and then there were four…

I’m sure many of you are interested to hear all about our wacky Seattle weekend.

Sorry to disappoint. Seattle just wasn’t in the cards. Again.

Last year, Bill had tickets to go to Seattle and the PAX Convention, but we had this situation pop up and he was unable to make it.

So, this year, we decided Miss O and I would accompany him on the trip, and have our first family vacation.

Not so much.

Thursday night we were packed and ready to go, Friday morning, all was well and we drove to the airport. Waiting for the Shuttle, Bill started to feel sick. I brushed it off, he hates to fly and I thought maybe he just had to go to the bathroom. But, he when he looked at me and said “I really don’t feel well”. I knew he was seriously not feeling good, because you see: Bill never.gets.sick. Never. I think I have seen him seriously sick only a handful of times in the 9 years we have been together, and they were always sinus problems. The man has a stomach of steel, so I was surprised at him getting sick. But, again, I kind of thought that he might be able to go to the bathroom and still make the flight, so I asked him if he wanted to take the shuttle to the airport and do just that. He agreed and we got on the shuttle. It only got progressively worse. The whole shuttle ride he was just not looking good at all. The shuttle made its rounds around the parking lot and stopped at the “Depot” that is the last stop before the airport. Bill looked at me and said “I have to get off” and I told him to go, but there was no way we could get all of the luggage off before the shuttle pulled away (some family had piled a year’s worth of stuff on top of ours)–he could catch another shuttle and we would meet him at the terminal. He bolted and after he got off I realized I would be the one to lug the baby, the large suitcase, the duffel and the stroller (in the box!!) off of the shuttle when we got to the terminal.

Clearly I hadn’t thought this through before I had told him to go.

Luckily, two nice gentlemen helped me with all of the luggage and I ended up being able to pile the duffel on top of the rolling suitcase, and I drug the stroller box behind me, with Miss O in her sling on my hip. We were a sight, I’m sure. I am forever grateful for the kindness of strangers. Who says people from L.A. are self-absorbed?

Anyway, after waiting by the ticketing gate for about 30 minutes (and 45 minutes before our flight was scheduled to leave) Bill called me (thank goodness for cell phones!) and told me he was just not feeling good at all and he didn’t think we should go and he would drive to the terminal to pick us up. We were back home by 10 a.m. and Bill was in bed for the rest of the day.

Of course I was disappointed, I really wanted to go to Seattle, however, I was more concerned with Bill, as he never gets sick and I knew it must be serious for him to give up going to the PAX convention…Again.

We ended up having a nice relaxing weekend, with Bill recouping and Miss O loving that both of her parents were around doting on her.

I thought I was out of the woods, since I seemed to be fine: however, yesterday morning (around 4 a.m.) I woke up with rolling nausea and cold sweats.

Damn stomach virus germs!

Bill stayed home and brought the baby to me to nurse, but I stayed in bed all morning. I had a dental appointment in the afternoon and I didn’t want to miss it, so I pulled myself together and went.

I went in for an Endodontic consultation (to see if I needed a root canal).

I left without some of my tooth roots.

I’m glad I did it though. He gave me the option of rescheduling, but I figured I was there anyway, so I may as well go for it. That, and he promised I would be out of there in 30 minutes and he was true to his word!

Today I still have a tiny bit of a stomachache, but the tooth pain is worse. But even that isn’t THAT bad. I’m glad I had it done, because the sensitivity is gone, and after my mouth heals, I won’t have the tooth pain at all, right?

As you may have gathered from previous posts, we have recently moved into a new & improved apartment. We love our new place, despite the many quirks it has, (namely: it’s crooked) and we are very happy to have found such a huge two bedroom for such a price.

My wonderful husband moved us into the apartment while Miss O and I were in North Carolina visiting family, as you also may remember. What I neglected to tell you was the story of our little neighbor boy.

