Monthly Archives: February 2012

Jackie Kennedy is quoted on the internet as saying: “If you bungle raising your children,…I don’t think whatever else you do….matters very much.”

I have a couple of thoughts on this:

1) It was on the internet as being from Jackie Kennedy.  This means it could just as easily come from someone else, like Jackie Gleason, Hellen Keller, Abraham Lincoln, or some 18-year-old boy in Toledo, Ohio sitting in his underwear playing on his computer all day.

2) I don’t think it is very easy to be able to tell if you’ve bungled your children until they are like, 30.  And if you can tell you’ve bungled ’em before then, you’ve done one doozy of a job bungling!

3) The word Bungle is underused in society, in my humble opinion.

4) I suspect there is no one right way to raise a child. Of course, Jackie Kennedy, in her elitist snobbery would not have known this important little nugget of wisdom.  But really, there is more than one way to raise a kid.  I like to raise mine with lightness and a sense of humor.  Other people raise theirs with drive and competitiveness.  Other’s with guilt and manipulation.

The funny thing is, no matter how you start them off, they still end up finding their own path in life.  Because their life does not belong to you, because you have no idea what their purpose in life is, and because, if you were really honest with yourself, you’d admit you don’t even know what your own purpose is in life, either.

Parenting takes a boatload of humility.  And if you don’t already have it, no worries; it’ll give it to you in short order.

I’ve made some hum-dingers of mistakes and I’m just in my first decade of motherhood.  I’m just glad my Varmint has reached the age of 10.5 without a (permanent) twitch.  And I’m hoping that by the time Critter reaches the age of 10.5,  I won’t have developed a (permanent) twitch, either.

They are in good hands, though.  Their dad is big on teaching responsibility and drive.    Their Grandma is big on teaching them continuity and tradition. Their step-dad  is big on teaching discipline and altruism.  And I believe it falls to my lot to teach my kids to take all of the things those three people are teaching them, with a healthy sense of humor.

No, not mock them.

But take life lightly and with humor.  There is no need to go around all glum and work-oriented.  Life is too short to waste it on that.   And there is humor in everything.  Hell, I’ve shown Gwen how to find humor clipping toe-nails. (Especially when you find one of the clippings in your hair 4 hours later.)

What I want to avoid more than anything is making my kids think life needs to be full of DRAMA.

Drama is what results in taking life and yourself waaaaayyyyyy too seriously.  None of us are so important that any mistake we might make, or trespass we perceive against us, or disappointment we receive, is worthy of DRAMA.  Maybe a shrug of the shoulders.  Maybe a snap of the fingers.  Maybe even a few well-chosen socially inappropriate words.   Then let it go.

And quickly find the humor in it.

I try to teach this by example.  Often.

For instance, I had a serious abdominal and colorectal surgery last year.  Right before I went under the knife, I begged the 2 surgeons, a fellow, an intern, and several nurses if, while they were closing me up, they could please make it so I poop out little heart-shaped turds for the rest of my life.

They loved it.  Finally a patient with a sense of humor.

And so my kids heard this story.  And they saw Mommy not taking life (or death, or disfigurement) so seriously.  And they learned:

1) If Mommy can not get upset or all dramatic about a potentially life-threatening surgery, they could probably lighten up about whatever they’re struggling with in Math.  Or Reading.  Or School Peers.

2) If they work really, really hard, they can try not to be as weird as their Mom.  But even if they fail at that endeavor, she’s still pretty fun to be around, so it wouldn’t be all that bad if they did end up like her.

3) They need to eat a lot of fiber to maintain a healthy digestive tract.

One important caveat in my lifelong lesson of the importance of humor to them is this:  Try very hard to avoid finding humor at other people’s expense.  Its best not to cause pain in others when finding joy and laughter for yourself.  That rarely ends well.

This does not apply at any firehouse, however.  Or Frat houses.  Or, most likely, Navy Seal Training.  But with that one I only surmise.  (Or DO I?)

Humor: It’s what’s for breakfast.

I’ve told you before about My Captain’s feats and colorful history.  Obviously, I am an eensy weensy bit biased, as he is the love of my life, the better half, and the best thing that ever happened to me.  But if we could put that insignificant little detail aside, I have to tell you another secret about him.

You’re going to sigh with affection, I promise you.  Well, the ladies will; the male readers will most likely roll their eyes and move on to the next, more manly looking post.

I should also mention at this point that many other men and women in the fire service deserve blogs singing their praises.  It’s not that I don’t care about them or appreciate their efforts.  It’s just that they don’t kiss me and hug me regularly.

These things matter.

Remember when I told you in “~ Gratitudes ~” that My Captain cares for his shift quietly?  It’s very true.  Most people don’t appreciate the depth of this, though…not the ones above him and not the ones below him.  On the outside, the Captain is known for being a stickler for details, true to the rules, impatient with sloth, and unafraid of being hated for doing the right thing.  His shift sometimes love, and sometimes gripe about these aspects of him.

