Listen up.

I cannot tell you how many times I have to repeat myself in a room full of 6th graders. Sometimes, I will be answering a specific question, as several students raise their hands to ask another. When I call on these students to present their question, it is the SAME question I just answered!!! There aren't any hearing problems in the 6th grade, just listening problems. When I go home, the problem is the same. "Avrien, can you grab the baby? I am cooking over here....Avrien? Avrien?!? AVRIEN!!!!!" OK, Avrien IS deaf in his right ear, and likes to refer to this as an advantage, rather than a disability. However, 'I couldn't hear you babe,' is only a good excuse the first 400 times. This is frustrating and hurtful to me, as I am not listened to all day.

I, wholeheartedly, admit that I stop listening if someone doesn't get to the point right away. However, I have a different reason...pure exhaustion. I could fall asleep on the toilet, and I have! If you don't get to the point, I start seeing the back of my eyelids. My mother recalled an incident, when she was a young mother. I was about 4 years old. We were driving home from somewhere, and I was talking. Imagine...me...talking. I was telling her all about something. I talked for 10 minutes straight, and when I noticed that she did not react to what I was saying, I asked her if she was listening.

"Mommy. Mommy. Mommy! Are you even listening to me?!?!?"

"Baby, I am sorry that I am not listening. I am just very tired," she said.

"Well," I said, "Do you want me to drive?"

Comic relief for my mom. I was confused then, but I understand her exhaustion now.

Even babies yearn for someone to listen to them. George babbles in his baby talk. He understands the concept of a conversation. If you do not respond, he babbles in a frustrated tone, and he even gets louder, as if to say 'LISTEN TO ME!!!'

Human beings are made to communicate with one another and to validate each other's feelings. Isn't this a central part of all relationships?

Somehow, between the television and the internet, we have managed to zone out and cut communication out of our daily lives. My brother told me that one of his co-workers sends him emails with questions or concerns, and he sits in the cubical five feet away from him. Where is this world headed?

These days, so many children are socially inept. They cannot interact appropriately because they don't know how! Parents allow TV and video games to be their child's only interaction. There are even attempts to inform parents and children of the possible consequences. Look at the movie, WALL-E, example. As Avrien and I sat there and watched it, I wondered if children received the message that was being communicated. Or did the clearly communicated message get lost in the movie theater?

The average American watches 4 hours of television a day. That is 28 hours a week, 2 months out of the year, and 9 years of a 65 year old's life.
I know when children sit in front of their TV or video games all day, because I see it in their interaction with others. I see it in their frustration level, especially when an assignment calls for communicative presentations.

Yesterday, Avrien and I took a walk around our neighborhood. Avrien fished in the lake, and George and I watched the sunset as we strolled home. It was relaxing and refreshing.

LISTEN TO ME.

Take a deep breath of fresh air. Get out of the house. Take a walk. Read a book. Talk with your family.

They call it the 'Boob Tube' for a reason. Don't be a boob.

The Best Medicine.

This morning, I reached across the bed with my leg and rested my foot on Avrien's stomach. I have this thing, where I love being close to him, and being next to him, but I can't handle the heat of a long, leisure cuddle. I do this in my sleep all of the time. Avrien often wakes up with a foot on his back, shoulder, stomach, or leg. Since the baby sleeps with us, he sometimes wakes up with a foot under his back and a diaper in his face.
Sorry Ave.
He never complains about it, and he is still able to laugh about it. This morning, as my foot was resting on his stomach, he reached down and tickled the bottom of my foot. I spastically retracted my leg back to my side of the bed. "Stop!" I whined, half asleep. When I felt that the coast was clear, I put my foot back on his leg. He did it again. "Cut it out!" I said. He started to laugh. "I'm serious. Stop it," I said, as I tried not to laugh. We couldn't help ourselves. We woke up at 6am this morning laughing. This was a beautiful start to the day.

When I was pregnant, God put an immense amount of joy in my heart because I would laugh, and laugh, and laugh. I would laugh, until I cried, my entire pregnancy. Mother Teresa said that, "Joy is the echo of God's love in our hearts." My son, George, is such a joyful child. Sometimes, I wonder if God made him such a joyful child, that his joy spilled forth into me as I carried him.

My hope is that I laugh my way into old age. My students tell me that I look young. They may, simply, be saying that to get an 'A' in my class. Not a chance, but I will accept the compliment. I have one student that tells me I look 18 all the time. "God bless you!" I say back.
Could it be the fact that I laugh with them? We laugh together, and laughter makes us all the same age, I guess.

You don't have to be 16 to use it.
You don't have to be 21 to take a swig of it.

It is what it is...the very best medicine.

No.

Avrien and I have decided not to use the word 'No' with our son. He usually responds to "Uh-uh," or "George," said firmly. So, we reserve the word 'No' for more severe occasions. It's better for him to know when we mean business, rather than equating all instances with the same level of severity. Lately, when we say "GEORGE," he looks back at us with his sweet eyes, and continues whatever he is doing. Sometimes, he will shake his head back and forth, as if to say "No," back to you, and then he continues what he is doing.

I walked in on him pulling books off of the bookshelf in the living room the a couple of weeks ago, and when I said his name, he began to shake is head 'no' and he continued to pull the books off of the shelf, shaking his little head back and forth. Clearly, he grasps the concept. However, he chooses not to apply it.

