it's taken me a month to write anything about it here.

Here goes.

The last time Grace saw her father was Saturday, July 25th. I begrudgingly listened to her earlier in that week when she told me he had called and wanted to have her at his house for that weekend. See, our family hadn't had a weekend together since long before Memorial Day. After the weekend requested by Grace's father, all hell would break loose and we wouldn't get another weekend as a family for quite some time. My mother was coming in town, and then a baby shower, and then the week of the baby being born (count 'em, 9 medical appointments that week, not including the actual cesarean delivery itself), and then baby, and then aftermath....

I just wanted one uninterrupted weekend for our family. And Grace's father called to tell Grace he wanted to have her come to his house that weekend. Because it was his mother's birthday on Saturday.

AAAAAAArrrrrrrrgggggggggg.......

It didn't help the situation that I deeply despise the grandmother, my ex-mother-in-law.

I found myself telling Grace that the whole situation frustrated me. I mean, sure, it was her grandmother's birthday, but we also hadn't gotten any family time together. My father-in-law had just died days before and my husband wasn't even back from Brazil yet. Grace had been at her father's house for four weeks and just come home only one week before. Yeah, sure, she's supposed to see her father every other weekend and that Saturday would be two weeks since she came home, but shouldn't I get four weeks of uninterrupted summer vacation time too? (Never mind that, indeed, Grace had come home for a weekend during her four weeks with her father and had also spent two other days at home because she wanted to.) I mean, really, this whole thing came down to whether Grace's father or I could convince the other that our family time was more important than the other's.

And so it came about that I talked on the phone with Grace's father about the weekend in question. I can't remember who placed the call. I listened to him. I heard what he had to say about how important is was to his mother for her to have Grace at her birthday celebration. I listened to how they hadn't really made any plans yet for the birthday.

I told him how important the weekend was for our family. I didn't tell him about my father-in-law dying and my husband going to Brazil. I just didn't want to go into it.

The last I had heard about my ex-mother-in-law was that she was lecturing Grace about how it was about time for me to give up my grudges. The context of such a bold suggestion from this woman? She asked Grace whether Stella would be friends with Grace's other siblings, her father's children. Grace immediately recognized the awkwardness of the question and told her grandmother it would probably never happen. She explained to her grandmother something like, 'my parents are very different from each other, you know? They wouldn't exactly hang out together or get their kids together to play.' And then the comment came. Her grandmother told her enough time had passed and I should just get over my grudges.

I heard this story the same week my father-in-law fell ill. I thought, why on earth should I spend any time worrying about family of MY EX-HUSBAND when the family of MY HUSBAND are suffering? Why is she trying to tell my daughter that I am a spiteful, vindictive, vengeful ex-wife? I wrote a long letter of retort to this ex-in-law in my journal then threw the journal entry into the trash.

During the telephone conversation with my ex-husband about Grace going to visit him that weekend, he asked if Grace could just come out for dinner with them to celebrate his mother's birthday. I sighed, thinking, I can't believe we're going to have our family weekend interrupted so that woman can have a birthday party.

And then my ex-husband told me, she has lung cancer.

I couldn't say anything.

He went on explaining, you know how she is, she's sentimental and she's thinking this may be the last birthday she'll celebrate and...

I didn't hear much else of what he had to say.

My mind was racing. Lung cancer? What's the survival rate of that? She's not a smoker, but everyone she's ever lived with was, so secondhand smoke...and she's already survived breast cancer 20 years earlier...

I told Grace's father, of course, dinner, Saturday, what time will you pick her up and get her home?




I faced a situation I have thrown in people's faces for years as a hypothetical one. Whenever someone gets completely worked up over some menace in their life, I say, "What are you gonna do when this person is dead?" The idea of my comment is, is it really the person who's getting you all worked up, or is it just nice to be able to bitch about something? If it's the person, then their death will be a welcome relief. But many times, the bitching continues long after the menace is gone. At that time, I think it becomes relevant to ask, what is the real source of your demon?

