Here I am, just about to turn forty-five years old, starting a new career. I’ve always loved to write. I’ve been able to put things down on paper that I haven’t always been able to say with the spoken word. I was always a fairly decent writer, have had a couple short stories published in newsletters, and have had snippets of my writing included in a book, but I’ve never really done it all on my own. Until now.
I started by taking a creative writing class through my local community education department. We met once per week and shared our writing, giving each other tips and suggestions on how we could improve our writing and our stories. I wrote a short story for small children, read it to the class, and everyone liked it. It was fun, exciting, and it felt good to know that I wasn’t the only one who thought it was a cute story. I put the story away and pretty much forgot all about it. After all, I had two boys to raise, laundry to do, a house to clean, and I decided I had to be the PTA President at my sons’ school for two years. My boys are still children, but at almost eleven years old and twelve years, they have become so darn self-sufficient, they rarely really need me anymore. I make lunches, occasionally help with homework (as long as it’s not math), still do their laundry, and give all the hugs and kisses they will possibly allow me to give. But they like their alone time. They enjoy sleepovers and spending time with friends. My twelve-year-old just told me that he no longer wants me to come up to his room at night and fall asleep in his bed. He says it’s “totally OK” if we snuggle and hug, but no more sleeping in the same bed. It’s just “weird.” Got it. One day I decided I was going to dig up that old story I had written and work on it a bit more. I joined an online writing/critiquing group, and began rewriting my little story. I mentioned to my husband that I wanted to start writing, and he gave me the best idea for a book I could ever imagine. I quickly began writing, and writing, and writing. What started out as a small picture book for younger children turned into a bigger chapter book for slightly older kids. I accidentally found a great editor who expressed interest in helping me edit and hopefully sell the book. Thus my writing career began. My editor is also an agent and movie producer, so I truly got lucky and am hoping I can impress him with my words. At the beginning of this adventure, I thought, “How hard can it be; writing a book for children?” Holy heck, it’s a lot harder than I imagined. Did you know you can’t just pull out a computer and write a book in one sitting? Did you know it’s nearly impossible to write a book without doing a proper outline first? Did you know that your chapter book needs to be filled with conflict, excitement, struggle, feelings, emotion, and risk, and that the story needs to be told in the fewest words possible? It cannot be boring. It cannot be “regular”, and in order to get the thing published, it has to be much better than EVERYONE else’s books. And by everyone, I mean even the authors who have been writing books for decades. The competition is fierce. As I write more, I find out more. I learn more, and I grow. Many times I have shut down my laptop and thought to myself, “What in the heck am I doing? I’ve clearly bitten off more than I can chew.” But then I remember these things: -Nothing worth doing is ever easy. -If you work hard and you truly believe in yourself, anything is possible. I mean, I tell my children this just about every day, so it has to be true. -I’ve been through my father’s suicide, divorce, graduated from college (no small task for someone with ADD and dyscalculia). Surely I can write a couple damn books, right? I decided that I needed to stop being a big, fat, baby and just put myself out there. I started this blog and declared myself an “author”. I do realize that is a stretch, since the only things I’ve really ever had published are small stories or snippets, really, and no one even knows about them or even where they are located these days. Honestly, I don’t even think I can find them. It’s been several years ago, and quite honestly, my writing wasn’t all that impressive. However, I knew that if I built a website, started a blog, and told everyone I was writing books, I would have no choice. I would have to do it. I wasn’t about to look like an idiot telling people I was an author and then not following through. I have so many wonderful friends and family members who have “liked” my web site and author page. I have new followers on Twitter (six months ago I didn’t even know what Twitter was), and even my kids like my books thus far (trust me, sometimes they are my harshest critics!). I couldn’t be more honored and humbled by the support I’ve received from everyone. I feel blessed and certainly lucky. It’s amazing that there are people out there, some I haven’t even seen or spoken to since high school, who are behind me one hundred percent, who send me little notes or messages of encouragement, and who are genuinely happy to wish me success. What good people they are! I hope they all know how much their support means to me and how it is driving me to become better. So here I am, with what I think is a great idea for a children’s chapter book, two short picture books already written and waiting in the wings, an editor who is just about three thousand times smarter than I am, and a red hot desire to start this brand new career. Can I really do this? I think I can. No, wait, I know I can. I’m going to keep writing and learning. I joined an online critique group, and now I’m a member of a creative writing group that meets the first Wednesday of every month. I’m excited and ready. I’m terrified and doubtful, at times, but my desire to succeed is bigger than my worries. A huge “THANK YOU” to everyone who has been reading my blog and are awaiting the publication of my first book. It may not happen overnight, but it will happen. Let the party begin....
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So… what’s up with women dissing other women? Why can’t we all just get along? I think one of my biggest pet peeves in life (besides the middle school carpool, people driving slowly in the left lane, and people who volunteer for stuff and then don’t follow through), is women who aren’t supportive of other women. It just makes absolutely no sense to me.
