Dammit

9-23-12

I don’t know if it was because a goal was scored against us or if I was just frustrated with a particular play. Either way, I must have uttered the phrase aloud. Oh the horror for those two moms who were subjected to it must have experienced when the super offensive word fell from my mouth. No kids heard it, but clearly it would have caused a riot of epic proportions had it entered their ear canal. Thank goodness I was notified of the indiscretion.

I said “dammit”.

Hold on a second. You mean to tell me there was a whole mess of fuss over the crazy expletive that hasn’t been considered offensive since Gone With the Wind? A word that is used routinely in just about all network television shows during prime time? How is it that ANYONE can possibly find this to be somehow harmful to the youth of America?

As if it wasn’t absurd enough to be scolded for this crazy and horrid lapse in judgment, it wasn’t just because of the word. The other complaint that accompanied the soap put in my mouth was the tone of word. The mom told me it was much too harsh and negative. She was worried that if the kids had heard it they would think that I was angry with them over something in the game.

Are you kidding me with this? These are kids who are between the ages of 6 and 9. Is this woman actually suggesting that a grownup expressing some form of disappointment was such a foreign concept for the kids that I was corrupting them? Have all of these boys been such saints that not one of them has been yelled at or perhaps yelled about in close proximity? Haven’t all of them seen Transformers or any other one of many flicks that drop the “D” bomb countless times in the 120 minutes of screen time?

I am a pretty opened minded mother. There have been countless naked days at my house. We don’t sugar coat if we can help it and are good about using correct words for things like pregnancy. My boys know that the baby doesn’t come from the stomach. They know the fetus grows in the uterus.

One of the big things in my house is language. I am a firm believer in colorful words. Sometimes those words are large. Sometimes they are made up. And sometimes (let’s be honest, most of the time) those words are as George Carlin dubbed them, the seven words you can never say on television. My 6 year swears like a sailor. This is not surprising since his mother does. However, he isn’t just going around saying “fuck”. He is using it when appropriate and although it may sound a little odd to hear a little kid use the word so casually, it is surprisingly natural once you are around him for a bit.

Words should never be called “bad”. Sure, there are words that can cause hurt feelings or words that mean some horrible things. There are words that are not allowed in certain settings and words that can trigger bad memories. But they are just that; words. Children should not be taught that any aspect of language is a bad thing. Isn’t it better to show them how to use words to their advantage? They should embrace all words as these wonderful tools at our disposal that we can use to express ourselves in ways people didn’t always get to do.

In addition to teaching them about the power of communication, we need to explain to them that sometimes we get upset. Sometimes we get angry. Sometimes we get so overwhelmingly happy we can hardly contain ourselves. Look at Bono, the lead singer of U2. While on an awards show, he was so shocked by the accolades, he announced that it was “fucking brilliant!” Is this truly something that we should shelter our children from? Was he bashing our offspring with vulgar profanity or was he simply embracing his joy in the most expressive way he knew how?

I recognize I am in the minority on my word war. I know that how I am around my kids is not how I am always allowed to be around other peoples’ children. Just as I teach the boys that although they can say “shit sucks” in my house, they must say “things are not good” in school because of rules. Rules dictate how we are as a society. I was at an AYSO function as acting coach and as much as I think that “shit sucks” I also have to say “things are not good.”

Despite being bound by rules, I still hope that parents these days would get their heads out of the sand. I have always been a pretty bad helicopter parent in lots of situations. But even I have never sheltered my boys from basic human emotion. My kids should see me cry. My kids should see me angry. My kids should be able to see me frustrated that their team was scored against. It doesn’t mean I don’t still cheer. It doesn’t mean I don’t still love them. It just means I was bummed for that moment, and I used a word to get it out. That is what makes me sad for these other parents. They are raising kids who will be those grownups who will expect everything handed to them. They will be kids that will grow up thinking it is better to keep emotions all bottled up until they bubble out in a harmful way. I can assure you, I would much rather have a kid with lots of minor outbursts than one who goes up on the clock tower.

So other moms, I am sorry I pushed you out of your comfort zone into real life. Any scarring I may have done to your kid will probably result in years of therapy on both your part. Either that or every kid out on that field that day will tell you the same damn thing; Coach Gena is awesome, dammit!

I have a Special Needs Child

10-31-11

My son is Special Needs.

I am sure if I told this to someone, there would be the inevitable questions like, “Is he autistic? Does he have Asperger’s? Is he retarded?” The answer to all of them would in fact be no. My son doesn’t need special classes. He is very smart and talented and he has lots of friends. He is a good kid. He does have a weakness, though, which makes being his mom difficult sometimes.

Bobby is painfully sensitive.

He wasn’t always like this. In fact, when he was only about 6 months old, we flew out to Pennsylvania to a family reunion. My aunts and uncles fell deeply in love with bald headed , blue eyed sweetie pie. My uncle Dennis announced, with complete shock, “He’s definitely not strange!”