I faced my own demon. The demon I had created. This woman wasn't worth me getting worked up over. Sure, she'd done things in my distant past that were hurtful and rude, but she's not part of my life anymore. I'd seen her maybe two or three times in the past year. Less times than that in the previous five years. What kind of an effect could she really have on me? And now, now she's dying.

Truthfully. She's dying. I was suddenly relieved I had thrown the letter I had written to her in the trash rather than addressing it and mailing it to her. I found myself asking, should I attend the funeral of this woman, even as difficult as that would be for me?





And that's not the end of the story of Grace's dinner with her father's family on the night of Saturday, July 25th...

The most amazingly mature thing Grace said this past week

Given the post I wrote the night before my cesarean last Friday, it could be surmised that we are having some extended family conflict in our household for the last few weeks. This would be an understatement.

My mother has a very clean, white, polished picture of the world and how things should run. It's best for a woman and man, both virginal, to meet and fall in love, get married, have children, and live happily ever after. I think the "happily ever after" part is optional, whereas the other parts are essential. Also I'm not sure the falling in love and staying in love is important either. What is important is the loyalty, the longevity, and the lack of variability in what a family constitutes.

Grace was talking with my mother the other day while they were preparing dinner together. The topic of one of my close friends came up. Grace has known this girlfriend of mine since she was born. She has been married and divorced twice. As you can imagine, these ups and downs in her personal life were something she never would have imagined. Grace has known every husband and watched both divorces. She's also watched and experienced the divorce of her own parents and my remarriage. In all these circumstances, she's had the opportunity to ask honest questions of both me and my girlfriend.

When my friend was divorcing for the second time three years ago, she came to visit Grace and I in order to get a weekend away and just recharge emotionally. Grace asked me privately during the weekend, "Why does your friend always get married and divorced?" I told Grace that I wasn't sure but that Grace was welcome to ask my friend. And she did. And they had a heart to heart conversation about how life sometimes turns out differently than you imagine, no matter how much you work for things to be otherwise.

The bottom line? This friend of mine has been one of the kindest and most honest and most nurturing people to my daughter that exists.

Back to Grace's conversation with her grandmother. My mother was asking Grace about my friend. She wanted to know from Grace if the friend was planning on marrying her current beau, a man who Grace met for the first time a few weeks ago. I overheard the conversation at the point my mother said (approximately) this to Grace:

"Once someone gets married and divorced, they are probably going to never get married successfully again. Every time they get married and divorced, it gets worse. If she gets married again, it will end in divorce." She then went on to tell Grace that this is why it's so important that you get married to the right person and stay married, because if you get divorced, it's nothing but difficulty from there on out.

Grace didn't miss a beat. She replied, "that's not true." Her grandmother immediately contradicted, "yes, it is, it is a well documented fact that you can read about." Then Grace retorted, "No, you're wrong. Look at Mom and my stepdad. Mom got divorced and she has a great marriage now."

I won't try to summarize in one sentence how amazing that made me feel. My heart warmed to an orange heat and I smiled more broadly than I have in months. When I related the story to my husband later that night, he said he loved that kid and was impressed with how mature she had become.

Maybe, maybe, she's getting the whole picture in a balanced way. Maybe it's starting to make sense to her in a real way. I love her so much.

How to score a new wardrobe - don't tell Grace

Stella gets to change her clothing every few hours without fail. This is a big no-no for Grace. Why the inequality? Well, Stella has this habit of peeing and pooping all over herself. I really hope that Grace won't go to such drastic measures to score more wardrobe changes during the day.

Grace left for camp today with her high school orchestra. She was cranky when she came into my bedroom to tell me goodbye at 7a. I barely got a hug or a kiss. I'm not sure what was vexing her. I mean, I could take guesses, but I'll hold off on that. She said to me yesterday that she really wished she could take Stella with her to camp. She wasn't serious, but we both told each other that it would be a long week away. I told her it would feel weird for us to have our family together and for her to be gone. She said it would be strange to be away from Stella for so long.