Not long ago, I was lucky enough to be part of a committee to interview and help select a new principal for my son’s elementary school. It was a very eye-opening and interesting experience. The superintendent and his administrative committee had narrowed down the field to three prospective candidates. The word got out that all three potential new principals were women. To me, this was not a big deal. As a matter of fact, I didn’t give it much thought. Imagine my surprise when people would come up to me at my sons’ baseball games, in the grocery store, in the carpool lane to ask me how I felt about the fact that all the new principal candidates were women. “Um, well… I’m happy?” I would answer. I wasn’t sure what they wanted from me. I didn’t know what they wanted me to say. All the candidates were capable, smart, and very qualified. It just so happened, the one I wanted the most got the job. She’s a tremendous principal, person, and leader. The children at our school are lucky to have her. During and after the principal search, I was shocked that so many women told me they were “apprehensive” about having a woman principal. Would she be able to handle the tough parents? Could she deal with the unruly kids? Would she be too emotional? What kind of a boss would she be? WTF? I still wonder why I didn’t have more women telling me how great it was that the school district administrative team had found three excellent female candidates for us to interview. I still can’t understand why there weren’t more women happy and excited that one of “us” was moving up and forward in life and taking a leadership position at our local elementary school. As women, shouldn’t it be one of our jobs to cheer for, embrace, be proud of, and support other women? Why do stay-at-home moms sometimes bash working mothers and vice versa? Why do we judge others’ parenting skills when we all know none of us are perfect? I like to give compliments. If I like something, I just blurt out the praise. I’ve always been this way, and I think it’s one of the reasons people sometimes find me strange. There have been countless times when I’ve noticed a woman wearing a great skirt or blouse and walked up to her to tell her how nice she looks. I’m always surprised when the majority of these women look at me like I have three heads after I compliment their wardrobes. To their credit, after their initial look of shock, they usually come around and are quite pleased that a stranger off the street has bothered to take the time to notice their new shoes, or whatever it is I happen to like that day. I’ve asked strangers where they get their hair cut because I want mine to look as good. I’ve told other women that I love their coats, that the color they’re wearing is flattering, and I’ve even stopped other mothers to tell them that their children are well-behaved and polite. My most favorite thing to do is to tell as many little girls at my son’s school how much I like their outfits or their sparkly shoes. I love the looks on their little faces when they realize someone other than their own mother has noticed how carefully they’ve chosen their clothing for that particular day. Now don’t get me wrong- I am certainly not a saint. I’m ashamed to say that I’ve been judgmental, I’ve been catty, and I’ve probably judged some other mother while her kid was screaming in Target. But lately I’ve decided to try to do better. We all need to do better. I have several women friends and they are all tremendous, smart, funny, and beautiful people. Now that I’m in my mid-forties, I think I value those friendships more than I ever have before. I am absolutely delighted when one of my women friends gets a new kitchen remodel, gets promoted at work, loses those last few pounds she’s been trying to lose for months, or gets to go on a terrific and fancy vacation. I realize that I shouldn’t just feel happy for my friends who find good fortune, I should be happy for every woman who finds it. It’s ridiculous that we still live in a world where women aren’t paid as well as men for doing the same job. It’s appalling that we live in a world where women are put to death when they “bring shame” to their families. It’s sickening that our world looks the other way when our young girls are not given the same educational opportunities given to their male counterparts. It’s mortifying that a beautiful and strong Pakistani girl is shot in the head because she speaks out for equal rights for women and girls all over the world. It starts at home. It starts from the beginning. Let’s start teaching our girls how much they’re worth. Let’s tell them they are not only beautiful but SMART; as smart as any boy they know. Let’s tell them they are strong, powerful, wise, and that they matter. Let’s tell them all those things, and then let’s show them we BELIEVE all those things. Let’s teach our girls to respect themselves and respect and support each other. I’m always surprised to hear from my friends who have girls of their own how early the bullying and humiliation starts. My niece was in kindergarten when she was told by another little girl that she wasn’t very pretty and her dresses were ugly. We all need to do better. As women, we need to be better examples for our young girls to follow. Ladies, go out there and tell a frazzled mom she’s doing a great job. Tell your friend who’s trying to lose weight that she’s looking good. Give a shout out to the volunteer mom who shows up at every school event, and praise the working mom who is helping to support her family and who may not be able to volunteer as much as she would like. I cannot wait for the day when we get to see the first woman President of the United States. I have no idea who she will be, when she will run, or to what political party she will belong, and I don’t care. Can she handle the unruly party opposition? She can. Will she be able to control her emotions? She will. Is she smart enough? She is. Does she believe she can? She does. She could be your daughter, your niece, your best friend, your mother. Go out there and wish her the best, support her, and believe in her. After all, if we don’t support each other as women, who else is going to do it for us? I really didn’t want to write about this topic; I really didn’t. But I can’t stop thinking about it and I certainly can’t get away from it. It’s everywhere; this awful sadness that has divided much of our country. I will start by saying this: I’m probably always going to side with the cops.