In the apartment right across from ours lives a family of 5: mom, dad, sister (about 12), Brother (maybe 8?) and a baby sister who is about Miss O’s age (give or take). From what we can gather, the little boy has a form of down-syndrome or some other type of disability/retardation that is visible from his facial features. When my husband was moving us in, obviously he left the doors ajar so he didn’t have to fumble with doorknobs, etc. while he and the moving men were in and out of the place. As my husband was putting boxes in the apartment, he sees someone dart through the door, down the hall, into the master bedroom. Bill follows and sees the little neighbor boy in our master bathroom. He hears the boy’s mother calling his name, standing outside of our door calling for him to come to her. He looks at my husband, my husband looks back at him and says, “Hey buddy, whatcha doing?” The boy doesn’t say anything, so he then says “I think your mom is calling you, maybe you better go.” The little boy looks at my husband and dashes out of the room and out of the front door. When the story is relayed to me, I can’t help but giggle, mainly at how sweet my husband was to the little kid, not freaking out about him being in the apartment and generally showing me what a great man I married.

I didn’t really give much thought to it, I assumed the little boy was friendly with the last person who had lived here and hadn’t realized he had moved…now, I figured, he knew, and we wouldn’t be having any problems. Whenever I would see the family I would do the neighborly thing and smile and nod, ask how they were, etc. I had gathered from the small interactions I had with the family, and the tantrums I had heard the little boy throw, that he was quite a handful for his mom. We had seen her chasing him up and down the street on his scooter because he didn’t want to come inside yet. (this is important)

Yesterday, I spent the later part of the afternoon and evening doing laundry. I finished getting the last load out of the dryer (located in the garage downstairs) around 9 p.m. I bring it back inside and my husband and I are sitting around, me at the computer, he’s playing a video game. Apparently I had neglected to re-lock the door after my last foray out to the garage. We hear the family congregating outside our door (which is also outside of their door) talking to the upstairs neighbors (from what I have gathered, they are all somehow related). At about 9:45, I suddenly hear our front door opening.

“What the…” I had barely gotten it out of my mouth when in pops the little boy, his mother screaming at him “NO! Don’t you do that, you come back here this instant!” I’m up out of my chair and he’s barreling towards me. I try to keep him from darting into the other rooms because the baby is already asleep and I didn’t want him disturbing her…I didn’t feel right when I was doing this, but it was my initial reaction; I was physically holding the little boy trying to direct him back out of the door. Not hard, and not mean-like, but just physically blocking him from moving forward. The mom is at my front door saying how sorry she is, in between trying to get him to come back out, and he’s screaming “NO–I want to go IN!” and pushing his head into my stomach, trying to move past me, then he moves away from me and goes to the left, into our kitchen.

The mom looks at me, and I totally just wanted to hug her. I felt so bad for her, because she was trying so hard to control him, but it was really beyond her control. I think she just didn’t understand how to correctly discipline him. She just kept saying, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry” and I just smiled, said it was okay, and she could come inside to retrieve him. She came in, got him and scolded him, saying “This is the last time you do this…don’t you do this again!” and that was that.

I don’t really know the family situation, I don’t know if the boy could be more disciplined, because I don’t know what his actual mental disability is, but I can’t help but feel as if the mother is in a difficult situation and seems to be doing the best she can, so I can’t be upset about it at all. No harm was done, and if anything that poor woman was more embarrassed, which makes me feel like I want to be extra-nice to her, because she has nothing to be embarrassed about.

However, I will always try extra hard to remember to keep the door locked.

Out of all the things my daughter does, only one really stumps me: her need to throw her pants.

I don’t mean that she takes them off and throws them–but, when I take them off to change her diaper and lay them next to her, she will pick them up and throw them on the floor, often looking at me with a very intent “what are you going to do about it” stare. And it’s not just her pants. If I put a diaper down beside her she will throw that also.

I don’t know why she feels compelled to do it, but I try so hard not to laugh.

She started doing it with food a bit after, usually if I am not paying enough attention to her, and usually with food she is no longer interested in. We’re trying to curb that habit, a curt “No” usually stops her. Sometimes, however, she will look at us with that same “what are you going to do about it” look and turn her hand slightly over the side of the high chair and slowly, (yes, slowly) open her hand to drop whatever on the floor.

It is oh so hard not to laugh.

But you just want to so badly.

Stifle it!

You would think that, given she throws her pants and food, she likes to throw (or roll) a ball. Nope. She prefers crawling over to you to hand it back when you roll it her way. We’re working on it, though. If she’s gonna throw, may as well teach her what she’s supposed to throw (or roll), right?