During the same conversation together, she and I and Stella spent time alone. Grace wanted to hold Stella so much, and I was trying to find times when Stella was fed and would take to just being held and played with. We got three chances yesterday. Up until yesterday, Grace's priming on babies has been pretty typical of most people which is to hold babies like big bags of flour and if they fuss, they must need to eat or have a diaper changed. I'm a little different in my approach to babies. Babies are people and when you hold them or care for them, you should treat them like people. So Stella spends a lot of time just laying next to someone and being spoken to or getting to relax on her own terms. So far she's been a pretty good baby, not full of angst without a source, so it helps us be able to let her relax and be close to us. Yesterday when Grace first took Stella, she knew only how to hold her like a bag of flour. She wasn't taking any advice that she could hold her differently and insisted this was the only way. Stella was pitching a fit, crying and yowling. After realizing this wasn't working, Grace insisted that Stella needed to eat and was handing her back to me. I finally told her just to sit down and I would show her what would work better. After an hour passed, she was much more comfortable with Stella and Stella had calmed down completely.

I'm beginning to get the handle of this whole thing, I think. I miss my older girl, even though she's only been gone mere hours.

Witches

Have you ever seen Into the Woods by Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine? If you haven't, you really should try to do so. At this point, the musical has not only had an original Broadway and original London cast, it's been reprised on Broadway in the early 2000s and toured extensively. Now it's become the ambitious show of choice for high theatre departments to put on. I had the joy of being 16 years old when I saw it the first time, when the Broadway production opened its first tour in Fort Lauderdale at Parker Playhouse. I'm afraid that first exposure spoiled me for anything less. It was perfect, amazing, and unforgettable.

The plot? Take a bunch of tradition fairy tales, give three-dimensional humanity to the characters and then intertwine their stories in a believable way. It's far too well done for me to even begin to summarize here, so I'll stick to the lead role, originally written for Sondheim's female diva and muse of choice, Bernadette Peters. The character? The Witch.

Now I know that through various artistic genres like musical theatre (Wicked!), contemporary fiction (Wicked: The True Story of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire) and children's literature (The True Story of the 3 Little Pigs!), we have become accustomed to seeing a traditionally evil character reframed in a different light. The new take on the antagonist is that they are grossly misunderstood by society and in the end are revealed to actually be virtuous and good. Sondheim and Lapine are far more creative and realistic than this. The Witch in Into The Woods is not good. She is not wholesome. She is somewhat misunderstood. But really, she's taking in the world around her and calling it the way she sees it. Her way of coping is brutal honesty and confrontation, whether that's with those seeking her help or with those who have tried to take advantage of her or with her own daughter.

Oh, did I forget to mention that detail? That The Witch has a daughter? Well, yes, yes she does. A daughter she dearly loves and protects. And this is a big part of her identity as a person.

Her daughter, as it turns out, is Rapunzel. You know, the witch who keeps Rapunzel locked away in a tower and won't let her see anyone else? Yeah, that witch is Rapunzel's mother in Into The Woods. I'll leave the rest of the origins of that relationship to those interested in looking into the whole plot of the story. She's keeping her daughter in a tower to protect her from the world. There comes a point where a prince comes to the tower and tried to steal the daughter away. Seeing a potential danger to her daughter, the witch hacks off the daughter's locks, tricks the prince, then knocks him to the ground below after blinding him. The daughter becomes hysterical and starts screaming. These are the lyrics to the dialogue that follows between mother and daughter:

"Stay With Me"

[WITCH]
What did I clearly say?
Children must listen.

[RAPUNZEL]
No, no, please!

[WITCH]
What were you not to do?
Children must see-

[RAPUNZEL]
No!

[WITCH]
And learn.

Why could you not obey?
Children should listen.
What have I been to you?
What would you have me be?
Handsome like a Prince?

Ah, but I am old.
I am ugly.
I embarass you.

[RAPUNZEL]
No!

[WITCH]
You are ashamed of me.

[RAPUNZEL]
No!

[WITCH]
You are ashamed.
You don't understand.

[RAPUNZEL]
It was lonely atop that tower.

[WITCH]
I was not company enough?

[RAPUNZEL]
I am no longer a child. I wish to see the world.

[WITCH]
Don't you know what's out there in the world?
Someone has to shield you from the world.
Stay with me.

Princes wait there in the world, it's true.
Princes, yes, but wolves and humans, too.
Stay at home.
I am home.