I was raised by a police officer. My best friend’s (a woman I’ve known since she was only three years old), father was a cop (he’s retired now), her brother is a cop, and much of the socializing my parents did while I was growing up was with other cops. During one summer break I had from college, I worked in the court house for a judge, and one of my dad’s very best friends was the county prosecutor. Now that I think about it, I can’t believe I’m not a lawyer (a prosecutor, of course). I’ve been around law enforcement my whole life. I was taught to respect the men and women who put on a uniform each day and take their lives in their own hands as they work to ensure my safety and the safety of those I love. I grew up thinking that criminals were bad, drugs would kill me, and that if you break the law, you will be punished. I don’t know what happened that terrible night in Missouri when a young man was shot and killed by a police officer. I wasn’t there, and I don’t know either of the men involved. There is one thing I do know, both families have been torn apart by the tragedy and will never be the same. I am sad the young man was killed, and my heart goes out to his family. No one should have to die, no matter who they are. He didn’t deserve to die, even if he had robbed a store earlier in the day. If he committed a crime, then he deserved to be arrested, but I don’t think he deserved to die. But again, I’m going to say, I wasn’t there. I don’t know what happened, and neither does anyone else but the officer who pulled the trigger. I don’t really know what I’d do if I was in a similar situation. The officer said that he felt his life was in danger. I honestly don’t know what I’d do if I felt like someone might hurt me very badly, or worse, kill me, but I can’t completely rule out that I wouldn’t shoot them if I had the chance. I truly do not know what I would do, and I hope I never have to find out. My dad never came home with “war stories”. He never told me what happened when he was out late at night, many times all night, fighting crime and keeping me safe. I would hear things from time to time, as a little girl listening in on conversations, about dangerous situations, but my dad would never tell me anything. I would find files every so often, cases my dad was working on, and sometimes there were pictures. I remember a case of a baby who was beaten to death by his mother’s boyfriend. It happened near our home, which was very rare, and my dad had to work the case. I can remember him coming home at night after dealing with that situation and I could see the despair written all over his face. I remember when the baby finally died and my father cried. He cried, but he never talked to me about it, even when I asked questions. He just would not tell me anything. I look back now and I know why my dad never talked about his job. He never told me how dangerous it was or how many times he almost got hurt or killed because he didn’t want me to worry. He didn’t want me to know all the awful things he saw almost every single day. I’m sure there were times he had to make some terrible choices. I wonder if he ever had to think about pulling his weapon or pulling the trigger. I bet he did, but he never told me. I don’t like it when a cop shoots someone. It makes me sad, it makes me worry, and it makes me think about my dad. But I’m willing to bet that as much as I don’t like it when a cop kills someone, that cop dislikes it even more. I’m sure there are bad cops out there, but there are good ones, too, more good ones than bad, and the good ones don’t want to shoot. They don’t want to pull that trigger, but sometimes, when they are in danger, they must. Protesting is fine, as long as it’s peaceful. Looting is for idiots and criminals, and killing two police officers who had nothing to do with either of the recent incidents all over the news is reprehensible. My heart breaks for those officers and their families, and I am worried for all the officers out there, all over the country, who are risking their lives every single day by simply doing their jobs. I am hoping that in the next few months we can all take a few steps back, take several deep breaths, and think about what our next steps will be before someone out there makes another choice that ends a life, any life. All life is precious regardless of race, religion, occupation or gender. During this holiday season, I am wishing for no more death, no more tragedy, and peace on earth. This Thanksgiving, I sat down to write about what I’m thankful for, but instead decided to do something a bit different. I was watching the Today Show (which I love, by the way, because I delight in watching banter, happiness, and cooking segments while drinking my morning coffee), and they did a story about some senior republican staff person who tweeted a very sad and judgmental comment about President Obama’s daughters. She said something about them being “classless” in reference to the way they were dressed on television, and that they clearly didn’t have good role models. She went further, saying that the girls should dress nicer instead of looking like they were trying to get a seat “at a bar”.
Seriously, what a bitch. I get it; you don’t like the guy. You hate his policies, what he stands for, his political views, and maybe you even hate him as a person. But Lady, he’s our PRESIDENT. Like it or not, he was elected, he’s doing his job, and his children have NOTHING TO DO WITH IT. Leave the kids alone; leave them out of it. These girls are teenagers. They were wearing dresses and sweaters. Maybe the skirts were a tad short, not awful at all, but a little short. I DON’T GIVE A CRAP. They looked sweet, clean, calm, and like TEENAGERS. The part about them trying to get into a bar was especially hurtful, awful, and CLASSLESS. Did they look a little bit bored up there listening to their dad speak? They did. But classless? Nope. What’s classless is that an ADULT woman chose that moment to knock them down, criticize two children and take a stab at their parents’ lack of role modeling. Now that’s classless. Also classless; the apology that followed. The woman tweeted that “after praying” she realized that her comments were not nice. You needed to pray to figure that out? So, you slammed two young girls, your Christianity kicked in several moments later, and then you felt “just awful” about it? I’m not buying it, Lady. We all make mistakes. We all say and do things we shouldn’t. But that tweet was thought about, written, and that little “send” button (or tweet button, or whatever button), was pushed because you thought you were being clever or funny or disparaging or mean, and you wanted everyone to see it. It wasn’t like you were watching this on television, and you turned to your mom or significant other and said, “Hey, those girls should be dressed a bit nicer and they should have bigger smiles on their faces when their dad is up there speaking.” Nope. You went in for the kill, instead deciding to tweet your hate for the entire world to see. Never mind that the girls were there to watch their dad pardon a turkey. It wasn’t like he was doing an important speech about human trafficking or the war in Afghanistan. He was talking about a turkey, and there was a turkey sitting right there, clucking away (or whatever turkeys do), waiting to run free all over the land. Seriously, I don’t know if I would have been able to keep a straight face. And what do you expect young girls to wear to a turkey pardon? Ball gowns? A pantsuit? A pilgrim costume? I think their choice of attire was perfectly acceptable for the event. Say what you want about the President, but you should leave his kids out of it. Don’t you think it’s hard enough for young girls all over the world to grow up in this day and age? What is it saying to all those young people out there when an adult, who obviously has a prominent position as a GOP staff person, cuts down two innocent girls in front of an entire nation? Talk about a bully. Talk about a mean girl. Talk about classless. So, during this Thanksgiving/holiday