I’m super excited about this Friday. We’re going to Seattle and I can’t wait. Our first real family vacation. Granted, Miss O and I will be doing a lot of hanging out on our own (and with a really good friend of mine who is in Seattle visiting a friend at the same time!) because my husband will be at PAX (a video game convention/conference). I can’t wait to see tons of sights, eat lots of great food and take a bazillion photos!

I just realized a couple of days ago that I am missing a photo album, actually.

I can’t find one of them and it is bugging me to no end. All of the photos are replaceable, because I have them backed up on disk (and computer, and online, I have about 5 different photo backups. See? I told you I loved my photos). But, it’s just the PRINCIPLE. How does one lose a photo album?

I’ll keep looking.

No more crying at naptime or bedtime? It can’t be!

How many times until something is established as a habit?

I’ll just enjoy it while it lasts.

After much searching and agonizing with my mother, I found plane tickets for her and my grandma to come out for a visit for Miss O’s first birthday. I’m very excited. Particularly because this means I don’t have to travel. However, I have lots to do in preparation. Not only do I have to plan a birthday party, but I also need to plan what to do to entertain my family while they are here. Mostly, it’s party preparation. I have to print invitations, think of decorations, order a cake, make sure we have enough seating…

Granted, I am not throwing one of those ridiculous 1st birthday parties I have heard so much about, it’s a backyard BBQ at my husband’s grandparent’s house with family and a few friends. Mainly an excuse to get together, not a shameless attempt at gifts like some of these shindigs I’ve read about. She’s going to be 1! I want it to be very low-key and have a good time marveling at how cute Miss O looks with cake plastered on her face, not an uncomfortable day making sure this group of people aren’t offended by that group. Similar to our wedding. With the exception of the cake plaster.

I’m doubly excited because my mom & grandma are flying in on the 3rd (and 3 days before the party!), which means they will be here on my daughter’s (and husband’s) actual birthday. This is exciting because I am going to be able to take my husband out to dinner for his birthday & my mom is super-excited about being able to be the first to babysit Miss O! He claims he doesn’t want a big fuss, but I never want him to feel his birthday is no longer important because he shares it with our daughter. Of course she will get the bigger deal made out of her, and that is to be expected, but, he’s special too, and his birthday is special.

See, I’ve always loved my birthday. I always made a huge deal out of it, not so much because I wanted presents or a party, but because that day was the ONE day of the year that I got tons of attention from my mom.

My mom was a single, working parent with three girls. Time was a precious commodity in our house, and being the oldest, most responsible one, I got the least amount of it. It was later relayed to me that because she “never had to worry about me” I tended to get the shaft in the attention department. But not on my birthday! On my birthday my mom would wake me up by coming into my room and sitting on the edge of my bed, singing happy birthday. Even now, every year, I can anticipate her calling me and singing happy birthday. I still have a voicemail from two and a half years ago on my 24th birthday of her singing to me. It makes me happy.

Not only did I get a song, but there was a special “birthday trip” out to lunch and shopping, either on my birthday or the weekend after. Just us. It made me feel so grown-up and special to have my mom all to myself. If I had to go to school on my birthday, she made a special lunch for me, including a bag of candy or some special treat, along with a note or card. There was always the cake and singing at night with the whole family, but it was my mom showering me with the extra attention that I loved.

If we were near each other at 11:04 a.m., she would look at me and say “you were born at this time X years ago”. She would smile at me, get a wistful look in her eye and give me a hug or kiss. I used to think she was goofy for acting that way. Now I understand.

Birthdays are special and I want to make sure my husband knows how special he is for being born, even if it just so happens to be the same day his daughter was born. I’ve just got to figure out what to get him. I’m definitely not going to be able to top last year’s gift.

Okay, I had to post again because of a new development.

I just put Miss O down for her nap. She was fully awake when I did so. I put her in her crib, covered her with her blanket, told her I loved her and walked out the door.

And she made not one sound.

No crying, no fussing, not even a rousing chorus of “MAMAMAMA”.

Nothing.

She’s just gonna go to sleep.

I’m speechless.

It can be done!

I wasn’t feeling so hot yesterday, I spent most of the day trying to stay awake so I could properly take care of my daughter, which is why I didn’t post (see, I’m trying to keep good on my promise!)

