Roger, roger! Baby birds to nest: we have flown!

*sigh*

My fifth and last child started kindergarten this morning.  Millions of mothers have been through this before me, and millions will come after me.  I am a little different in that I never went through this with my first child.  I homeschooled her through 2nd grade, so when she left me, she was 7 years old and very self-possessed.  We were also both very ready for that change for several reasons.

With my three other children, of course I felt tugs on my heartstrings as each of them entered school, and each first day of kindergarten was an event both celebrated and mourned, at least by me.  But it all felt like natural progression, and each of them was so excited and so ready that I had no real concerns about letting them go.  And all four of my older children have proven out my confidence by becoming outstanding students and good citizens of their school communities.

So now we come to the youngest.  She was equally excited and ready, even though she is still only four years old.  She passed the school district's assessment for admission to kindergarten before the birthday cutoff (which is in September, while her birthday is in October) with flying colors.  I have just as much confidence in her as I did in the others.  I watched her this morning, walking across the playground and uncertain where to go, approach a teacher and ask for help, with no fear or hesitation.  Clearly she can navigate this new environment and will be fine.

I'm sure I am not the first mother to be more deeply affected by her youngest child starting school than by some of the others, and to wonder if that makes me a less-than-stellar mother to my other children.  Of course I really do know that is not true, that each child is different, and that my relationship with each is different.  But feelings don't really respond to logic.

However, there is a certain element of my relationship with my last baby that is unique.  Not many people can say that God basically commanded them to have a specific child....but I can.  Every child is a gift from God and His creature, but let's face it, usually we decide when and if to have a child or not.  From our perspective, even if God works in the background, our decisions are the only ones we see leading directly to the creation of our children.  For me, with this particular child, that is not true.  It is impossible to express the sense of obligation and responsibility I feel about my baby girl, because her existence is attributable only to direct, and extremely obvious, intervention by God in my life and consciousness.

I know, I know.  Some of you reading this are rolling your eyes and thinking, "Oh great, another Jerry Falwell claiming direct messages from God."  I assure you, that is not it at all.  No one needs to send me money to prevent my being struck dead.  If anyone feels compelled to make sure, however, I am happy to provide a mailing address.  ;-)

I don't think I have ever shared this story with anyone besides my husband before, but I feel like I want to today, on this momentous day in the existence of the child God pretty much forcibly placed into my life.

I have never been a perfect Catholic, and have always struggled with the Church's teaching on birth control.  (In fact, earlier this year, I chronicled my ultimate failure to obey it.)  In late 2006, when my fourth, and what I thought would be last, child was a little over a year old, I had enrolled in a clinical trial for a new method of sterilization.  It seemed like the perfect solution.  No surgery, no artificial hormones (which can be abortifacient and so are a humungous NO NO, but which also made me feel horrible the short time I did take them), and no cost because I would be assisting in the testing of this new method before it was approved and marketed.  Basically it was to be a small spring-type device inserted into each Fallopian tube, which would cause scar tissue to grow and block the tube.  I was uncertain, but I figured all women go through some doubt before doing something as radical as ending their fertility, so I tried to dismiss it.  I also was fully aware that I was acting directly against my Church and its legitimate authority, and that was tearing me up.  I am not one of those that could claim ignorance... I had read and studied and struggled for years, so I knew exactly what I was doing.  Contemplating mortal sin and its consequences isn't peaceful and obviously shouldn't be!  But I was trying to ignore all that too.

We happened to be running a yard sale at our house a week or two before I was supposed to go in for the procedure.  So my husband took the kids to Mass with him early in the morning while I attended to our sale, and then I went to the noon Mass by myself.  During Mass there was a baptism, and I saw the sweetest little rosebud of a baby girl, all frilly and frothy in white, carried against the shoulder of her father.  The sight struck me to the bone, and I realized I would never see my husband that way again.  While my feelings were in turmoil, the ground under my feet rocked.  And I don't mean like the little 3.0 earthquakes I felt growing up, I mean the earth turned about 45 degrees under my feet, I lost my balance, and was forced to sit down on the pew before I fell.  Everyone else in the church acted normally, so I know I am the only one who saw or felt it.  (Literally, the altar was diagonal in my sight!)  I have since heard the quote from Blessed Theresa of Calcutta that goes something like, "I know God will never give me more than I can handle, I just wish he didn't trust me so much."  Boy can I relate to that quote.  Suffice to say that once my physical environment righted itself a second later, I was trembling and having a serious "holy shit" moment.

