Just go with it

There are times in my life when I have epiphanies: crystal clear moments of seeing who I really am or what is truly important in life.  I recently had a big one.

 Last night, we experienced the wonder of preschool celebrations: the holiday singalong.  Dozens of preschoolers dressed in their holiday finest, singing Christmas songs on a stage in front families loaded down by cameras, video cameras, and cell phones.  All of the kids were beyond adorable: smiling on the stage, waving to their parents, jingling their bells...all except one.  Dallas.  Yep, my kid didn't want to go on stage.  Not one bit.  No way, no how.  I honestly didn't mind, or I didn't think that I minded.

I was actually pretty happy that he was feeling some stage-fright as soon as we arrived at the theater.  Little boys were in ties, Christmas sweaters, and khakis while girls were sparkly in holiday dresses with glittering tights and fancy shoes.  Dallas was in gray sweatpants, a shirt in an entirely different shade of gray, a blue hoodie emblazoned with a skull, and his favorite Spider-Man gym shoes.  Needless to say, I was a touch mortified that I hadn't made him get gussied up before we left the house.

His teacher convinced him to sit in the front row so he could join in the singing and jingle-belling with the rest of his classmates.  He sat beside me with his hood over his head Unabomber-style and happily sang the songs from his seat while the rest of the class sang on stage.  I couldn't seem to shake the tense feeling I had, though, about why he wouldn't just suck it up and go do what he was supposed to do.  I didn't want the other parents to judge me on his behavior.  Serious selfishness, right?  I did my best to mask my tension from him because I didn't want him to sense that I was embarrassed by his choice.  I was embarrassed for me, sure.  But I also didn't want him to stand out and be...different.

About halfway through the program, the kids stood up to do the "Reindeer Pokey."  For those of you not in the know, you put your antlers in, you put your antlers out.  You put your antlers in, and you shake 'em all about it.  And, really, that's what it's all about.  I noticed Dallas slowly scooting out of his chair, and I told him he could go up on stage if he felt like it.  He smiled at me and climbed up on the stage.  There he stood in the front of the pack, hood up, looking slightly rumpled, and danced his little booty off.

Working the antlers

And in that moment, watching him on the stage, every bit of embarrassment or tension I felt melted completely away.  This kid was having a ball, and he didn't care one bit what anyone else, on stage or in the audience, thought about him or what he was doing.  For a second, I could see him as a teenage boy and a young man, just doing his thing, living his life, and being happy.  I ceased caring if other parents were wondering what the hell this kid was doing or why he was doing it.  I truly and deeply lived in that sweet moment, and I felt all the joy I imagine Dallas was feeling.

Shakin' his tail all about

As soon as the song was over, he sat back down beside me and stayed there until the final two songs when he decided to finish on the stage with his friends.  After the last song, the teachers invited the students to take a bow for the audience.  Dallas's bow was so big, so proud, and so elaborate that he almost fell over.  I was so proud of him for knowing exactly what he wanted to do and for having the courage to do it his way.  Quite frankly, I'm in awe of how he lives his life with such honesty.  I was proud of myself for letting go of what I thought I was supposed to be thinking or feeling.  Dallas may not march to the same drum-beat as everyone else, but I love whatever sound he chooses to hear.

No frills, no fancy...just my boy

Fun, family, and forty

Whoa.  I can't believe the last post I wrote was about Halloween, and now it's after Thanksgiving.  One thousand apologies for my lack of blogging, my friends.

We have had a busy month, as usual.  We started November with a fabulous trip to Disneyland, our first time there.  Yes, we're Disney addicts.  I say it loud and proud.  It was a weird sense walking into Disneyland Park in Anaheim; it was like deja vu only I had never been there before.  It was just as magical as walking into the Magic Kingdom in Orlando, but yet, it was completely different, too.  One of the great things about Disneyland is that everything is in walking distance from each other.  Our hotel, the gorgeous Grand Californian Resort and Spa, had a separate entrance to Disney's California Adventure (DCA).  It was fantastic at the end of a long day (or sometimes a long morning) to walk right back into our hotel from the park.  Getting to either DCA or the Magic Kingdom was ridiculously easy: a ten minute walk at the most.  It was wonderful not to have to worry about transportation and building in extra time for buses or boats.  We had mostly great weather, although it ended up raining the last couple of days.  But not even small showers could ruin our magical time.

Finding treasure on Tom Sawyer's Island

Lottie and Dallas with Dale

Dallas and his lady love, Minnie

Periwinkle and Tinks with the kids at Pixie Hollow

Entering Disneyland Park

One of the best parts of the trip was getting together with Trevor's cousin Jonathan, his lovely wife Karen, and their son, Jackson.  Jackson is seriously one of the most gorgeous children I have ever seen, and his smile is like sunshine.  Lottie and Dallas spent plenty of time fawning over him, and it was really sweet to see the three of them together.