People who disagree with him like to call him names, but those are very small-minded people who we need not give any attention to.

You can’t be afraid of making enemies when you are busy doing what needs to be done.

Regardless of these less generally popular aspects of My Captain’s leadership style, his guys don’t (usually) hate him…because while he is being tough and demanding, he is also making sure they get the correction, education, and training they need…training that might one day help them save other people’s lives…training that might one day make sure they all return home to their wives and kids….training that they will need when it comes time to replace him when he either dies or retires (whichever comes first).

Believe it or not, there are other officers in the county who could give a rat’s ass about anyone else’s job quality, continuing education, or well-being in general. It’s disappointing, but I am sure it is true in any profession.

But My Captain bows to professional duty, and his men know and respect it (well, most of them). He is the quintessential Horatio Hornblower.

You want to know what he does behind the scenes?  Here’s a little sample:

Sometimes he brings the whole shift breakfast…often home made.  He believes a well-fed army wins the war.  He doesn’t like to see his guys eat poorly.

Sometimes he sends flowers to shift member’s families when births or deaths occur.  In addition to giving money to anything the shift might do as a whole group.

Sometimes he works a seriously ill firefighter’s shift for no compensation.  (Not an uncommon practice in the service.)

He makes sure he is always (ALWAYS) available by phone if they need him for any reason at all….at any time….let me just say that this is not popular with his wife when she is being **romantic**.

She’s been known to grab the phone and yell, “Can this NOT wait until tomorrow???”  And then she gets a disapproving stink-eye for it from her Beloved.

He unhesitantly stands up for his men when they get into trouble.  Often at his own expense and stress level.  When doo-doo rolls down hill, he does his best to block it.  Most of the time his shift has no idea how much burden he takes on his own shoulders to avoid it crushing theirs.  And he never tells them about it.  He is unobtrusive in his goodness.

He really loves his guys and gals. They truly are family.

He does these things….and more…inconspicuously .  He doesn’t boast or brag or call attention to his good deeds.  Because, frankly, he doesn’t do it…or anything else…for praise. Or respect. Or glory. He does it simply because he believes it needs doing.

But My Captain miscalculated, you see, because he married the Town Crier.

She’s got a mouth on her, that one!  And she hates more than anything to watch him get criticized for his mistakes, and rarely recognized for all the good that he does.

He will absolutely castigate his big-mouthed town crier of a wife for spilling these beans….but he can only blame himself.  He knew her for a world-class bean-spiller when he married her.

And he can never stay mad at her for too long.

I had just dropped my Varmint off for her basketball practice one night this week, and a fellow basketball parent, Doug, was standing on the sidewalk outside the gym.  I was still in my car, so I rolled down the window and we started a brief conversation.

This guy’s daughter is so dagnab cute on the court, I’m completely in love with her.  She goes beyond the idea of “Arms up! Defend that basket!” and prefers the “Flail-about-wildly-and-scare-the-crap-out-of-your-opponent-because-you-look-so-completely-unstable-that-you-just-might-lose-it-on-her!” approach.  And what makes this so gosh darn funny is that she is cute and blonde and girly and did I mention cute?  LOVE that kid!

So her dad and I are chatting for a moment.  I informed him that I was just about to drive to McDonald’s to get a nice hot small Mocha since I was so darn tired I was afraid I wasn’t going to last the night.  He said he was going to spend the hour waiting for his daughter to finish basketball practice by going for a walk (it was a beautiful evening) and getting some exercise and in general relaxing….

Enter the self-imposed guilt….

I knew immediately that his idea was a much better way to spend my time.   I didn’t have to think twice wondering what was better for me:  Sitting in a running car with the seat warmers on, sipping a sugary, caffeinated drink, or walking around our charming little town on a beautiful evening.  There was no question that his idea was infinitely better than mine.

But, you see, I have a disease called Inertia.  Especially when its augmented by heated leather seats, sugar, and Radio XM Blue Collar Comedy Channel.   Larry the Cable Guy would definitely approve of my choice, and I don’t know whether or not to laugh or cry about that fact.

So I did what any other conscientious parent/friend would do, and I tried to convince Doug to come to McDonald’s with me.

He remained firm in his choice, and I watched him stroll away in the beautiful evening air.

Oh, I was irked.  Now how was I supposed to enjoy my sugar and fat beverage, and my turbo-heated butt-seats if I can see him doing the right thing in the face of my wrong thing?

Well, dear friends, I overcame it by changing my order from a small Mocha to a large Mocha. Somehow, that made perfect sense to me.  Don’t try to follow the logic, you could get hurt.