When I got home, I told my husband what had happened, and told him I could not possibly proceed with my plans.  He had never been really thrilled with the idea, so he didn't take much convincing.  Then I told him I thought we were being called to have another child.  That gave him a lot more pause.  We have struggled financially for much of our marriage, and adding a fifth child seemed irresponsible from that that standpoint.  There were also times we felt overwhelmed trying to be effective parents to the four we had, and so adding another child to the mix would mean taking the risk of parenting all of them at a lesser level than what they deserved.  But the biggest complication was that we had suffered two miscarriages in the few months leading up to this, and the desire to end our ability to have children was in part motivated by wanting to avoid ever facing that pain again.

Let me take this aside to say that our culture has absolutely no understanding or respect for the pain of fathers in that situation.  I was utterly shocked and stunned by how the loss of his baby destroyed my husband.  I can count maybe two or three times that I have held that strong, brave man while he cries..... and that was by far the worst one.  Even in my own pain, I saw that his was raw, deep, and primal.  It frightened me.

So asking him to be open to having another child was asking almost too much of him.  We had learned the hard way that there were no guarantees, that even if we conceived, we might never have another baby, but only have to mourn another death.  There is a saying that still waters run deep, and that perfectly describes my husband.  He is a man of deep faith, and he recognized God's intervention when I described it.  He put his fear aside, trusted God, and came along on the journey with me.

When the little plus sign showed up on the pregnancy test, we told no one.  After having had to tell our children that the baby in Mommy's tummy had died, we decided no one would know I was pregnant until after the first trimester, if I made it that far.  We never wanted to see that look in our kids' eyes again.  I think my husband probably didn't want to face a repeat, either, of his mother's comment when he informed her of the first miscarriage.  I really don't understand how when your son calls you to inform you of the tragedy of the death of his child, the first thing that comes to your tongue is, "Well, you really didn't need another one anyway!"  But that is what happened, and I still don't think he has forgiven her for it.  (I certainly haven't.)  So for many reasons, we waited.

That twelfth week blessedly came and passed, and we both breathed.  Maybe we would hold this baby after all.  We finally started telling people, and allowing ourselves to plan.  We took our kids to the ultrasound appointment at 16 weeks, and they all cheered to learn there was a sister in there.  They started calling her by her chosen name, Victoria.  They delighted when it seemed she could hear them and would kick their hands on my tummy.  My husband played his favorite pregnancy game again each night, pushing back wherever that telltale little lump appeared, and being rewarded by her thumping his hand again and again.  All of us still had a little fear, the kids would occasionally express concern that this baby would die too, but as I got bigger and bigger, the worry faded and some of our pain healed.  We looked toward birth and joyously waited for her to tell us she was ready.

As if we hadn't had enough indication that this child was special, her birth turned out to be unique as well.  I had had a planned home birth with my third child, after two cesareans that I am convinced were medically unnecessary.  When the doctor supervising my care in that small Montana city told me my only option was to lay down on that table and be cut open again, because that was how SHE felt comfortable, I rebelled and called a midwife, with support and encouragement from my husband.  I had to pay out of pocket but it was worth every penny to prove those impatient, meddling "professionals" wrong.  My body can birth the babies I grow!  When we moved to Arizona, differences in the laws governing midwives meant I had to give birth in a hospital, but we found one that allowed VBACs (and the fact that we had to search for that is disgusting), and had a wonderful and peaceful birth there.  We had planned to return to that hospital, which is about a 30 mile drive away in the middle of Phoenix, but Victoria had other ideas.  She was in an awful hurry to be born, and so she was, in my bathroom, while I stood holding onto the sink and the towel bar, and my awesome husband knelt underneath me to catch her.  All 10 lbs. 5oz. of her!  I found out later that even though my husband had kicked them all out of the master suite, my other kids sneaked in again and watched their sister being born into their father's hands.  I cannot describe my feelings when I think about that moment.  Few families can say they share anything like it.