During the trip, I celebrated my fortieth birthday.  I can't imagine how I could have had a better birthday than spending it with my family at one of the most magical places on earth.  I mean, right?    Turning forty has been completely painless, I gotta say.  I was definitely more conflicted about turning thirty: I was at a fairly unsettled point in my life.  I was still too worried about what was going to happen in my life, what other people thought of me, and what I thought of myself.  Now it's different.  I'm settled and I'm happy with where I have landed.  I'm comfortable in my own skin, and I'm not afraid of others' opinions.  It's not because I don't care, but it's because I'm secure in who I am.

Mama turns 40!

That's a feeling I hope that I can pass along to Lottie and Dallas.  Both of my kids have such distinct and individual personalities, and I don't ever want them to think they have to change for anyone, not even me, especially me.  Do they drive me insane and frustrate the heck out of me?  From time to time, sure, but I would rather be rattled by them than have kids who have no energy, no creativity, no skills, no spark.  If turning forty has taught me anything, it's that I'm grateful for who I used to be, who I have become, and who I continue to be.  Frankly, I'm pretty damn awesome, and I'll be even more awesome when I empower my children to embrace who they are and revel in their own awesomeness.

The kids at Goofy's house

My sweet, feisty, generous, amazing offspring

Halloween Humbug

I am not a big fan of Halloween.  There.  I have said it.  My name is K. C., and I don't like Halloween. I'm the only one chez Wells who isn't a fan, though, so I have learned to go with the flow.  Dallas's favorite pastime is to pore over Halloween catalogs full of costumes and gory decorations.  Not surprisingly, he has had more nightmares as of late.  Fun for all of us.

Last week, I took Lottie shopping for her Halloween costume, and I was frightened by what I saw.  I wasn't scared of the ghouls or goblins or the bloody skulls: the costumes are what terrified me.  I expected to be slightly horrified by the teen girl costumes because they seem to have become sluttier and sluttier.  But I was shocked to see that little girl costumes are starting to trend the same way.   Everything seems dark and trashy and WAY too grown up.

Credit: http://images.buycostumes.com/mgen/merchandiser/18595.jpg

Yes, I understand that Halloween has its origins in some dubious stuff: festivals of the dead, Samhain, etc.  (Most of my knowledge comes from the movie Halloween, so I realize that what I know might not be on the up and up.) But I do know that Halloween is supposed to be scary and creepy.  However, my kids are 4 and 5.  I don't think they need to be dark and creepy for Halloween.  I mean, what ever happened to dressing up like a puppy or a piglet or a box of Tide?

Not only were many of the costumes too old for Lottie, but they just seemed...wrong.  Why does a kid have to be"Scary Miss Muffet" or "Scary Little Bo Peep"?  Why can't the choice just be a normal Muffet or Peep?  And does Miss Muffet have to have an off-the-shoulder dress with chunky heels?

Credit:http://images.celebrateexpress.com/mgen/merchandiser/60954.jpg?zm=1600,1600,1,0,0
(This is the Bratz version of Miss Muffet, by the way.  Lottie keeps insisting that she's going to get a Bratz doll from Santa for Christmas.  Dream on, kid.)

I saw Lottie starting to light up at the sight of some of the costumes that were not age-appropriate, and I steeled myself to talk to her about it.  Luckily, she ended up choosing a "royal princess" costume with a LONG skirt and LONG sleeves, so that conversation didn't have to happen.  I'm sure some people are reading now and thinking, "A princess costume?  She's going to grow up to think that men are going to ride up on a white horse and rescue her!  That's so anti-feminist."  Um, first of all, no.  And second, no. Third, that's nuts.  I grew up knowing about princesses myself, and I'm no shrinking violet.  When it comes right down to it, I would rather my five year old daughter dress up like a princess than most of the other costumes I saw.  

Maybe I'm old-fashioned; maybe I'm a prude.  I just want my daughter to enjoy being a little girl as long as she can, and I want to enjoy it along with her.  If that's wrong, so be it.

Risky business

Let me start out by saying that this post has NOTHING to do with the presidential debates.  I haven't watched either of them, and I don't plan to watch the last one.  I voted last week, so I'm done with politics for the year.  Let me also say that this isn't a post about stay-at-home-moms versus working-moms.  Women are hard enough on each other as it is, and I am not going to perpetuate that tired discussion.

Credit: http://www.northernsun.com/images/imagelarge/No-Drama-Button-(0724).jpg

Now, on to the post...

