Saturday, January 07, 2012


I was recently asked a question by BlogHer:
"How do I plan to create Happiness for myself in 2012?" Tough question if you ask me..*

(oh before you get started in reading my answer, make sure to put your own answers in the comments field, and follow the links so that you may have  a chance to win a Kindle Fire in the sweepstakes. Click HERE to enter the contest and CLICK HERE To read more on happiness.)

Here's what I came up with:

Once Upon a time in a cedar scented world, hope existed. It's development over time, gradual, piece by piece, served generally in the form of gifts.
It stood for promises.
Commitments and seeing the future slowly reveal itself to you, with every life progress placed within.
It represented Unknown worlds and collections.
Future Happiness.
Fairy Tales for some.

It meant milestones on a canvas without yet a single hue of color.
The artist was there, the hope was ready, and slowly it was built, in the same fashion that a house is built, upon a foundation that one man couldn't build himself.

Once Upon a time people were given Hope Chests.
Most of the time these gifts were intended for young ladies, and served as a graduation gift as they ventured onto the world of college.

It's purpose was to build the woman's future of marriage and children and proper household duties.
Gifts were given that were meant for her future, and she'd place them happily in her hope chest.

When she would open the cushioned cover of her tomorrows, her ears would awaken to the specific creak that these chests would make whenever the cover was raised, revealing her slowly growing hopes and dreams.

 Hope chests may have held a small sewing basket, quill and buttons, quilts, linens, perhaps a small pie platter and serving set, heirlooms, and always whispered words of wisdom.

She would raise the chest whenever she was gifted with something, her eyes glancing at the interior wood of her Hope Chest. The inside of the chest, more then likely not finished, and complimenting that would be the scents that were also stored in this porous chest of hopeful happiness. The smell of the past from  the lotion covered hands of your Great Grandma that were embedded into the fibers of the quilt that she hand made for you. These scents, mixed with what you and I may recognize today as carpeting in a hamster's cage, helped add to your dreams of happily ever after.

When she would go to her hope chest to add to her hopeful heritage, her eyes would glance beyond the present items, and she would see her future, her dreams. Knowing someday her stored contents would be the very things that would ensure happiness in her family's world.

Happiness was easily built back then. Or at least from my perspective it appeared as though it didn't take much to build hope.

So when and why did that stop? Whatever happened to all those wonderful Hope Chests?

I imagine that's part of the reason why happiness is hard to find.  Instead of worrying about why it went away, or who was the one at fault for taking it away, or even the commonly sought after question: "When will I be happy again," he best way to learn happiness starts with one three letter word:


How can I make happiness when life is minute by minute?
For one I need to stop worrying about the minutes.
SOLUTION: focus on measuring the moments

How will I find happiness and how will I pursue it for 2012?

I need to enhance my willingness to not try to fix the broken and injured.
SOLUTION: enhance my awareness on empathy and focus on the now and the tomorrow.

For example, my brother has a "tail" that will be attached to himself for the rest of his life. It's called a TBI. I have spent countless hours researching ways for him to "make himself okay" with his "tail," since coming out of his medically induced coma almost three years ago this May. I have researched ways to fix him, never realizing that instead I should be focused on being a caregiver in the form of listening.

I've spent all this time trying to give him profound answers to his aliments. Telling him to have peace with the accident and move forward. I have tried to give him logical explanations of why the accident happened, or who was the one to blame. Giving him answers to questions like "why don't my friends call me back?" Or "why doesn't anyone reply to my wall posts? I've even said he should be "grateful" that he was given a second chance, that he should try to "understand" that when his friends don't call him it isn't something he should take personal, because they have lives that they also have to life. I have spent countless moments giving him reasons why things happen..and then, after awhile, I have spent moments avoiding the phone calls with him, knowing that you must have at least 60plus minutes of listening to him talk and typically it's a one way phone conversation.

Real nice, huh?

The smell of the hope chest never changed when the young girl would open it to place moments of her hopeful tomorrows in the chest. The size and type of wood never changed--it was always the same-a place for her to store her "moments." My brother's past will never change, and his present situation, the scars that are part of his life and the isolating life he lives due to the accident is something I cannot change or even try to reason with him on ways to change. I have spent so much time trying to repair the chest, instead of gifting it with reasons to feel useful.

I have lost sight of that, and something tells me that if I stop worrying about how to make myself happy, and my brother, and rest of my family...

...if I stopped measuring progress in minutes, and started storing happiness, happiness will reveal itself to me. Maybe not right away, but if I approach 2012 as if these next 360something days are one big HOPE CHEST, happiness will always be there.

My brother is a part of my Hope Chest. He is one of many gifts that make up my dreams.