After she was born, we settled into nursing whenever she fussed, sleeping fused together most of the time, and learning to incorporate her into the rhythm of a family with some kids in school and several activities going on.  She was amazingly calm and easygoing, and never lacked for arms to hold her, voices to sing to her, or faces to entertain her.  Such are the dividends of being a fifth child, born three years after the last one!  As she has grown she has never lost her serenity, except when mightily provoked by a sibling.  I don't want anyone getting the idea she is some perfect angel.  She is a normal kid, and she has been frustrated, thrown tantrums, and lied to get out of chores.  But her baseline personality is so calm....it seems weird to a high-strung person like me.

I have no idea what God's plan is for this little girl.  But I have no doubt He has one.  And to a far higher degree than with my other kids, I feel an obligation to stay out of its way and not interfere.  I am here to guard and guide more than direct.  Today is the beginning of a new phase in her journey to discover it.  She is going out into the world to achieve things that are completely hers, separate from me.

Today also represents a personal milestone for me and the fulfillment of a parenting goal I set before I even had children.  I have been able to care for my own children during their pre-school formative years.  I have been able to fulfill the commitment I made to them that their own parents would be the ones to care for them, and not any paid institution or outsider.  At times the sacrifices required to keep that promise I made to them have been painful, bordering on impossible.  But I did it.  We did it, my husband and I together, and it's an accomplishment of which I feel proud.  No one loves or values them like we do, no one is as invested in their futures as we are, and we thought they deserved to have that level of investment every day, all the time.  I am grateful we were able to provide it.

Even though there is a little sadness in my heart as my last baby bird starts her test flights out of the nest, today is overwhelmingly a day for joy and celebration.  It is truly the day the Lord has made! 

You lay down with dogs, you get fleas

I live in Arizona.  I love my state.  But, like any other place, we have our challenges.

Unfortunately, conservative politics attracts certain extremists.  I have basically stopped going to conservative political events because white supremacist organizations invariably show up.  It pisses me off that my honestly held convictions and traditional beliefs are tainted by these people, and until conservative organizers do a better job of keeping those people out of events, my family will not be participating.

Before anyone says that maybe I should just become more liberal, remember that anarchists attach themselves to liberal political events.  They break windows, terrorize businesses, and burn down every Starbucks they can find.  I know that those people do not represent the mainstream thought of the majority of people on the left side of the political aisle.  So kindly grant me the same courtesy.

Last week, one of the most disgusting denizens of the neo-Nazi movement in Arizona killed himself.  Would that he had just started with himself, but no, he also murdered his girlfriend, her daughter, her 18 month old granddaughter, and the baby's father, who was a young Army veteran who had done time in Afghanistan.

So here's the thing, and I am fully prepared to be called a horrible bitch for this.... I don't see the girlfriend as much of a victim in all this.  Her daughters were.  Her daughter's fiance was.  Her granddaughter was the worst, most powerless victim of all.

Lisa Mederos knew JT Ready for six months before she allowed him to move into her home.  There is no way he kept his white supremacist tendencies, National Socialist Party membership, and advocacy of landmines along the border, secret from her that long.  Especially as all these things were public knowledge discussed in all of our local media outlets.  Ready was running for Sheriff in Pinal County, and so was a public figure.  She knew what he was and what he thought.

And she still let that slimy piece of shit move into the home where her daughters lived with her.  What kind of mother does that?

According to news stories, Ready had lived there about six months.  That means that he moved in sometime in December.  Mederos called Gilbert police months after the fact to report that Ready had choked her in August 2011.  Excuse me, but that is BEFORE she let him move in.  So she also knew he was violent and abusive to women in general, and her in particular, BEFORE she let him move into the home where her daughters lived with her.  Again I ask, what kind of mother does that?

In the short time he lived there, Ready made the Mederos daughters miserable and forced both of them to move out.  He ordered Lisa to make her daughters move out.  OK, so the violent neo-Nazi you just allowed to move in to your home, who has already choked you at least once, dumps bottled water over your head when you buy the wrong brand, and is now freeloading off you because he can't even manage to not get fired from his crappy minimum-wage job at AutoZone, orders you to force your daughters out of your home in favor of him..... and YOU DO IT?!

I'm sorry, no one can possibly be THAT good in bed.