I was surfing the 'net the other day, and I came across an interesting discussion on a board about whether or not it was just careless to be a stay-at-home-mom in this day and age.  The poster said that she felt like women who chose to stay home, as opposed to women who were thrust into the position, were taking a risk and not planning for a possible future reality of not being able to stay home anymore.  The phrase that really struck me was being "dependent" on a spouse.

I get the point: I truly do.  We can't predict the future, so we never know what exactly is going to happen in our marriages or our lives in general.  A spouse could leave or die, and then, according to most people, the stay-at-home-mom is screwed.  The premise there is that all stay-at-home-moms are financially dependent on their spouses or partners, and that's just not true.  But my main issue is that we are ALL dependent on someone in our lives no matter what our careers may be.  An attorney needs his clients to pay.  A doctor is dependent on his patients and insurance companies.  A clerk in a store has to have customers coming in to buy things.  A mechanic relies on customers who need things fixed, as does a plumber or an electrician.  A farmer has to constantly worry about the weather: talk about unpredictable!  If I were still teaching, I would be dependent on my students in order to qualify for any kind of raise: I would be under the thumbs of pre-teens and teens to up my financial worth.  Frightening, no?

No, I don't think that choosing to be a stay-at-home-mom makes me more dependent than anyone else on the planet.   It doesn't mean I'm tempting fate or not being true to myself.  I'm also not ignoring the future and all the uncertainty that comes with it: I'm as financially and mentally prepared as I can be for whatever fate decides to throw my way.  I'm living my life the way I want to live it in this moment.  I can't do any more than that because all we have is now, so I'm going to enjoy my now for as long as I have it.

"I wanted a perfect ending.  Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end.  Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity." --Gilda Radner

Get outta my dreams...

Get into my car!

I have been doing two different car lines, four times a day for the past six weeks or so.  Holy cannoli, have I seen a lot.  Allow me to give you, the wonderful readers, some car line tips.

1.  Don't smoke in your car while you're waiting for your kid.  I mean, really?  There is even a sign in the parking lot that says the school is a no-smoking zone.  C'mon.

Credit:http://standupforamerica.files.wordpress.com/2010/06/no-smoking-sign-premises.jpg

2.  Do put your phone down and say hello or good-bye to your child.  I have seen so many parents drop their kids off in the morning with nary a wave because the parents are too busy jabbering on their cell phones.  Maybe the parents make a special point to say goodbye before the actual drop-off, but I sort of think the kids deserve a little hug or kiss or something as they're getting ready to walk into school.

3.  Don't park in the car line if you plan on leaving before it's your turn.  At least twice, I have had parents come up to my car window and ask me to move my car over a little so they can drive between the cars in the two lines to get out of there.  I know everyone is busy; we all lead crazy, hectic lives.  But if it's that important to get to an appointment or get out of the parking lot, leave a little earlier.

4.  Do pay attention when you're in the line. If the rest of the cars have moved up five car-lengths, it's probably a hint that you should do the same.

5.  Do not pick your nose.  Those car windows?  They're made of glass.  We can ALL see what you're doing, and it's gross.

credit: http://debbieschroeder.typepad.com/.a/6a00d83451d6e069e2016760293d0a970b-500wi

6.  Do try to relax.  Stop looking at your watch, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel, and shaking your head.  The kids will come out soon, and then you can get back to your über-important life.

Just some car line guidance from your friendly neighborhood CarLine Mom.

Luck

I read this article today about a woman who pretended to have bladder cancer, and for her pains, she was given meals, cash, and even had her wedding paid for by friends and family.  She's not the only one who has pretended to be sick in order to gain from her lies.  One woman recently faked a cancer diagnosis, breast cancer no less, in order to get money for breast implants.  Uh huh.  Classy.  I feel sick and furious and sad that anyone would go to such lengths for money or attention.

I wouldn't wish cancer on anyone.  Anyone.  It's horrible and frightening and absolutely life-changing.  I can't pretend to know what it feels like to have to go through treatment after treatment in order to fight cancer: I was lucky.  Every doctor I saw and continue to see has said that if someone has to have cancer, thyroid cancer is the "best" kind to have because it's easily treatable.  After two surgeries, my cancer is gone...for now.  It could recur, but the chances of that happening are pretty slim.  There's that luck again.

Although I haven't had to have chemo or radiation treatments, I'm still affected by it all.  Days go by without a thought of what happened, but other days, I wonder why I got so lucky when others I know have had a terrible time dealing with illness.  I think about the fact that I lived with cancer invading my body, and I didn't even know it.  I think about the fact that it could have been so much worse, and for some reason, it simply wasn't.  Lucky.