Something that bothers me: The Wonder Pets. It’s a show on Noggin that chronicles three classroom pets (a Hamster, Chick, & Turtle–Lenny, Tuck & Ming-Ming too!) who save baby animals in trouble. It stresses teamwork and helping others. Great message and it is a cute show, but I have one major problem with it: Ming-Ming the chick has a lisp.

Not to slam anyone who has a lisp or speech impediment, it isn’t anything to make fun of; however, if you are producing a show for young children (many of whom haven’t developed their own speech), why oh why would you create a character who has a lisp?

I read that the actress who voices Ming-Ming actually had a speech impediment when she auditioned, and she has subsequently grown out of it, however the directors found in endearing, so they asked her to fake it. Apparently Ed Burns’ children watch the show and he thinks she has a Brooklyn accent. But, how sad is it that the directors were encouraging a speech impediment? It’s not endearing, it’s annoying. Hilarious that a speech impediment is confused for a Brooklyn accent also. I don’t hear it, but apparently Ed Burns does.

I also hate the assumption that small children won’t realize the same episode has been shown two days prior. I’ve seen every episode of the Backyardigans three times over.

I was actually able to get through 3 storybooks today before Miss O lost interest. Score!

My husband pointed out to me that if I am using this blog to “practice” my writing skills, to keep up to par in the hopes of one day writing something publish-worthy, I shouldn’t be taking the lazy way out by using acronyms and/or abbreviations. “Besides,” he said ” they are kind of goofy.”

As much as I didn’t want to admit it, when I thought about it, he’s absolutely right. And dammit, I hate when he is right. I’m just going to use our names, I think… It’s easier, and most of you that read this blog know who the heck I am. I’m just not that popular, dammit. I’m okay with that though. A lot of people blog for fun, too many blog in the hopes of a book deal or something similar. I basically started to blog as a way to keep my friends and family updated on what was going on, and to document this really amazing time in my life. This blog is serving that purpose, which makes me very happy.

I realized the other day that I had a ton of stories to tell, some I had forgotten or that I was too tired to relate when it happened, and when I did sit down to write, I forgot I wanted to write about it. This realization makes me excited–I have material!

I’ll have to put my material to good use later, the baby just woke up from her nap.

Wow–three posts in two days. Aren’t you the lucky reader?

Seriously, I’ve decided to take charge of my writing life and make a bigger, more concentrated effort to write SOMETHING every day, so aside from my blog, I also journal, write short stories and poetry. I’m connecting with my creative spirit, if you will, and you, my dear readers get to reap the benefits. It’s a win-win situation, right?

It’s amazing how much a child learns in their first year. Hard to believe in less than two months BG will be a year old. ONE YEAR! It’s amazing to see how much she has grown, and learned.

Just on the cuteness level: She can pat-a-cake when ask her to play (except, she has some trouble with the “roll-em’ up” part), if you say “YAY!” she claps. And now, the newest cute “trick” (if you will) is that when you ask her for “kisses” and make a kissy noise, she will put her lips up to yours. SO FREAKING ADORABLE. I swear I *almost* cried when she first did it.

She also knows what “NO” means–even if she doesn’t listen to us when we say it. She loves to pull DVDs off of the shelf, (especially the Simpson-Head cases–she’s fascinated with them) and loves to open and close (and try to get into) the trash can. No amount of scolding seems to work, unless she is in one of her tender-hearted moods, and you can look at her wrong and she bursts into tears. She is definitely her mother’s child.

Now, I know many people will disagree, but every day I turn the T.V. channel to Noggin. If you aren’t familiar, Noggin is a Nickelodeon channel that shows commercial-free children’s programming from 6 a.m-6 p.m. (or, in our case 3a.m.-3 p.m. since we have the East Coast feed). A lot of people (the AAP being one group) think that children should not be exposed to Television until they are 24 months old. But, let’s face it: If you have a television in your house, the child will be exposed to it before they are two years old. I happen to believe that it will not warp the brain provided you are spending time with your child and not letting the television parent your child. I do not stick my child in front of the T.V. and expect her to quietly watch all day. In fact, she doesn’t REALLY watch, unless it is the Moose & Bird they have pop up in between shows (instead of the commercials).

