I moved my children back to my home state of Connecticut for a very specific reason, so that I could raise them in a safe, healthy place. So they could enjoy the four seasons and all the beauty New England has to offer. I researched cancer rates, crime rates, water quality, air quality, school systems, and you bet your ass I know where every sex offender within a 50 mile radius is (there are only 2). We have lower obesity rates, excellent school systems, great universities and, overall, low crime. Our state is so annoyingly perfect, it was even the focus of several movies like Stepford Wives that tease of our over-the-top perfection.
Then, today happened. I write my blog not for you, or even myself. This is really for my children. Not because I am so wise, or have so much experience or knowledge to offer my children. Only because I want them to know someday, everything I felt while raising them. They will know of this story, I'm sure, but fortunately, they are far too young to understand it now.
I love living here. I grew up in Connecticut, moved briefly out of state, and returned to raise my children here. To give them roots, to grow our own food, to play outside on the dirt roads without fear. Fantasy. For there is certainly always fears in parenting. Am I doing this right? Does that food have too much pesticide or food coloring or preservatives? Do I hug them enough? Are my punishments and consequences fair? Are they developing quickly enough, or too quickly? Do I lose my temper too often? Most of us parents have these questions, they are normal....I think.
And Now? Will they live through the school day? Is that a new normal question? I think an article in The Onion says it best with today's article entitled "Fuck it All".
http://www.theonion.com/articles/fuck-everything-nation-reports,30743/
Yup, that pretty much sums it up. Wasn't there a time when even wars were fought with dignity and organization? Where there were some rules of humanity that were followed no matter what the circumstance? Where women and CHILDREN were off fucking limits? Apparently, that time is long gone. In the most perfect little state, in a sleepy little town, babies are murdered. For absolutely no reason. Because there is no reason, that ever did or will exist, for this.
I can't stop thinking about those parents. Who have to go home to their kids' toys on their living room floors. To the dirty clothes strewn about the bedrooms, the clothing they will never want to wash again because it still smells like their children. Clothing that they will cling to, thinking it was only a day ago, a week ago, a year ago, that their child was alive and wearing this shirt. The parents who will struggle to remember what the last hug felt like, did they hold on long enough. The last time they smelled the top of their head, tucked them in. The Elves that won't have any reason to move tonight, or ever again. The Christmas presents that will never be unwrapped. How Christmas, birthdays, any day, will never be the same again. Unmade beds, unworn clothes, promises of holiday magic, a new year, and upcoming summer vacations, crushed to nothing. To non existence.
I feel a depth of guilt for even having children. My children are here because I wanted them here. They never asked for this life, I'm the selfish one who needed them, wanted them, created them. And now, they have to live with my decision, literally.
For years we will search for answers that don't exist. Grasp at any rationale or reasoning that either isn't there or is but offers no solace. Could any reason? We all need something to reassure us, something to comfort ourselves with, to feel that, once again, it will never happen to us. Isn't that the true innocence of childhood? They don't think anything bad will ever happen to them? Isn't that the bubble of security we as parents create for them so they may grow without being stifled in that paralyzing fear that, we as parents, all too often experience?
I have no answers, none of us do. If I did have any, that would bode far worse for our world. All I know is that I have to work so much harder to maintain that bubble. Maybe things such as this happen as frequently when our grandparents were growing up....but how would we know without television, fast vehicles, Internet and access to every corner of the world through our technology.
We need more heartwarming human deeds, random acts of kindness, regular acts of caring, respect, and love. We all need to stifle our hate, anger and judgement of one another. We can learn from this, we have to.
I cried so hard these at few days. Not just tearing, not weeping, but I cried with gut wrenching, nauseating choking sobs that looked and sounded about as ugly as I felt. I am so grateful, that I am still crying. I found myself so relieved, and happy to see how many other people did the same thing. It means we haven't lost it all, it means we may be save-able, it means there are enough of us to make big changes, and, maybe someday, we can all feel safe again.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Three years...and some change....
My baby girl just turned 3 years old.....6 weeks ago. We celebrated, of course, and I remain partially in denial that the years seem to spin faster into this vortex of child rearing. Adults age so little in a year's time, but kids...those things freaking change. A lot. Di grew almost 3 inches in 6 months. Does anyone realize how much 3 inches is? Ladies? Gentlemen? If I were 3 inches taller I wouldn't have to worry about theses 15 extra pounds that have accompanied me so graciously since I had my sweet girls.
What can I say about a 3 year old, except if anyone here thinks twos are really terrible, run far away before your child turns three. Three is the year of attitude, yelling, demanding, and moments of unimaginable sweetness. My daughter has made me cry with devastation at the things she says, and weep with the deepest love I have ever felt. It's quite a mind f@$%.