time, I’m going to talk about some people in my life who have made a difference to me, to others, and who would never, ever use a position of power to humiliate another human being. First up; my ex-mother-in-law- This lady is just about the nicest person you’ll ever meet. She makes me smile every time I see her, and my kids are lucky to have her as their grandma. Her son and I are divorced, of course, but she never blamed me, slammed me, talked about me, or shunned me. No matter how many stupid mistakes I’ve made in my life, she’s stood by me and supported me. She was my second mom for nearly seven years, and I couldn’t be luckier to still have her in my life. She’s one-of-a-kind, and those who are lucky enough to know her are truly blessed. And in talking about someone loving me despite my making stupid mistakes in life, I could never forget my own mother. She has raised me, loved me, accepted me, helped me, and taught me. I'm a better mother to my own children because of her. I'm a better person because of her. She has allowed me to be my own person, has given me the strength and grace I have to handle just about anything that comes along, and doesn't judge me. She taught me respect for myself and for others. What a great lesson to teach your children. What a great mom. My Grandmother- My eighty-nine-year-old Grandmother (Grammy is what we call her), is such a special lady. She’s got a heart of gold and would give you the shirt off her back if you needed it. She is spunky and truthful, and she doesn’t shy away from telling you like it is. I’m OK with that, even if it means she tells me I’ve put on a few pounds (and she has told me that on more than one occasion). She tells me to stop buying her gifts for birthdays and Christmas, but I know she secretly delights in receiving fancy packages in the mail, so I keep buying her stuff. I love the way her voice sounds when she calls to thank me and says, “Now Tammi, you shouldn’t spend your money on me, but I like it.” It really doesn’t get more honest or better than that, now does it? My early memories of her are those of riding in a car for hours to visit, me running into her house immediately upon arrival, opening the refrigerator, and seeing my favorite dessert there just waiting for me to eat it. Every time. She never forgot. In all my years of knowing this woman, I have never once heard her say a bad word about anyone. The world would be a better place if it were filled with more women like my Grammy. My very best friend, Kimmy- I’ve known this woman since she was three-years-old and I was five. She’s been in my life forever. She’s seen me at my worst and my best, and loved me through all of it. At my worst, she never judged, she never criticized. She supported me, talked with me, prayed for me, and helped me. She’s an excellent mother to two of the most wonderful children on the planet, and she chose so wisely a husband who is as equally tremendous as she. If you would like to see a true Christian person in action, it’s this woman whom I admire greatly. We should all strive to be like her. Several teachers at my sons’ school/s- I can’t name each one because I’d be too afraid to leave someone out. The truth is, nearly every single teacher my two sons has ever had has repeatedly gone above and beyond to guide them, educate them, mother them, instruct them, and teach them right from wrong. If I have ever had a concern, no matter how big or small, and I’ve contacted a teacher, that teacher, every single one of them, has answered me that very same day, addressing my concern as if my child was the only child in his/her classroom. It’s awe-inspiring, it’s motivating, and it’s not always like this at every school. We are lucky. I am lucky. My boys are lucky. There are so many more people I have in my life to thank and to be grateful for. I think I’ll write more blogs such as this, and include more of these amazing people, during this holiday time. Look for them in the next coming weeks. You might just be one of the people I mention here! ; ) I haven’t been writing much lately because my son has been very ill after suffering a concussion nearly eight weeks ago. I do sit down and try to write, but only crud seems to come out because I just can’t focus or think about much else right now. Since we’ve been dealing with my son’s injury for the past eight weeks, I’ve come to realize some things.
I’ve had it with doctors. HAD IT. My son fell. I took him to our pediatrician. She gave him a neurology test, told me he had a concussion, and sent us to the hospital for a CT scan. Perhaps I’m stupid. Maybe I am a bad mother, but I didn’t know much at all about concussions or how to treat them. I certainly didn’t realize that my child could possibly be in pain, miserable, depressed, and anxious for weeks, maybe even months. The CT scan was negative, and our pediatrician called to tell me to keep my son home from school for a few days, and then send him back, if he was up to it. We were supposed to keep him out of physical education class and recess “until he felt better”, and no sports for two weeks. I thought we’d be able to handle that; not a problem. I did exactly what our pediatrician told me to do. He fell on a Wednesday and I kept him home from school on that day, Thursday, and Friday. Monday he went back to school. He came home completely exhausted, in pain, and miserable. He went back on Tuesday and stayed for only a half day. On Wednesday, I kept him home. He seemed to be getting worse instead of getting better. On Thursday, he was home again, and he woke up from a nap with a very large, swollen eye. Alarmed and nervous, I called our pediatrician (who was not in the office that day), and made an appointment with her partner. She, too, was worried about the swollen eye. She had no clue what it meant or why it had happened. She told me that he needed to see a neurologist “today”, and instructed me to “not let him eat anything in case they want to do a procedure or something.” A procedure? What kind of procedure would she be talking about here? Are we talking brain surgery? Does she think he has a tumor? I left the office numb and confused. The pediatrician’s office was to call the neurologist and set up our appointment, and then call me with the details. My son and I went home to wait. No one called. I called the pediatrician’s office. Of course I had to leave a message. More waiting. Much later, the pediatrician’s office called to let me know the neurologist’s office staff would call me very soon to schedule our appointment. No one called. I called our pediatrician again. This time an office staff member from our pediatrician’s office told me that the neurologist group (there are well over ten doctors in this practice), had no openings for an appointment for my son. “But the doctor said my son needed to see a neurologist today. She even told me not to give him anything to eat in case they needed to do a ‘procedure’.” By now it was past three in the afternoon, and my child was starving. I let him eat. “Yes, well, the doctor says it’s OK. The neurologist told her that all the symptoms your child is experiencing are normal symptoms of a concussion, so he can wait for a few days for an appointment.” The office staff member explained. “Um, well, OK. So, they aren’t scared there’s something really wrong with him, then?” I asked. “No, the neurologist said everything is normal.” I felt somewhat better, but still uneasy as I hung up the telephone. We finally got an appointment with the neurologist, about a week and a half later. My son was having a good day that day. He passed the neurology test she gave him, and she said he could return to school and activities, as long as he felt like it. She said she had “no idea” why my son would have had eye swelling; that it wasn’t a “normal” symptom of a concussion, so it must have been something else. I was relieved and thought we were at the end of this journey. I wrote off the eye swelling as just a weird allergic reaction to something that day. I figured my little boy would be better very soon. The neurologist