I mainly have it on for background–there are lots of songs sung, words said, etc. I like the fact that when songs are played, you see BG perk up. She loves music and loves to “sing”. Being a stay-at-home mama she isn’t around a lot of other children, (unlike, say, if she were in Daycare) and I do think there are benefits to a Daycare situation: children are around lots of other people, they hear words all day and develop their vocabulary (probably faster than a lot of kids with SAHMs). And let’s face it: No matter how much people may say I talk, there is no way I could replicate the amount of words she hears when there are lots of people talking.

A lot of people ask me: What do you DO all day? They think that I have a cushy job, staying at home with my baby. I think that this, while the best job I’ve ever had, is also the HARDEST. I totally understand why some moms (who can afford not to) choose to go back to work.

My day usually starts around 7:30-8 a.m. BG wakes up with a rousing chorus of “MAMAMAMAMA”. I change her diaper, and nurse her. We then play for an hour (and I check my email and the news/blogs/etc.) and she has her mid-morning breakfast (usually a banana or oatmeal if you are curious). I then change her out of her pajamas. We’re hitting about 9:30ish. I’ve probably pulled her from the DVD case about 10 times by this point. The trashcan, probably about 3. The computers or other electronics: 2-5 depending on the day.

Between 10-10:45 she starts getting cranky, so we nurse again and I put her down for her nap. During this time I try to catch up on housework, writing, picking up toys, maybe laundry depending on the day. I also surf the intertubes. Her naps usually last anywhere from 1-2 hours; typically they are an hour and a half. So, we are hitting close to noon by this point. Depending on BG’s mood when she wakes up we will either eat lunch or play until she is hungry. After lunch, I try to read stories, or play a bit more, go for walks; again, it all depends on the mood of BG.

Now I have pulled her off of the electronics another 3 times, the trashcan another 4 and the DVDs—well, more than I care to count. I’ve also probably pulled her out of the bathroom (where more than likely she has closed the door on herself and is crying b/c she can’t get herself out) and she has fallen a few times and ventured into the kitchen where she isn’t allowed alone. Around 2:30-3:30 p.m. BG has her afternoon nap. This nap can be anywhere from 1-2 hours, averaging about an hour and 15 minutes. During this time I could be getting my stuff together for dinner, or trying to figure out what I am cooking for dinner. Picking up toys again, finishing the housework I didn’t get to earlier that morning, watch TV/surf the web, or if it has been a very trying day, I may nap with BG (but this has stopped happening as often since she is sleeping more). When she awakens from this nap, the early afternoon process starts again (with the exception of eating a big meal–there is a snack of either wagon wheels, goldfish or cheerios).

So now we await Daddy’s arrival from work. When he arrives home, BG gets extremely excited and bounces up and down until he picks her up to give her hugs and kisses (say it with me: “AWWWW”) We talk a bit, play pass the baby and then I go to the kitchen and begin cooking dinner (Time: usually anywhere from 5-6). Depending on what time dinner is ready determines who feeds BG her dinner. She eats around 6-6:30, so if I am still cooking, Daddy will feed her dinner. If we are all eating dinner together I take over feeding duties and eat and feed her simultaneously. I’m gifted that way ;o) After dinner, Daddy gets her ready for her bath and I get the bath water ready.

Bath time! BG loves to play in the bath and we typically take about 20-30 minutes for her to splash and get clean in the bathtub. After her bath, she has her nightly baby lotion massage. The time is now anywhere from 7-7:30. Perhaps she is allowed to play for a bit, perhaps she is hitting the bedtime crank-fest. If it is the latter we nurse again. After that we brush teeth, kiss daddy goodnight and go and rock our way through mommy’s renditions of “The Rainbow Connection” “Somewhere over the Rainbow” and “Tomorrow” in that order (I need to remember other songs, those are getting old…) After she has been rocked for the duration of these songs, I lay her down. Sometimes she cries, sometimes she snuggles back into sleep, either way, off to bed she goes by 8:30. I spend the rest of the night attached to the computer, watching a movie, just relaxing. It’s been a long day.