I was confused at this declaration, and inquired further about his observation. Turns out, back East, ‘strange’ would mean that he didn’t want to be held by anyone. Bobby, in fact, was the hippie baby, full of peace and love. He was more than happy to have you hold him or kiss his cheeks. He didn’t cry much and was a joy of an infant.

Yet on Friday, when I was with my boys at their Halloween carnival at school, I was once again hit with the terrible ailment that now plagues him.

All of the kids in costume were to go in the middle of the playground track since they were going to do a costume parade. They would go by grade level, with Kinder and Pre-K first. I shuffled my children off telling them where I would be so I could take their picture. Dax instantly found some of his classmates and Bobby was left standing in a sea of Marios and princesses, and within a few seconds he was reduced to tears, unable to function.

He was terrified. He didn’t know where his classmates were, nor did he have the power to start looking for them. His entire being shuts down, and it is even hard for him to calm down once he sees his friends.

This isn’t the first time this reaction has come. He has been known to break down in class over very small things. His teacher has even pulled me aside with the dreaded parental question of, “Is everything ok at home, Mrs. Brenan?” You would think we were getting a divorce or something. I have to explain that my son is just, well, sensitive.

I feel bad giving him a label. But in reality, it is not all that uncommon to deal with. I actually have it pretty good compared to some horror stories I hear. Kids who can’t even make friends due to their fear of even talking to someone. Bobby is at least fine in most instances, which actually makes these mini breakdowns so confusing at times.

I am shy. I always have been. I have learned to overcome a lot of it, so in a lot of ways, I completely understand what he is going through. I certainly don’t make fun of him or call him a baby since it isn’t as though he chooses to be this way. There have been times when we ask him why he is crying, and he honestly doesn’t know why. How very confusing for us as parents, and even more so for Bobby.

Having a special needs child does mean that you are a different kind of a parent. It means that I can’t just assume that Bobby will run off to play with his classmates at a Halloween carnival. It means that more of my attention is often allocated to his well-being in certain situations. It also means that my aspirations as a PTA president or even head coach for soccer are probably going to need to be put on hold.

It doesn’t mean I won’t be involved. There is no way I can’t be. It would go against my nature. However, it also goes against my nature to be the person who is selling tickets when I could be hanging out with my own kids at a school event, making sure their evening is awesome. It means that if Bobby has a meltdown, I cannot be responsible for 700 other kids and their issues.

I can honestly say that yes, it is disappointing that my dream of following in my mother’s footsteps to be PTA president will probably not come to fruition for a little longer. I also know that childhood is precious. In just a few short years, Bobby will figure out how to be brave and how to keep his emotions in check even when he is nervous. He will be able to hold his head high, even if he is not sure where he is going, and I will simply be the mom left at home while he goes out. But in that window, I can be his everything. I can give him the tools to navigate childhood and adolescence. I am more needed as the president of his self-esteem than of any school council.

I will always be a huge part of my kids and their upbringing. I am sure that in a couple years I will throw my hat into the ring to be a more prominent member of the PTA. But until then, I am happy that with a landslide vote of one person, I have been voted to the best position I could possibly have; I am mom to Bobby.   

Raising a Better Boyfriend

10-20-11

I have raised the best boyfriends!

I stood outside the gate of the boys’ school, chatting with another mom, while we waited anxiously for our kindergarteners to be released. Dax was near the front, smiling happily at me, clearly using all of his strength to not push past the other kids to get to me.

Mrs. Fasheh had seen me already and was telling Dax he could go. Dax, however, stopped and tugged lightly at her hand. It was at this point I knew that whomever my little man married would be the luckiest person in the world.

“Mrs. Fasheh, isn’t my mom’s hair nice?” His voice was booming enough to carry his kind words to every parent there. The collective, “awww” was awesome, and I was so proud of my son.

What was especially great about these simple words was the purity involved. This wasn’t a ploy to get me to buy him a toy. This wasn’t his way of distracting anyone as he made a mess. This was true and genuine admiration for how his mom looked at this moment.

As if complimenting my style wasn’t enough, when we arrived home, I was treated to yet another wonderful exclamation.

“Wow, Mom! You cleaned the house! It looks fantastic! Thanks, Mom!” Bobby danced through the living room, impressed with my simple sweeping that I had done before retrieving them from school. I had done something that was necessary, but the appreciation from my 6 year old made it seem like I had gone to great lengths to better his living experience.

My boys notice the little things. They are thankful and express it often. It is these gestures that I do encourage, but never expect. I think that combination of teaching, along with their already kind hearts, will help them in the long run.

I have known men who treat their mothers poorly. I have known men who have treated their mother with disrespect. I have known men who have simply been indifferent to the woman who brought them into this world. I feel confident that when Bobby and Dax grow up, they will not be those men. Sure, their girlfriends may resent their mama boy status, but I think in the long run, they will thank me for the attention they will receive from them.