That was Wednesday.  I still haven’t slept.

Don’t you just love it when parents these days reprimand their wayward children gently with phrases like, “Oh, Johnny, that was a bad choice.”  Or  “Now, now, Susie, Mommy wants you to make a better choice.”

Why can’t we just say, “Hey! Bonehead! That was wrong.  Don’t do it again or we’ll beat you like a pinata.”

I’ll tell you why we can’t – Lawyers.

Lawyers, and ‘do-gooders’ who are afraid that smacking a kid upside the head when they screw up every now and again will cause irreparable damage.  They don’t grasp that it was the old-style…the good old-fashioned Italian, Jewish, Hispanic, or German hardcore Mothers and Grandmothers…that were actually responsible for instilling a healthy fear of screwing up and doing bad things in life for kids.  Back in the day, fear was a culturally accepted form of behavioral modification…much cheaper than counseling, and more energy-efficient than shock therapy.

I have to put this caveat in: I DO NOT CONDONE CHILD ABUSE, AND I DO NOT BEAT MY CHILDREN SO DO NOT REPORT THIS POST TO CHILDREN’S SERVICES.  Thank you.

I get so wound around the axle when I hear moms or dads in the grocery store telling little johnny that he cannot have that bag of M&M’s he’s currently opening in the check out line. And then when he sprays the contents of that bag all over kingdom come during his little temper tantrum, all he gets is a “Johnny, that was a bad choice… now stop throwing the other candy around the store…stop it Johnny…do you want a time out, Honey?  Do you?…..”

Do you know what would have happened to me if I had pulled that crap?  A swift kick in the behind…and I promise you I have not sprayed M&Ms in check out lines since I was 4 years old.

And I still swear that was an accident.

How about this one…. if a kid today asks if he can have a toy when he’s dragged along to go shopping with mama, oftentimes his mama will say, “Yes! If you behave!”   What would have happened when we were kids?  I can see it now.  My mother or father would have been incredulous, before they told me “Sure, Pam, I’ll give you treat!  I’ll let you live to tomorrow, you little ungrateful, selfish bastard.”  (Ok, maybe my mom wouldn’t have said bastard, but she would have thought it.)   The point is, we learned not to ask for these things.  We learned the concept of hard work and the value of a buck.

And it was good and right.  It put materialism lower down on the totem pole. And a healthy fear for authority in our hearts.

My kids are in a quandary.  Some of their friend’s parents have the “Oh Johnny, that was a bad choice” philosophy of raising kids.  Their parents are so much easier on them, so much more wishy washy in their boundaries.  So every now and again, I’ll hear a “But So-and-So’s mom lets her!”  or “But So-and-So’s Dad says its ok” from one of my kids if they are not pleased with an answer I give to one of their requests.

You know what I like to say when they pull that out?  I say “Well So-and-So’s parent’s don’t love them as much as I love you, and So-and-So will probably end up in jail before they are 30. And Poor.  And Alone.  And Hungry.  And Naked. But since I give you firm boundaries, you will likely be the President of the United States.  Unless we are annexed by China by then. ”

I’m subtle and diplomatic like that.

By the way, if you are the mother of So-and-So, I am not sorry.  You had it coming for making my own parenting experience a bigger pain in the ass.

Boundaries:  Give them to your child so my life can get easier.

I’m afraid of Walmart.

Not just because it’s so big and cavernous that I need a GPS.

Not just because it’s so dirty I feel like I need to shower in Purell when I leave.

Not just because every time I go there one of the employees accosts me to check my receipt.

It’s because of the website “People of Walmart”.

One of my newest greatest fears is that I will one day be on a picture on that website.

For those of you who don’t know Peopleofwalmart.com, it’s a compilation of pictures from inside Walmarts all over the country…of some of the patrons…and their rather strange habits.

People with cleavage in weird places.  Wearing Gold Lame and leopard print spandex.  Who weigh 500 lbs.  And shouldn’t be wearing spandex.  Anywhere.  Ever.

People with strange piercings and tattoos and other self-mutilations.

People wearing their jeans so low down on their body, they need a second pair of jeans underneath them.

People who have their kids in the carts in bizarre positions…anatomically impossible positions.

And I am sure beyond a doubt that none of those people know the following:

1) That their picture is being taken.

2) That they don’t look as cool as they think they do.  Unless the definition of cool is “AUAUUAGHGHGHGHGHG!”

and

3) That they will wind up on the internet for the WORLD to see and laugh and mock with disdain.

I’m intelligent enough to know that there are days when that could be me.  There are days when someone could be taking my picture because of some rather poor wardrobe decision I’ve made, or because of one of my many physical deformities, or because I’m not as cool as I think.

It could happen.

Maybe it already has.

I’ve got to stop wearing Gold Lame and spandex.   I’ve just got to.