That, my friends, is my day. Granted, this is a “GOOD” day, where BG isn’t cranky. Also, there are many things I have not chronicled because they happen at different points in the day: diaper changes are anywhere from 6-8 times a day, sometimes she nurses if she is not feeling well or just needs some extra, etc…

Sure, some people may think “Geez, you have it easy” or, “that’s not so bad”. That’s fine. However, please note that being a stay-at-home mom means that you are never away from your job. You can’t clock out at the end of the day and “forget” about what upset you at work, or how hard your day was. There are no happy hour drinks after work. Work=Life and for many people that concept is scary. I’ll admit that I miss being able to “leave it all behind” when I hit the door after work. Not enough to go back, mind you. Also, you are never alone. Think about that. NEVER. Unless my husband is home, I don’t use the bathroom alone, I shower with the door open and BG in her activity center seat, whatever I need to do, BG is right there with me.

I am not saying that you should feel sorry for me. I LOVE my life as a stay-at-home mom. I absolutely adore my husband for giving me the opportunity to stay-at-home and take care of our daughter. However, I hate when people assume that SAHMs simply sit on their butts and eat bonbons all day. I am sure there are some that do, but I (and the other SAHMs I know) don’t. I also know when BG is older, our days will consist of more outdoor activities, more playgroups, etc., but right now, this is our life. The good, the bad and the ugly.

I wasn’t going to post this, but I read something today that changed my mind, despite the way it may paint some of my family members.
Today I read a blog post on a friend’s myspace blog from a year ago. Basically she details a horrible incident where her 3-year old daughter (who just so happens to have a “beautiful bronze complexion”) was treated unfairly by a Caucasian child who was about 7 or 8. It was obvious the child learned this behavior from her parents, and my friend confronted this behavior beautifully. It made me quite proud to know someone who reacted this way. It also made me ashamed.

I am so very proud of my southern roots. I love my accent, love that my grandma can make a mean pot of greens and pecan (pronounced PEE CAN) pie that makes you melt. I love Chick-Fil-A and Bojangles. I love sweet tea. I love seeing pastures and farmland and the way it smells after it rains (like grass!). However, I also love Sushi and REAL Mexican food, having the beaches on one side and the mountains on the other when I drive certain freeways. I love smelling salt water when I step out of LAX after spending a week in NC. I love hearing various languages spoken around me as I make my way through the streets. I’m very blessed to have been given such a dual persona (haha!)

Back to the story at hand: I read my friend’s blog post and was ashamed and further confident that my actions and reactions the last time I was visiting my family were the right ones.

For some background: My brother-in-law is engaged to a girl who is of mixed race. Half black/half white (hoping I’m not too un-PC) In turn, she has a son, whose father is Mexican. So, he is half Mexican, 1/4 white and 1/4 black. So this is Baby Girl’s aunt and cousin.

My husband also has a cousin who married a black man. They just had a baby boy. So, BG’s uncle and cousin.

My husband’s other cousin is half Italian and half Puerto Rican.

My husband himself is 1/4 Italian, 1/4 Scottish Canadian and the other half is a mystery, since his mother was adopted.

I am not as sure of my ethnic heritage. I know there is some Danish, German, English, etc. I’m a Caucasian mixed bag, right?

In turn, this makes my daughter an even bigger mixed bag.

So: I am visiting the family, when a family member begins to comment on “black people” I won’t bore you with the details, except to say that I was offended and asked this family member where the harm was in having a black person doing the job he was describing. The family member just guffawed and acted as if I had insulted his mother. I said that I didn’t want my child to be raised in an environment that acted as if she were superior simply based on her skin color and I would prefer it if this person did not speak this way around me, or my child. I further explained that BG had cousins, aunts & uncles (not to mention numerous friends of the family) who were not “white” and I never wanted her to think that this was wrong or that they were bad. It made me so upset I had to leave the room. Before I left the room, this person hit the last nail in his coffin: He said “you’re in the south, what do you expect?”

Nice way to perpetuate the stereotype, buddy.

Later, I was with ANOTHER family member who said the “n” word. I again explained to this person (who was in the room when the other incident occurred) that I DID NOT want that word spoken around my child and I did not want her to think that it was okay to use (because I know she will hear it, and I will explain it to her in time…) especially if this family member was using it. This family member in turn said to me, “well, I don’t think you should say the word ‘Bitch’ around BG.”

This could be true. But, the fact of the matter is (and this is exactly what I told her):

“I think BG is my daughter and I can determine what can or can’t be said around her, as I am her parent.”

Please note that this was the hardest thing I have ever had to say to this person in my life, as they are very close to me.