But the thing is, it's never really over.  The cancer could return, and that's something I have to live with.  When I get a little tickle in my throat, I wonder if it's back.  When I am feeling particularly run-down, I wonder if it's back.  When I cough, I wonder if it's back.  The worry lives in me like a tiny fly, buzzing around my brain, my heart, my stomach.  I know it's there, and I don't know how to get rid of it so I can go back to the way things were before.  Of course, I can't.  I'll spend the rest of my life with the nagging thought that something could be slowly growing inside me, taking over my body without my knowledge and without my permission.

These people who have pretended to be sick should have to go and talk to parents who have lost their children to cancer.  They should have to talk to people who have watched their loved ones slowly waste away because of the cancer monster.  They should volunteer at a hospice center or a children's hospital, deliver meals to survivors, or drive patients to treatment.  They should talk to survivors who have to go back year after year, always hoping they hear that their cancer hasn't returned.  But the one thing they shouldn't do is have to deal with their own cancer diagnoses because no one ever should.  I did, and I was lucky.  But not everyone is.

Credit: http://livestrongandsore.com

September morns

I haven't blogged much at all lately, but it's not for lack of desire.  I'm simply exhausted by the end of the day, and that's usually the only time I have to sit down with the computer to write.  The morning routine has evened itself out but, man, it's tiring.  

I get up around 6:15 every morning in order to have a little time to myself before the nuttiness of the day begins.  I usually have until 7:00, but occasionally, Lottie decides to make an early start of things and begin her daily chat-fest while I'm still in the shower.  Good times.  Normally, I wake the kids up at 7:00, but that always takes a few minutes of groaning, yawning, stretching, and protesting before they're both actually up and at 'em.  They begin breakfast although something usually distracts them and I spend the next twenty minutes or so saying, "Let's concentrate on eating, guys." I probably say that forty times in those twenty minutes: you do the math.  Then we all troop back upstairs for dressing and grooming, and my phrase of choice is, "GUYS!  IT IS TIME TO GET DRESSED!" Because, you know, jumping on the bed or playing pirate is much cooler than getting ready for school.  By the time we get everyone zipped, buttoned, brushed, and washed, we're already late to get Dallas to the 8 AM drop-off.  Luckily, we don't live too far from school, and we're rarely the only car running behind.  Once Dallas is out of the car, Lottie and I run errands.  I can't drop her off at school until 8:30, so I try to use those thirty minutes to my advantage.  Running errands with Lottie is interesting, to say the least. She inevitably asks for candy or a toy no matter where we are, and getting her to move along is like herding molasses.  If there aren't any errands or if we have time before her drop-off, I park the car in the Flint Lake Elementary driveway, and we read together.  I know Lottie really enjoys the quiet reading time, as do I, but I have a feeling her favorite part of this activity is that she sits on the console in between the two front seats while I read to her.  Rule-breaking!  In front of the school!  We could get arrested!  When the clock says it's time, she heads out the car door to school, her backpack making her look a bit like a drunken, albeit adorable, turtle.  

I'm home by 8:35 with a few minutes to relax and enjoy the silence.  I eat breakfast (which I can't eat any earlier due to my apparent inability to absorb Synthroid, thus necessitating two hours between taking the meds and food entering my body) and decide which task I am going to tackle.  I'm usually just getting into the groove of cleaning out the basement storage area, going through the kids' closets to weed out old clothes, or scrubbing the showers when I look up and realize it's 10:45.  Sigh.  I take five minutes to try to disguise the fact that I'm a sweaty cow and leave to go get Dallas.  I always end up feeling like I should have accomplished more in my two hours and ten minutes of freedom, but I know I do as much as I can.  One of these days, I'm going to blow off any attempt at working, lie on my bed under a blanket, and read all morning.  

And those are my typical mornings. Most times they're enough to make me feel like I have lived a whole day by 8 AM.  They're rushed and hurried and stressful, but I also get to hear hilarious and bizarre conversations that I wouldn't otherwise get to hear.  And if I'm really lucky, I get some sweet morning cuddles from both of my snuggly little cubs.  

For those of you who are thinking that I need to enjoy the crazy mornings with my kids because soon enough they're be running out of the door in the mornings without a backward glance, I say I won't notice because I'll still be under the blankets fast asleep.  So bring it on, my friends.  Bring.  It.  On.  (Kidding.  Sort of.)

--And for those of you who have asked, my thyroid levels are still out of whack.  They're slowly coming down but not as quickly as the doctor and I would like.  Once again, I have a higher dose of Synthroid, and I will go back in six weeks to have my levels tested again.  Keep your fingers crossed for me!