had given us access via the Internet to a “Patient Portal”, which would be an online account we could create and retrieve all my son’s medical records and information. That would be nice and easy! I was feeling so much better and much less worried about my baby. My son continued to experience severe headaches on a daily basis. School made them much worse. Any time he’d have to do anything that required him to think or use his brain, he couldn’t handle it. He said the pain felt like someone was stabbing him in the head with a knife. Other times, the pain was a constant pressing down on his head, as if it were in a vice. He told me the headaches never went away; that they were always there. I called the neurologist again and made another appointment. This time I asked my husband to go with me, because I didn’t want to forget to ask certain questions, didn’t want to be confused, and just needed some moral support for my son and me. We explained to the neurologist that our son wasn’t doing well; he was still in a lot of pain, still having some eye swelling from time to time, and still feeling very depressed and anxious. She examined him again. She said he had neck spasms and injury, probably from the original fall, so she gave us a prescription for physical therapy. She realized that Motrin was not helping my son’s pain, so she prescribed a different medication. She also suggested we get an MRI for him, which could be done right there in her office. However, they had no openings for two weeks. We scheduled the MRI, filled his prescription for medication, and began physical therapy. The medications haven’t helped. He’s still in pain much of the time. The physical therapist did say that his neck is “pretty bad, very tight”, so she gave him several exercises he can do at home to help. We also bought him a special pillow for sleeping, an ice pack for his neck, and some other crap that’s supposed to make him feel better. The date for the MRI finally arrived, so I took my son to the office and waited while they took him away to a big room with a loud machine that would look at his brain and hopefully tell us something. We were sent home after the MRI. My son cried all the way home because the MRI was so loud. It hurt his head to be in there for the test. I called the office toward the end of the day to see if I could get the results of my son’s MRI. They were not available. I tried logging onto the Patient Portal they had told me about at our first appointment, but received this message, “the system does not recognize this patient information.” I tried logging in multiple times, but still received the same message. The next day, I called the neurologist’s office again. I told them the Patient Portal wasn’t working properly, and that I would like to get my son’s MRI results, as my son was still doing pretty badly. The MRI results were back, and they were sitting in the doctor’s folder (I was told by the receptionist), but she was out of town for the rest of the week. I would need to call back next week to get the results. Also, I was told that they were aware of the problem with the Patient Portal and they were “working on it.” Most excellent of answers. I asked if there was another doctor in the office who could possibly review his chart and maybe change his medication because he was still having very painful headaches and it just didn’t seem like the medication was helping much at all. The receptionist said I would have to wait until my son’s doctor returned to the office the following week, but that if I wanted to, I could take my son to Urgent Care or to my pediatrician’s office. “You mean the pediatrician who sent me to YOU because she didn’t know what to do about this?” There was no answer. I hung up. WTH? I do realize there are people who are much sicker than my child. I also know that these doctors are very busy, and they see hundreds of patients every week. I know that my kid only has a concussion and that he will recover at some point. But I wish these doctors could see those nights when I’m holding him in my arms while he cries because his head hurts so badly he couldn’t eat dinner, can’t sleep, and can’t even open his eyes. I wish they could see it when he has a panic attack because he’s so afraid to try to go to school because every time he does his headaches become unbearable. Maybe if these doctors saw my child in these situations, they’d call me back right away rather than a week after I call and leave a message, or maybe they wouldn’t instruct their staff to take my kid to Urgent Care when he’s had a concussion for seven weeks. They must understand that an urgent care facility won’t know his history, won’t have his test results, and won’t be able to give him the medication he needs to make the pain stop. I’d like for a physician to LISTEN to me and listen to my son. He’s very good at communicating and does a great job telling the doctors what symptoms he’s having. It doesn’t help when they look at him like he’s a freak when he tells them his face is numb. Why would he make that up? Weird things are happening ever since he fell and got a concussion, and no one will explain any of this to me. The Internet has been my only resource for information. Thank God for counselors, because he’s the only person who has helped us understand why my son is feeling the way he does. He explained to us that my boy suffered a trauma, and his brain is trying to “reset” itself. He said that it’s not uncommon for a child to feel this way after an accident like my son’s; that my son is understandably scared to go back to do the things he used to do before he suffered the concussion. My son has lost his confidence, and it’s heartbreaking to watch. He is behind in school, he can’t think for large amounts of time, he feels like he’s letting everyone down, and he thinks all of this is entirely his fault. I know there are good doctors out there; I just haven’t found the right one for my son. Tomorrow I will try a new route and make a call to a different neurology team; a group of doctors who specialize in sports concussions. I’m hoping for the best, and praying that my little guy gets some relief and starts feeling better about himself and his world. There’s no worse feeling in the world than watching your child in pain and realizing there is absolutely nothing you can do to help him. I hold him, I hug him, I kiss him, and I tell him that everything is going to be OK. He is starting to doubt me. I have never lied to him, and I don’t want him to think I’m starting now. I am feeling guilty. I’m pretty sure that the moment our children leave the womb, the guilt begins. Here’s my latest guilt story…
My ten-year-old son fell off the monkey bars at school and hit his head. When the school secretary called and told me he was complaining his head hurt quite a bit, I rolled my eyes. I did. I didn’t want to go pick him up and have him miss a half day of school. I did go get my son, put him in my bed, and told him to rest. I did laundry. I did some writing. I ate lunch and made lunch for my little guy. But when I noticed he was talking funny, and walking rather wobbly and leaning to the left a bit, I thought I’d better take him to see our pediatrician. I was shocked when the doctor told me my son had a concussion. She said he needed “brain rest” and I’d have to keep him resting at all times for a few days, at least. Right. I couldn’t imagine keeping the kid in bed for a day, let alone however long it took for his headaches to stop. I would have my work cut out for me. He injured himself on a Wednesday, so I kept him out of school for the rest of that week, thinking he’d be ready to go back the following Monday. He had a negative CT scan at the hospital, so I thought he was going to be just fine in a few days. I breathed a sigh of relief and began planning for the few days I would have to keep him occupied while he rested in my bed. I was nervous. On Monday I was to accompany my husband on a business trip to Chicago. Some big insurance company was going to pay for a beautiful room at a fancy hotel, and I would be