Nothing more was said. But I will continue to reaffirm my beliefs when I am around my family. I know that much of this is just a product of how someone was raised, and it continually gets reaffirmed through interactions with folks who are not so socially advanced and racially friendly, but the fact of the matter is, it has to stop and if I am the only person in the family to believe it, I will continually fight.

I know that my family are not card-carrying members of the KKK, and there are friends of the family that aren’t “white”, so I guess this is why the whole fricking thing irritates me. It’s so hypocritical. At least if they were out-and-out blatant racists, you would know what to expect. But to have certain comments made, and then see them gushing over a friend who isn’t white, it just makes me that much more irritated.

Yes, there are people who perpetuate the stereotype of each race. Many people, I’m sure. But that’s why it is a stereotype. It is stupid to make such blanket statements about certain people, and then reaffirm yourself by saying “well this ‘one’ isn’t like the ‘rest’, so it is okay that I like them.” Take people one by one, not race by race or ethnicity by ethnicity.

I am reminded of something that happened to me in Kindergarten: we were on our mats for nap-time. I was laying, not sleeping, looking at my classmates. I remember seeing a boy who had the most beautiful milk-chocolate skin I had ever seen with big brown eyes and nice curly hair. I thought he was beautiful, how could he not be? He had skin the color of chocolate milk. He was different than me, and I loved it. Fast-forward to 1st grade: Another beautiful boy with dark dark skin, and even more beautiful, BIG round eyes. He gave me a valentine. He wanted me to be his valentine. I took the valentine home, only to be told “You can be friends with him, but you aren’t allowed to be his girlfriend, that’s just the way it is…” Innocence shattered.

I don’t blame my mother. She was young and living in a world where she was enough of an outcast and grist for the gossip mill for being 16 when I was born and divorced at 20. She was, in her own way, trying to shield me from that. However, remembering that when I was pregnant made me realize that I wanted so much more for my children. I want them to love the person, not the color, ethnicity, sex, etc. As long as they treat my children right, they are okay by me.

There, I’ll step off of my soapbox.

Carry on and try TRY to teach your children tolerance and love, not stereotypes, fear or hate.

From here on out, I’ll just refer to my daughter as “Baby Girl” or “BG” for short. It’s just easier.

I recently joined CafeMom, which is kind of like Myspace for mommies. I decided to join because I want to find more moms and children in the area that are BG’s age. Overall it is a good website. But, it also makes me feel like a very lucky person. There are women up there who lament about their husbands never helping, their children are hellions, life, in general, is depressing. Coming from a very mentally unstable family background: (My father is bipolar, my mother has suffered from depression, as have I), I want to reach through the DSL lines and hug them, let them know that they aren’t alone and they can get help. It also reaffirms my lifelong fear of the other shoe dropping.

As a child, I dealt with a lot of things that children shouldn’t have to deal with, and while I have lots of happy memories, and a very great mom, I also have a lot of unhappy memories and an absent father. That being said, for as long as I could remember, I worried. When I didn’t have something to worry about, I invented things. I felt that there had to be a yin & yang to everything that happened in life. It was my defense mechanism; something crappy would happen and I felt comforted by the fact that some day, my time would come.

I guess, my time is now. I have a great life, a wonderful husband and a beautiful daughter. I am so very blessed. So why can’t I get that nagging feeling out of my head that something is bound to come along and screw it up? My mom likes to point out that I have “paid my dues” and it is “about time something good happens for you, isn’t it?”. But, I still can’t shake the feeling that something awful will come along and disrupt my happiness.

I remember my therapy sessions from college, when the therapist would say to me “You can’t think about people who are worse off, or better off, you have to think of your own pain or happiness”. Basically saying that all pain is important, and it is really relative to the person’s situation. No pain or suffering is better or worse than anyone else’s.

I enjoy my life. I love where I am in life. I am very happy.

So why do I think of scenarios where my world comes crashing down, my life is disrupted, and how I would handle said scenarios? I catch myself and scold myself, but I can’t shake the thoughts. It isn’t all-consuming, and I’ve had enough therapy to know that I’m not dealing with depression, just wacky thoughts that swim in and out of my head.

Why shouldn’t I be happy? Why shouldn’t I have a great life? Aren’t I a good person?

This isn’t to say that PLENTY of good people don’t have horrible life situations, but my point is, it shouldn’t be why am I having such a great run right now, but why not?