The yelling just means I need to listen to her more. The attitude is her trying to tell me something she just can't verbally express yet. She is teaching me to be more patient, kinder, and to be a better mother. Annoying. But also incredibly cute and humbling...after a few drinks. She fights with her sister now, there is pushing and grabbing and kicking. But there is also kisses and hugs and times when she feeds her baby sister off her plate, helps her read a book, and even attempts to carry her (yikes). It's is a year of wearing jewelry, skirts, and getting dirty. She will no longer let me pick our her clothes, ever, which leaves me with a desire to explain to anyone and everyone in the public that i am just being a good mother by letting her express her independence. cringe cringe. She is mastering her body and learning to control her strength and movements with gymnastics. She really is quite graceful and beautiful to watch. Her movements are effortless. Her little body is strong enough to hold itself up by her arms or legs, and her balance and flexibility make me cringe constantly. She is amazing.
She told me I was her best friend. She has also said this to a caterpillar, a stuffed cat, and a dead spider, but it was still enough to make me tear up. It was beautiful.
Unfortunately, Di being three means one more sad thing...Jbug is 18 months old. (That's a year and a half to anyone who isn't a parent, believe me, you will use months to describe the age of your child, it's the only way, kids grow fast in a year, but a baby grows abnormally fast in a month).
I am so lucky that JJ is still perfectly content being the baby. She still snuggles with us all night, insists on being carried everywhere, has absolutely no interest in the potty, regular cups, plates or eating utensils, and pretty much uses cuteness and crooked smiles to get anything she wants from either myself or her daddy, or grandparents, strangers on the street. She really is that cute. She is talking so well, when her sister allows her to do so. She absolutely loves all things furry, and literally screams with glee at any animal sighting. There isn't many moments when I don't hear a squeaky "mow mow" or "a woof!". And when she spots them, nothing but pure happiness in her eyes.
I am envious, for I am no longer capable of doing that. Isolating one thing in life that creates joy for me, without any other interferences. I wonder when I lost it, because we all do. I wish I could enjoy them like that more often, without worrying what germs or chemicals or food additives or bad vibes they are exposed to. But I guess that is my fate now, to absorb all the negative so that they see only joy. I can certainly live with that.
What can I say about a 3 year old, except if anyone here thinks twos are really terrible, run far away before your child turns three. Three is the year of attitude, yelling, demanding, and moments of unimaginable sweetness. My daughter has made me cry with devastation at the things she says, and weep with the deepest love I have ever felt. It's quite a mind f@$%.
The yelling just means I need to listen to her more. The attitude is her trying to tell me something she just can't verbally express yet. She is teaching me to be more patient, kinder, and to be a better mother. Annoying. But also incredibly cute and humbling...after a few drinks. She fights with her sister now, there is pushing and grabbing and kicking. But there is also kisses and hugs and times when she feeds her baby sister off her plate, helps her read a book, and even attempts to carry her (yikes). It's is a year of wearing jewelry, skirts, and getting dirty. She will no longer let me pick our her clothes, ever, which leaves me with a desire to explain to anyone and everyone in the public that i am just being a good mother by letting her express her independence. cringe cringe. She is mastering her body and learning to control her strength and movements with gymnastics. She really is quite graceful and beautiful to watch. Her movements are effortless. Her little body is strong enough to hold itself up by her arms or legs, and her balance and flexibility make me cringe constantly. She is amazing.
She told me I was her best friend. She has also said this to a caterpillar, a stuffed cat, and a dead spider, but it was still enough to make me tear up. It was beautiful.
Unfortunately, Di being three means one more sad thing...Jbug is 18 months old. (That's a year and a half to anyone who isn't a parent, believe me, you will use months to describe the age of your child, it's the only way, kids grow fast in a year, but a baby grows abnormally fast in a month).
I am so lucky that JJ is still perfectly content being the baby. She still snuggles with us all night, insists on being carried everywhere, has absolutely no interest in the potty, regular cups, plates or eating utensils, and pretty much uses cuteness and crooked smiles to get anything she wants from either myself or her daddy, or grandparents, strangers on the street. She really is that cute. She is talking so well, when her sister allows her to do so. She absolutely loves all things furry, and literally screams with glee at any animal sighting. There isn't many moments when I don't hear a squeaky "mow mow" or "a woof!". And when she spots them, nothing but pure happiness in her eyes.
I am envious, for I am no longer capable of doing that. Isolating one thing in life that creates joy for me, without any other interferences. I wonder when I lost it, because we all do. I wish I could enjoy them like that more often, without worrying what germs or chemicals or food additives or bad vibes they are exposed to. But I guess that is my fate now, to absorb all the negative so that they see only joy. I can certainly live with that.
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