Who out there could love you more than I?
What out there that I cannot supply?
Stay with me.

Stay with me,
The world is dark and wild.
Stay a child while you can be a child.
With me.

The song makes me cry. I think it gets to the heart of it. This mother is trying so hard to cope with the best way to raise her child, and her child misunderstands. The mother lashes out and acts out of her own hurt and her own struggles. And she shares these feelings with her daughter. As it turns out, the irony of the story is that The Witch is right. The world IS dark and wild. In a moment of chaos in the kingdom, the prince who has married Rapunzel cheats on her while she is suffering from postpartum depression. She flees to the woods, never to be seen again. Not a good end to the story. It's not entirely clear that the daughter would have been any better off with her mother, who, partially out of her sorrow of watching her daughter suffer and mostly out of disgust at the pervasive evil disguised in the world around her, abandons the kingdom in their moment of need. But I think the person of The Witch as a mother and as a person is far too touching to simply write her off as a selfish quack.

I have, at different points these past few days, felt like The Witch. I have also felt like her daughter. I've spent the last week with my mother in town. Grace has also been here with me. I've been both a mother and a daughter since last Wednesday. It is an understatement to say that it has been confusing and emotional. It brings me right back to the root of why I started this blog: to explore my own childhood in the midst of being a mother and living through my daughter's childhood.

How can a single woman cope with loving her mother and trying to make her comfortable and happy while simultaneously needing to stand up for her own needs and dignity? How can one woman simultaneously love her teenage daughter and try to meet her needs while also feeling so weak and human and incompetent at the same time?

I will cut this short as the day is drawing to a close. My daughter is an amazing young woman. She is able to balance her emotions and respond maturely to difficult situations in a fashion far beyond her years. I am in awe of her.

I'm signing off until tomorrow...

Trolling about

I have a troll. Not here. The trolls have not cruised my blog. No, I have a friend on facebook who is a troll.

The funny thing is, I don't think he knows what it means for me to say he is a troll.

He's the husband of an old friend of mine, a friend I'd rather do without. The last time I had any communication with her, this is what I wrote. Since then I've had a surgery, sold one house and bought another, moved, and gotten pregnant. None of this seemed like something I wanted to share with her. I hope that all of you out there reading are coming to the same conclusion I am: there is no friendship left there.

So back to the trolling husband. He's not a loser, quite the opposite. He's someone who's had life delivered on a silver platter to him, and he likes to think of himself as better than others. He's well educated, comes from a wealthy family, and has settled into quite a comfortable life for himself and his wife and children. Everything is great. Except his personality. He's one of those people who is arrogant to a fault. He sees no reason to be compassionate.

On facebook, I am somewhat cautious with my public comments. The people I want to keep up with are disparate, to say the least. They range from my daughter and a few of her friends to my mother and sisters to friends of my husband that I know only through work to radical bible thumping conservative Christians to radical leftist ACLU-supporting liberals. There's a certain balance I want to maintain in an image that all of these people see publicly. What I say in more homogenous circles to them may be more expressive and opinionated, but I am somewhat cautious in the larger light that is my public facebook image.

Yesterday, when I heard about the decision of the California Supreme Court to uphold the decision of the voters on Proposition 8, I posted the following status message on Facebook:

"Will the state of California recognize same-sex marriages that were performed in other states like Massachusetts or Connecticut?"

It was actually a genuine question. I wasn't fishing for comments or trying to stir up controversy. The only comment came from the husband of my not-really-a-friend:

"Is this an issue for you and your husband?"

*sigh* Like I said, trolling. More unfortunate, it reveals a sad truth about his values system. Don't stand up for the rights of someone unless you personally stand to lose something.

I couldn't let the comment stand unanswered. I added the comment,

"On many counts, no, but it is a relevant question for other people I know."

It's also a relevant question for people I don't know. It is a relevant question period.

The only thing left to do, I resolved, is to add the application "Send Trolls" and send this guy an orange baby troll. Then I'll modify my facebook settings so he and his wife, my not-really-a-friend, will have a unique group of their own, "trolls," in which they can see very little about me and have no permissions to comment.