able to order room service and lounge around, carefree and happy, while working on my children’s book, snacking on bon bons and enjoying a beautiful view of Lake Michigan and the city. (I didn’t have any bon bons; I don’t even know what they are, but I did order room service. Twice). I left my injured kid at home. I did leave him with my wonderful, caring and sweet mom, so I should get some credit for that, right? Who better to take care of a wounded child than his own grandmother? She did a great job watching him and my other son, and my boys had a nice time hanging out with Grandma. I dropped my injured baby off at school on Monday, and went to the airport. Surely he’ll be okay, I thought to myself. It’s good for me to get away, right? I need to do this, don’t I? It’s only for two days! I pushed away my doubts, got on the airplane and set out to have a good time with my husband in a city I love. I told my mom that my son would be fine, but if he needed to come home from school, he would call her and she could pick him up early. He didn’t call on Monday. He made it through the whole day at school. When it was time to do his homework that night, his head hurt so badly, he cried. My poor mother had no idea what to do, so she practically did his homework for him (later apologizing to me and vowing to never do it again). She had felt stuck and so sorry he was in pain, that she couldn’t help herself. Grandma took him to school on Tuesday (per my instructions). He had a terrible day. He was in pain, the lights hurt his eyes, the lunchroom was too noisy, and he couldn’t concentrate on any of his work. He had to call her to come get him that afternoon. I was home on Wednesday, and he wasn’t doing well. I kept him home for the rest of that week. He slept, he cried, and he rested. On Friday, he was doing better, and he did really well that day and Saturday, too. Sunday didn’t go as well, but he wasn’t miserable. Back to school he went on that following Monday afternoon, just for a half day. It went well, as did his half day on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I took my son to a neurologist because he was still having strange symptoms a week after the accident. He was complaining of the headaches, of course, but also the light sensitivity, loud noises bothered him, he said he “felt short”; that his feet were numb and he wasn’t as tall as he normally was (whatever that meant??), he was still walking slightly slanted at times, and he was dizzy and would sometimes see “white spots”. The strangest thing that happened was eye swelling that would occur most often after he would wake up in the morning or after taking an afternoon nap. I wanted to be proactive and see a specialist because I just had this strange feeling in my gut that something wasn’t right. I knew I’d feel better if a neurologist told me he was fine. He was having a really good day the day he saw the neurologist. He passed the neurology test for the first time since the concussion occurred. I was so happy and relieved! He could go back to school full time, he could go back to recess (minimal activity), and he could start doing his homework again! As I came to find out, I had jumped the gun. He wasn’t better. The headaches still came. He couldn’t remember the Taekwondo form he’d learned and knew so well prior to getting hurt. He wasn’t able to read without pain and math work was excruciating. Once again, he woke up from a nap, and one of his eyes was swollen. He was still seeing white spots, he was dizzy, and loud noises were still bothering him. I’ll admit at first I wondered if he was making things up; telling me he was having all this weird stuff going on because he wanted attention and it was fun to miss school a couple days here and there. But at this point, two weeks after the accident, he was done. He was crying a lot, very depressed, missed his friends, his teachers, his principal and missed being “Luc”. I was slowly watching this amazing, happy, excited, smart, fun-loving kid, become sad, depressed, angry, and lonely. I took him back to his pediatrician and explained all of this to her. He didn’t pass the neurology test that day. In fact, the doctor told me that she thought he was “worse than he was right after the accident.” She told me I was to keep him home from school for an extended period of time, until his headaches went away completely. He couldn’t watch TV much at all; just a few cartoons that required no thinking, no homework, no sports, nothing that would raise his heart rate was acceptable. He couldn’t read or write, or play board games. The guilt set in and took hold. If I had been doing this from day one and not pushed him to go back to school, not taken him to that Lions football game, not let him take a walk with me outside that one day, if I had not left him and gone to Chicago to indulge in fancy hotel fanciness, my kid could have and should have been OK by now. This was all my fault. I didn’t know a concussion could be so serious. I didn’t realize Post-Concussion Syndrome was a real thing. I didn’t realize that my son could have one or two good days at a time, but not be fully cured. I didn’t realize that my poor baby would endure headaches that sometimes felt like someone was “stabbing him in the head with a knife.” How could I not, as his mother, have done a better job researching concussions? How could I have not realized earlier that all these weird symptoms he was having were actually sometimes how many people felt after getting a concussion? I am not happy with some of the medical professionals my son saw. It wasn’t until the third visit to our pediatrician’s office and one visit to a neurologist that I was told that although not necessarily “normal”, these things can and do happen after a concussion sometimes. I really do love our pediatrician, and I think during our first visit, right after his accident, she was so concerned with a brain bleed that rather than sit me down and explain the seriousness of a concussion and what could happen, she rushed us over to the hospital for the CT scan. I guess I really can’t blame her for that. So, yes, some of the blame goes to the doctors, but I feel like much of the blame falls on me. I doubted my son at first because he can be a bit of a “drama king”, and sometimes a bit of a “whiner”. I didn’t want to be burdened with this misery, so I pushed some of the things he was saying to me out of my mind, sent him to school, made him do homework and in turn, I think I made his condition worse. I don’t think I’m a bad mother, but I do think I should have been pushier, more demanding, and more proactive as soon as my son started having weird symptoms like eye swelling and leg/foot numbness. None of that was “normal”, and none of it was “OK”. My son has been home all week, napping every day, and trying his best to get better so he can go back to school next week and he can feel “normal” again. He told me last night that he’s not even upset anymore, he’s just angry. I’m still upset. I’m still feeling guilty, and I’m feeling a bit angry, too. Hopefully there won’t be a next time, but if there is, I will make sure I’m a better advocate for my son. Doctors don’t always know everything, and they aren’t always as through as they should be. But moms know. I should have followed that gut instinct I felt when I knew that something just wasn’t right. I should have trusted myself and my son. Now I know better. Time to move on. When did we decide it was OK to hit a child with a stick? I’m tired of hearing all about the famous football player spanking his child with a tree branch or some sort of stick-like device causing bruising, cuts, and bleeding, then hearing that there are actually people out there who think that’s OK. We have other football players coming to his defense, even going so far as to say that nobody is going to tell them how to discipline their kids, and that how you discipline your children is your business, not anyone else’s. I do think it becomes someone else’s business if the discipline you are dishing out is causing marks, scars, and bleeding.