A couple of days ago, I walked up on him harassing our cat, Addie. He was patting her firmly (VERY firmly - OK, this was just short of a beating) on the head. I said, "Gentle," about 6 times, and after he made the choice to disregard me, I picked him up in my arms and walked into the living room. He fussed for a bit. We try not to respond to his tantrums. So I put him down on the floor. He crawled back over to the cat, and the cat stretched out her sharp claws, as an invitation. "Try it again," she taunted with her eyes. Immediately, I looked at him, and said, "No!" He looked back at me. His pursed his lips, his lip began to quiver, he tightly scrunched up his face, and he let out a loud wail. It was as if I had ripped his toenail off with pliers.
"He's testing you," says my mom.

Ah yes! The test.

From what I understand, he will continue to test me until HE is old. I thought there was, like, a 16 year grace period on this. Isn't he supposed to start this in high school? Apparently not. Apparently, this is what being a mom is all about. Love and tests. These little tests prepare us for the final exam....high school, college, and eventually, letting them go. Every time they occur, these tests bring us one step closer to heaven. Sometimes, I stare at George sleeping and come close to tears. I don't want him to get bigger. I don't want him to experience the negative things of the world...but it's inevitable.

So mamas, look at your babies (or adult "babies") and rejoice in them every second of the day. They are our ticket to heaven....how lucky we are to be mommies. Happy Mother's Day to every single one of you.

Thank you George, my little angel. My first Mother's Day has been exceptional, because of you and the joy that you bring to my life.

Poop happens.

So, everyone has one or two funny poop stories under their belt...no pun intended. However, poop stories tend to get funnier after you have children. You deal with all type of fluids that you never dreamed of dealing with, and you don't really mind it either. At least, most of the time, parents don't mind. I have to say that I, unlike other moms, am not quiet about my dissatisfaction with the laborious job of changing diapers. I hate it! I have dry heaved and come close to throwing up.
I love my son, but I don't like his poop. It stinks, and it comes in all shapes, sizes, and colors. Pee-pee diapers aren't so bad, when he isn't peeing as you are changing him. Rule of thumb: Keep your mouth closed when you are changing a little boy. That little sucker will shoot you, and you won't even see it coming.
I also have tricked my husband (OK, he's on to me) into changing most of the poopy diapers for two reasons: 1) I carried the baby and popped it out. It is, clearly, his turn to do something unpleasant AND 2) I have Crohns disease, and I might unexpectedly throw up..he he he.
However, this day was unique. On this particular day, I was feeling especially brave. OK, OK, OK. My husband was in the other room painting, and since he was working, I was on my own. Lucky for me, this was an extremely enlightening diaper changing experience (sarcasm). I opened the diaper to find that my son, armed with the prophecy that it would be ME, left an abundant gift there...it was everywhere.
As I began to gag, the baby cooed and laughed, as if to say, "You simpleton. I knew this would be amusing for me." Son of a...!!! So, here I was: poop coming out of the diaper, baby laughing at me, with no escape. I started to scream for Avrien...no reply! I took deep breaths, and thought, 'OK, you can do this, one wipe at time. This is not a big deal. Man up, lady.' Then it happened....there it was in all of its glory...poop....under my fingernail. Everything switched to slow motion, as I screamed in a slo-mo, low voice, "NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
I screamed for Avrien...this time he came running in. From the way I screamed, he must have thought that the baby had fallen and smacked his head on a rock. This was not the case.
I got up and ran around the house, like a chicken with its head cut off. I was running. Where was I running? What was I doing? All I knew was there was poop under my fingernail, and I was running from something. The poop, perhaps? I ran into the kitchen, attempting not to touch anything with that hand, frantically looking for a nail clipper. I washed my hands, but it would not release itself from the back of my fingernail.

At this point, Avrien was finished changing the baby's diaper, standing at the doorway of the kitchen, and laughing at me. "It's not funny!!!" I screamed.
I found it. The nail clipper. Thank God. I cut it off over the trash can, washed my hands again, poured myself a glass of cold water, put my hand on my head, laid down on the couch, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. I was alive. I had survived.
Had it been my leg, I would have amputated it. Luckily it was just my fingernail. Poop, certainly, happens. That's a fact, and my fingernail died in battle as a casualty of war. R.I.P. Left Thumbnail...you will be missed.

The Piglet Cold

Alright people! So, the thing to freak out about lately is the swine flu. Schools are closing, people are panicking, chaos is ensuing. This is sort of ironic, as the first instruction from every news team and radio show was, "Don't panic!" More people die from the common flu every year, and people are freaking out over a flu named after a pig. A colleague of mine brought up an excellent point. Would people be freaking out if it weren't named, 'The Swine Flu'? Honestly. Would you be worried about something called the Piglet Cold or the Puppy cough?
There is a student out with the flu at my school. She has taken tests to tell whether or not
she has the Swine flu. Some teachers hope that it is. Then we can close up shop early and dismiss for the summer. Ha! Ha! No, but seriously...My son's pediatrician said that they have been extremely busy because there are people coming in to be checked for the flu that do not have any of the symptoms. They are, simply, freaking out because they have a ragweed allergy. Wowzahs! Let's not get ahead of ourselves, people. We've got a whole life to live, and I'm pretty sure it won't be ending with the Piglet Cold.