So, call me all the awful names you want, but this is a case of a woman paying the price for her own disgusting choices.  There are dozens of cases here in Arizona, and all over the country, of what I call "death by Mommy's boyfriend."  I am sick of it.  I am utterly, fiercely sick of children harmed or killed because their mothers, for some reason, just cannot exist without some man in bed next to them.  Violent criminals, selfish freeloaders, drug users, serial domestic abusers..... too many women allow these bastards to live with their babies.  If you can't even muster the strength that a mother bird shows defending her nest, when you invite slimebags into your life, watch them harm your children, and then keep the slimebag around AFTER he hurts your children, that, to me, constitutes burning up your mother card.

I know that it goes the other way too.  There was one heinous case where a dad's girlfriend killed the children after CPS left them in dad's custody in violation of a court order.  So I know that dads can invite evil people into their kids' lives too.  (Ask me about some of my dad's previous girlfriends...ugh.  ;-p )  But we mothers are the ones who carry these babies under our hearts for nine months, we nourish them from our own bodies.  Our bond is just different, and mothers who violate it are the lowest of all creatures to me.  Women who stand by and let someone hurt their babies, are, to me, in many ways, worse than the perpetrators themselves.  The perp has no bond of trust or love or commitment to that baby.  Mothers do.  Our babies trust us to be willing to lay down our lives to protect them, and these bitches won't even suffer inconvenience for theirs.

Lest anyone think I would excuse abuse by biological fathers as opposed to shack up boyfriends, while I will not go into detail, our family had a brief struggle with behavior that crossed the line a few years ago.  Anyone who knows me knows how wrapped up in my husband I am... I love him passionately and my life with him is everything I ever hoped for myself and my children.  But I told him he needed to leave our home, go to his mother's, and figure out his shit or not come back.  I will not allow anyone to be abusive with my children, even if his name is Dad.  Thankfully, we solved our issues as a family, he has never repeated such behavior, and we were all able to move on.  Lest anyone think badly of Craig, let me assure you that behavior on my part was largely to blame for his anger and loss of control.  So it really was a family issue that we needed to solve together.  But regardless of my faults, nothing on Earth justifies anyone hurting my babies, and I was fully prepared to accept the demise of my married home if that was what it took.

The "babies" in this case may have been adults, but so what?  Lisa Mederos allowed JT Ready into her home knowing what he was, at the same time her girls were living there.  She allowed him to stay after he kicked her babies out.  She chose him over her children.

At the time she died, she had finally woken up and was trying to break up with him and get rid of him.  But what the hell took her so long?  Unfortunately, she paid the ultimate price, as women who entangle themselves with abusers often do, especially when they finally try to break away.  In that, I grant her a modicum of victimhood.  She figured it out too late, but she should have had a chance to try and start again.  Ready took that away from her, and he had no right to do so.  He stole the future of three generations of one family.  Would that he had only ended his own future, as that was going nowhere good anyway.

"She's got a grip!"

Wow, I went two months without posting.  I had a car accident less than a week after my last post, and let's just say it derailed a whole lot of things, this blog being one.  No serious injuries, and now I am trying to get back in the saddle.

"She's got a grip!"  Oh, how I wish that applied to me.  Sadly, no.  That statement is how I was ushered into parenting.  My oldest child turned 14 yesterday, and I thought about what that nurse said the day she was born, over and over, while celebrating her birthday yesterday.

"She's got a grip!"  It's turned out so prophetic.  She was born by cesarean after an induced labor, during which a moronic doctor broke my water at 4 cm and doomed her into an unfavorable position in which her 9 lb. 13 oz. body was not going to come through my pelvis.  (I had three VBACs later, with babies the same size and bigger, so clearly her size was not the issue.)  Anyway, while she was being suctioned, she got irritated and grabbed the cannula so forcefully that it took two nurses to pry her fingers off of it.

Seconds after her birth, my girl had an opinion and forcefully expressed it.  She knew what she wanted and fought until she got it.  Atta girl!  We should have known then.

All of my children have turned out the same way.  With five of them, clearly we deal with differing personalities, strengths, interests, aptitudes, and yes, failings and weaknesses.  But every single one of them has a clear view of their world, definite opinions and desires, and knows how to express themselves and achieve goals.