First of all, this isn’t discipline. Where on earth do we send our children and allow them to get hit, spanked, or beaten? I can’t think of any parent who would send their child off somewhere and allow them to be hit, so why would it be OK for that parent to do it in his own home? If someone else can’t spank your kid, why should you be able to do it? Our children are human beings. Even though we are their parents, we do not own them. They are not possessions. They have feelings. I think if a child is hit by his parent it sends the wrong message and not the clear message we truly want to send. We teach our children not to hit other kids, they are punished if they do, but then we send them mixed messages by disciplining them with spankings. How is that going to teach them right from wrong? I don’t think spanking really solves the problem. I don’t agree with it. That’s not to say I’ve never been completely frustrated and wacked one of my kids on the butt a few times. I’ve done it. I’ve smacked both of my children on the butt at least a couple times in their lives. It was a stupid way to handle their behavior, and it was lazy parenting at best. At worst, it was me showing my children that I was bigger, I was stronger, I was in charge, and if they didn’t do as they were told, they would feel pain. I’m ashamed I did it, and I wouldn’t ever do it again. I simply don’t think using corporal punishment works. Kids don’t learn anything from it, and I doubt it stops them from misbehaving again after they forget about the spanking in a few days or weeks; unless it’s done repeatedly and over and over again until it’s impossible for them to forget. And if that’s the case, well, that’s a problem. We’ve got a famous basketball player telling people that it’s completely normal for people “in the south” to beat their children with objects. My guess is that the majority of the people living in the south would disagree with his assessment. I can’t imagine that everybody down in Alabama or New Orleans is spanking their children with branches. I rolled my eyes reading the statement made by the aforementioned football player/stick beating man when he said that after speaking with a psychologist he now realizes there are other ways to discipline a child. Hmmmmm… So, you didn’t realize that before? You really thought, prior to your session with a medical professional, that the only way to reprimand your child was to hit him? OK dude. Whatevs. From what I understand, the kid was four-years-old. Here’s what I’ve come to know, as a mother of two boys… For just about any four-year-old kid I know, a time out works just fine. Ok, maybe you’ve got a real stinker on your hands, so we’ll throw out the time out and bring in the taking away of favorite things. That almost always gets those little villains. If that doesn’t work, you could try an earlier bedtime, no Sesame Street or Dora, or even no dessert after dinner for an entire week. That alone would have thrown my younger son into a complete meltdown and you better believe the kid would have shaped up right then and there. I know the no dessert punishment is cruel, but I think it’s better, and probably more effective, than the beatings. I know not everyone will agree with my opinions here, but since it’s my blog, I’m going to write about what I believe. What I believe is this… The world would be a better place if we stop hitting kids, stop beating woman, stop abusing men, stop mistreating animals, and learn to be kinder to our fellow living beings. Peace out. Old
One day every year it happens, I wake up that morning and I’m another year older. Birthdays were fun back when I was a child or in my twenties. I didn’t even mind them in my thirties. Then came my fortieth, and I cried all day. I’m not proud of it, and I hate to admit it. I wish I would have been one of those people who embraced the age of forty with gusto; felt like forty was the new twenty. But I didn’t. I cried, bawled, really, for hours. It was truly pathetic. I’m forty-four years old now. I’ve given birth to two children; two very large children, as a matter of fact. Birthing the gigantic babies has changed my body in several different ways, and whenever one of my darling children point out my less than flat stomach, I make sure to blame them for the expansion of my waistline. I’m pretty sure the blame lies on the children and not my strong love for all carbohydrates; at least that’s what I’m telling myself. I noticed things going downhill once I entered the dreaded forties. Every so often, I wake up in the morning, and my hips hurt. What is up with that? Why the hips? I would understand my neck or back if I happened to sleep in a strange position, but the hips make no sense to me. My hips never hurt before. I’m going to blame the huge children for that, as well. I used to be able to sleep for an entire eight hours without having to pee. That is very seldom the case now. Sometimes I can make it until about 4:30 am, but usually never the entire night. There’s not much worse than having to pee in the middle of the night when you are dead asleep and you can barely open your eyes wide enough to find the bathroom. I just want to stay in my comfy, warm bed! Speaking of pee (and those of you who are adverse to a little bit of “TMI” should just stop reading right now), don’t even get me started sneezing, coughing or laughing too hard. All I can say about that is WTF?? Who is punishing me with this appalling occurrence and why? I just want to hold in all the pee when I cough, or jog, or do jumping jacks, or wrestle with my kids. No pee should be trickling out. That can’t be normal. There are wrinkles (deep ones), on my forehead. I tried growing bangs once, to cover up the craters, but I looked awful, so now I just walk around with huge wrinkles all over my head. I have thought about Botox, but I’m too afraid I will be that very rare person who experiences a forehead the size of a basketball after the first injection. There’s just something about injecting poison into my skull that I can’t stomach. I can only drink about two glasses of wine nowadays; anymore will throw me over to the dark side. I get a headache and a bad case of heartburn if I drink more than two glasses of any alcoholic beverage. I was never a very big drinker, but the fact that I get sick if I drink too much just makes me angry. If I want to be drunk, I should be able to be drunk, gosh darn it! (I try not to use foul language, as well, as to not offend the aforementioned children). They just suck the fun out of everything, don’t they? Many times while watching a movie or a television show with my son, he will point out that I have some gray hairs. He offers to pluck them for me, and seems to enjoy pulling the wild and unbecoming hairs out of my head. I told him he’d better stop doing this because very soon I will have no hair left. At that point I will be bald, have wrinkles, a potbelly, I will limp (the