Mama's Claws are coming out tonight

So, it's set. The meeting is tonight.

It started with the jersey number. Then it resurfaced with a story a mom was telling me, my blood boiling, the nodding of my head in empathy ... and the realization that this situation needed to be addressed.

I blew it off for a while, and didn't say a word. I was merely a listener, realizing that we WERE WARNED NOT TO TALK NEGATIVE about anyone or anything at anytime or anywhere ... and to walk away from the parent and their concerns. But it kept happening. And it mostly happened in my house, in my car, in the parking lot, over my phone...

I blew it off again and again. Why? From Fear, mostly... the paralyzing kind. The kind where your hands get clammy on the steering wheel thinking about talking to the coach before practice starts as you drive your kids to the field.

The kind that keeps you up almost 'til midnight -- laying still so as not to bother your spouse as you see the person's face in your mind ... trying to lay out what you're going to say. Visualizing the discussion and how it SHOULD go.

The kind of Fear that lingers as you shower, as you eat, as you read, as you drive, as you sip your coffee.

Enough. Tonight is the meeting, finally. I'm going to be so relieved that it's going to be over. I have a letter to help me with the main points that they can have after we're done. They're worried I'm going to go to the school. They said if I go to the school then they're going to decline my kids to be involved in the program in the future. 

I'm going to smile, I'm going to be grateful -- and be nice. I even have some compliments for them. Other than that, I'm filled with Fear. I am the conduit for many moms, but my blood boils too.

Cool it for now, I will be nice, but my claws are right under the surface. They're there pushing me towards the Fear, letting me sit in it and feel it's greatness. They WILL come out if they have to. 

Wish me luck...

Kids Can Be Kids, and so can the damn adults

I realize I am a teacher. 

My son stands there with the car door open and unsnaps his shoulder pads and pulls the whole contraption over his sweaty head. Sweaty from his football helmet. He looks around nonchalantly and waves goodbye to his twin friends. I am getting a read on him as to how he spent the last two hours. He lumps himself into the passenger seat as we remove ourselves from the darkened practice field parking lot amid all the other cars.

"So, how'd it go?" I ask.

"I practiced with the freshmen."

"Oh." I say, realizing this has happened again because he is small for his age, and my heart sinks because this is good for him, yet bad at the same time. This gives him a chance to bowl other kids over at whatever position he has practiced, because he's finally bigger than them. During the games however, he is at least a foot shorter than the kid he's blocking. This enables him sometimes to "crab block" in which the ball snaps and he's on all fours, perpendicular to the kid he's blocking. They tumble over Lucas. Whistle blows, whatever.

"I got to practice as the quarterback because Landon had to go to catechism."

This gives me new hope. "Quarterback? Wow!" I say with enthusiasm.

This enthusiasm is soon dashed away because then he tells me he threw incomplete passes and couldn't rotate quick enough to hand the ball off before he was sacked several times. This news will not go well once we get home to Dad.

Dad has a different take, and surprises me, and the hope comes back. "Well, at least they put you in a position that they wanted to see you in... they're giving you a chance to see what you got!" he says when we get home.

I am always eager to teach my kids new words, new ideas, to hold a new outlook on life and have new hope. Every day. This is a painful exercise, however - this football stuff. There's a term I like to use, "Daddy Ball." It's challenging, and there is a lot I don't know about raising children and the game of football itself.

I realize I am the Student. 

On so many levels... I try and learn something new every day. Things are sticky right now with the push of my own personal growth and development; I'm hoping this doesn't last. People are in and out of my life very quickly it seems lately, and I'm trying not to take it personally.


Here at work things seem to be humming along, and I am a little intimidated by the growth we've had and automating some systems that my colleagues might have trouble adopting. There are cultural and generational differences as well. But I must act without fear, and understand the challenges -- and of course, persevere. Communication and cultivation of relationships is of utmost importance as well.

Happy Friday. It's go time. 

   

Rockin' the Babaayyy

My kids are totally opposite of each other. TOTALLY - in looks and personalities. Just take a gander:



Lucas was born 6/18/2002 at 8 lbs., 18 3/4". We discovered he was breech after visiting the emergency room after my water broke. Off to C-section surgery! Luc was born with a full head of dark hair and looked exactly like his Dad and my brother at birth. We experienced lackluster breastfeeding skills which reduced me to being tied to the pump. Which means he got jaundice. Panic! First panics of many to ensue of course; me being a new mom. Everything was so serious and heartfelt.

Ayla was brought into the world on Christmas in July, 2006 at 7 lbs. 6 oz. (18 1/2"!) via C-section (what!? I'm a planner!) born with barely any hair, and latched on like a true champ. She also was born with light eyes and hair - and looked exactly like me.

Lucas is totally cool, and respectful - and funny! Ayla is goofy and silly; yet can be a terrible brat.

I love them with all my heart and soul!

What I Learned While not on Facebook

I decided to take a break and not look at Facebook everyday. I was getting a little razzed at home about it; my husband thinks it's ridiculous and serves no purpose. I had been running through it, checking up on people and overall "staying in touch" with what the rest of the world seemed to be doing.

Until I figured out how much time I was spending on it.
Depending upon my mood, I'd click on a friend's profile to see what they were up to. I started doing this at work, too. 15 minutes then goes by, and everything that I'm responsible for has been ignored, neglected, dusty.

At the water cooler, the topic of "what to give up for Lent" came up, and a colleague asked me if I was giving anything up. I blurted out, "facebook!" without understanding the strong will it would take to succeed. But it was due. I had just been harassed by a "friend" over Facebook email about a comment I put on her neighbor's photos -- this harasser had a terrible incident with him (who happened to be one of my husband's best friends) and she was horrified that I was still speaking to him.

It was degrading and humiliating -- my anger was hard to control. She actually had the nerve to tell me how I should live my life - and who I should or should not be friends with. I could have reacted in a different way which I won't go into here; instead I backed off and reported her. Then I shut 'er down.

In the field of marketing and public relations, us nutballs tend to put everything in phrases or name everything, so I designed this as my FacebreakTM. I thought it would be cute and funny to trademark my vacation from the social networking site, as I was totally Facebaked. (TM)

What I learned on my break from the site:

• How to train, and prepare, for a half marathon
• That the commute to work and home gives me a solid 15 minutes to call a friend or family member - connecting the real way
• You can teach young children to play Uno
• With Keith Richards on my lap every night, I listen to Rolling Stones CDs with a totally different perspective now
• Learned Maggie May on the acoustic

Once my 40 days were over, I decided to click back over and take a look around. And guess what? Nothing changed. It's a shrine for yourself; complete with photos and places you've been, events you attend, status updates, and seeing if people "like" you. Honestly, it's totally selfish.

Depending upon your insecurity levels, you could either care or not.

As for me, I believe a permanent Facebreak is in order.