I suppose my husband and I could take credit for this, but really, that wouldn't be fair.  All we do is love them and let them tell us who they are.  When they do things the right way, we support and congratulate them.  When they don't, we guide, correct, and sometimes have to punish them.  But what is that except what all parents should do?

They have to choose each day to be people who will achieve or not.  Who will be kind or not.  Who will move forward on the path of life or stagnate.  And most of the time, they choose correctly.

I don't know how the hell I am qualified to have custody of any of these insanely awesome young people.  I hope I make good return to God for the blessings and privileges He has afforded me in sending them to me. 

I feel like I should say more, but my brain is starting to shut down and it's time to nap before I pick up the kids from school and go to work tonight.  Nighty night all!

What it takes to be a good mother

Note to readers: This is another one of my older writings. Still relevant, though!

Here's what I think it takes to be a good mother. These opinions get me in trouble all the time. :D

#1 Get educated. That doesn't necessarily mean getting a degree in anything. Learn how the world REALLY works. Learn to use your brain instead of your emotions to make decisions. Learn to be self-sufficient, so that you will not be so afraid of being alone that you will make bad decisions.

#2 Be picky about who you date. Do not accept lies, immaturity, selfishness, possessiveness, or abusive behavior. Have a one-strike rule. Remember, you are searching for the father of your children. Do not be weak. As soon as an undesirable behavior is shown, show him the door.

#3 DO NOT GET PREGNANT OUT OF WEDLOCK! Children have a right to a stable home and family, and that almost never happens in unmarried pregnancy situations. Even if the parents do get married, it tends not to last or be healthy, because, of course, they got married for the wrong reasons. The easiest way to accomplish this is to abstain from unmarried sex. If you will not do that, it's not that hard to prevent pregnancy. You just have to be responsible and think about it EVERY time.

#4 Respect the concept of obligation. When you have children, you become obligated to another human being. Your needs are 100% secondary once a child is born to you, and your wants rank even lower.

#5 Be there to mother your own child. I do not understand women who have babies just to turn them over to strangers to be cared for. Do you know that studies show that babies left in daycare show behaviors of grief and loneliness, no matter how good the daycare is? The current generation has been taught that dependence, especially upon a man, is the greatest of all evils. But a strong woman, who is really sure of herself and her goals, is not afraid of what it takes to achieve them. I am financially dependent on my husband. I am not afraid of that, because it allows me to be the best mother I can be. I am strong and sure of myself, so dependence poses no threat to me. I was also careful about who I married. (see #2) I know I will not end up abandoned. Dependence is not dangerous with the right kind of man. One who is not afraid of the responsibility of being a provider. (Note: I recently heard Dr. Laura Schlessinger say, "I wish more young women were afraid of neglecting their babies than of upsetting their men!" to a woman whose husband insisted she had to put their 3-month-old in daycare so she could work.)

#6 Breastfeed. I know, I know. You have a hundred excuses. Guess what? Most of them are crap! Few women have true medical difficulties nursing. Breastmilk is the only food designed specifically for your baby. I, for one, believe that parents are actually obligated to give their children the best they can. And when parents CHOOSE to give an inferior, artificial product to their babies instead of the wonderful, perfect food that nature provides, it pisses me off. I've heard the convenience excuse. What is more convenient about having to mix, warm, and wash bottles? About having to lug all that stuff with you? I've heard the hangups excuse. Some women just aren't comfortable enough with their bodies.....well, they were comfortable enough to have sex! I've heard the back to work excuse. Well, I believe mothers should ideally have only one job, at least in the early years...mothering. (Or, if they must work to earn, they should fit it around their mothering obligations. I do it, so can you.)

#7 Be responsive. You will not be an effective parent if you do not know your child. Getting to know your child begins in infancy. Your baby tells you what he needs, and you give it to him. Sick, manipulative baby-training systems that tell you to let the baby cry and schedule feedings will only distance you from your child. That hijacks the process of getting to know your child. If you don't know your child, how will you parent appropriately? Never mind that crying it out and forcing a tiny, hungry baby to wait for food are cruel. When a baby cries too long, the stress hormone cortisol rises in his system. His misery compounds upon itself the longer he screams, and then he has a hard time calming down because of the cortisol flowing in his system. People ask why our kids seem to have so many anti-social behaviors. Could it be because so many of them were parented anti-socially?