sore hips), while walking, and then pee might trickle out. This is certainly something to look forward to. How much longer before I’m going to have to wear the Depends undergarment? I can no longer eat anything I want. I want to have a milkshake every day. I do. I would love that, but I do not do it. In fact, I probably only have a milkshake once or twice per year. I would like to eat a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch every day, but I simply cannot do it. If I did, I would weigh seven hundred pounds. I remember being able to eat anything I wanted when I was in my twenties. I was never skinny or thin, but I was happily a size eight eating my grilled cheese at least four times per week. That was the life! I have a child who wears a size eleven and a half men’s shoe, who is growing facial hair, and who knows more about technology than I have ever or will ever know. How is it possible I’ve gotten this old? How can this be the last year I have a son in elementary school? What am I supposed to do with myself when my boys are both in middle school and they no longer need room mothers, class party chair people, and volunteers to read with their classmates? I suppose I am going to have to work on flattening that potbelly and dying the gray hairs. I suppose a few Kegel exercises wouldn’t hurt, either. And there’s heartburn now. This is a brand new and completely horrendous experience. If I eat a tiny morsel of food that was once a staple of my diet but now refuses to agree with my digestive system, I lie in bed at night experiencing a searing pain in my chest that has got to resemble swallowing a lit piece of charcoal. Why does my body hate me now? Why are these foods turning on me? I really should sit down and think about all the things I’m grateful for that my forties have brought to me. I am smarter and stronger than I’ve ever been. I’m not as afraid to take risks or start something new. I certainly do not care as much about what others think of me, and I’m confident enough to go out on a limb every once in a while and say or do things that shake things up a bit. I love being a mom to two healthy, happy, and growing boys, and am grateful I’m healthy enough to be able to enjoy spending time and playing with them. My forties have also introduced me to a new appreciation for the wonderful relationships I have with my girlfriends; fellow mothers who are experiencing many of the same ailments, feelings, and emotions I am. I have always treasured the relationships I’ve had with my friends, but I feel much more appreciative of them now that I’m older. I suppose being forty-four isn’t the worst thing to happen. The good most definitely outweighs the bad. However, I am not going to promise that I won’t have a bit of an emotional breakdown when I turn fifty. I’m just warning everyone now. Prepare yourselves. What is it with these people on the House Hunters show? How do they not know that when they have a small budget they are NOT going to get a five thousand square foot home with the kitchen the size of a basketball court? I used to love watching that show, but I don’t think I can sit through many more episodes.
Who moves to a foreign country and doesn’t do any research? I’m always amazed by the folks who travel to Paris to buy a new home and do not realize the bathrooms are going to be tiny, and you have to pay an excessive amount of money to afford anything within the city limits. And everyone wants to live within the city limits. Do these people not have the Internet? Do they not own computers? Are they unable to order travel books on Amazon? I would think that if I were going to leave the country to relocate, I would do my research first. Maybe that’s what makes some people want to watch the show. It just makes me think the individuals on the show are dumb. And then there are the mean people; the ones who hate everything. I am pretty sure they hate their realtor, too. I’m always uncomfortable watching them tear into the poor realtor, berating the guy because he had the audacity to show them a house that had carpet in the half bath. For Christ’s sake, people, just rip it out! I hate it when the couples don’t get along. One of them wants a modern, clean, airy (they use that word A LOT), loft apartment in the city, and the other wants a good old Victorian far away from civilization. That’s just a recipe for disaster, right there. Maybe this makes for better TV, but it just makes it clear to me that they are heading straight for divorce court. I’m silently saying, “Do not buy a home together. You will never make it as a couple! Run away now!” Maybe it’s just Reality TV in general that makes me uncomfortable. I can’t stand the Bachelor shows. I really can’t believe that a whole group of women would put themselves on a television show and compete for some dude who, in the end, never turns out to be as wonderful as he was portrayed at the beginning of the show. The women fight, they talk badly about each other, they seem to find every opportunity to walk around half naked, and I hate it. What about the Real Housewives shows? Those women are so mean to each other. They claim to be friends, but every chance they get; they’re fighting with each other, whining about each other, and complaining about each other. I hate those shows, too. I just can’t fight with my friends. It’s not normal. If you are friends with someone, be friends. There should not be fighting. If you do not like someone, do not socialize with that person. How is this not understood by all? I keep thinking about how bored people would be if my friends and I were characters on a Real Housewives show. People would get to see us drive our kids to school and to various sporting events and practices. They’d watch me make dinners that my kids won’t eat and then clean it up afterwards. The exciting times would be watching my co-PTA volunteers pop and bag popcorn on Popcorn Day and plan class parties. I guess that’s why I don’t have a reality television show of my own. I’m too boring. I have to admit that I am a bit intrigued by the show with the naked people who are afraid and out in the wilderness forced to survive. There is not enough money in the world for me to strip naked in front of a stranger and live out in some varmint infested cesspool of misery for even one day. I truly don’t see how those people do it. I’m not sure if they’re brave or stupid. Of course those reality television shows are very popular, so I think there must be something there I don’t see. Many people would think I’m nuts because I love horror movies, and most of them contain the worst script writing that has ever existed. I guess we all have our guilty pleasures, and if I’m going to lie in bed at night watching some awful thriller, maybe I should give Reality TV one more chance. Or maybe I’ll just go read a good book. I think that’s the better choice. |
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