My husband and children -more gifts in my hope chest.
My other siblings, my friends, even my words here, are all meant as storage of hope and if I stopped looking for ways to create happiness, and instead started focusing on storing all the moments that are given to me, eventually the happiness is revealed to me. Life will be one big wonderful smelling mothball repellent of delicious hand carved wood.

Each gift given to me placed gingerly in the chest...

....I should focus less on changing the way the chest looks and instead appreciate the items I'm placing inside of it. The beauty is in the make up of the chest. The unfinished wood, the creaks and squeaks of the cover and the smells are all part of the package.

There's a reason I was given this "Hope Chest" and what a waste to not use it. It cannot possibly be filled with gifts all at once. There will be moments that will require me to go into the contents and not remove them, but just rearrange them to make room for the other gifts that are stored there. It may take awhile for the purpose of the chest to be utilized, but when the time comes, the chest will know when it needs to use the gifts stored from within.  For as long as I have hope in my life,  happiness is just a couple of vowels away.

So going into 2012, I vow to look at this year as if it is in the form of a Hope Chest, being ever so grateful for the invaluable gifts that have been given to me by so many people, and by my own dreams and hopes.

The gift that starts my home with happiness, starts with my Hope Chest.

Here's where YOU Come in!
Go to the MAIN "LIFE WELL LIVED" blog post, and list your dreams and hopes on how YOU plan on pursuing your own Happiness.
(key word; HOW!)

Enter yourself in the sweepstakes to win a KINDLE FIRE. There's nothing wrong with adding the occasional material gift to your Hope Chest, after all.

Monday, December 26, 2011


Merry Christmas
Happy Chanukah
Happy New Year
Happy Kwanzaa
Any reason to celebrate today and going forward, give it a shout. Sometimes it just feels good saying something that forces your mouth and lips to curl up and smile.

Sorry for the long time away.
but am back and here to stay..
with much more to say.

Especially on boys toys joys drama and you name it,
I've reviewed it.

Saturday, October 22, 2011


It's a new day. When she approaches the cold bathroom floor and faces the mirror she feels good.
She advances upon the mirror ready to face her image, all crows feet puffs and bloated age spots. But she feels good. It's a new day and she's doing something new. She's improving her implementation quotient (FABULOUS BOOK btw!!), finally. It takes her awhile in certain areas of her life to improve this particular IQ part of her life. You see she has this type of personality that can compliment one another but at times hinder her own potential. The part that tends to hold back her IQ is the "I'll just let it go," "it's not worth it," "I'm not going to be drama," "yes it sucks bone ball bags that I've been excluded yet again, but oh well, I have so many other wonderful opportunities to focus on.."

Eventually the nice part of her personality so willing to get a few scratches, after all, they compliment her crows feet and bloat, will tire of this. Eventually the IQ wins out and slowly her personality works together to improve her confidence and ability to speak up..She doesn't want to stand out. She wants to help. She doesn't want the applause. She wants to help to earn others applause.

As we know, life doesn't always work out that way.
But on this day, it will.

Her image set to paint, her hands without the caffeine shake early in the morning, she begins to apply her strong face. Not worried how it will turn out, whether the recent return to her natural roots will prove challenging, whether there will be a light beige line along her jawbone. She is excited and prepared.
She is almost done with this part of the ritual. The application of her face. As she sweeps bristles of promise across her cheeks, laughing to herself that soon enough her real colors will glow out of nerves, giving her the perfect miss piggy cheek glow, but it's okay.

She's doing something new about something old that has been going on long enough. The reason this time? Not for her benefit, but because of how strongly she believes this will benefit a great group of people.
As her hands don't fail her, and her grasp is gingerly wrapped around the paint that provides an enhanced eye curl, she remains prepared.

The moment presents itself. She is prepared. She provides her purpose and the plan, and of course as she is always better on paper then she is verbally, she does have moments of scatterbrain blush and before long the scarlet vine creeps up her neck. But that doesn't bother her. She knows it's part of her. Even when she glimpses the person across the table taking quick glances at the quick growing blotchy vine of neck flush, she is okay with that. For this is her. This is her with the scratches, and the IQ.

The moment is approved. She is so excited for what this will do to help individuals learn visually the meaning of certain events that occur throughout the year.

Then Hilly shows up.
The Hilly that has been 90% of the reason she's worn the scratches the past year. Hilly tries to bully the plan. She tries to belittle. She uses power names.

The project still is in place.

Hilly loves the letter "I." She loves applause and all that glitters, but for some reason she does not like me.
She is unwise as we are part of one group, and if she were to use her own gifts, as she does have them. For example her ability to implement something is outstanding. Very admiring.
Yet Hilly refuses to realize the influence and vision that the splotchy scratched vine neck could bring.

She represents a number of other words that also lines up with the name "serial bully." But, again, Red Vine Neck looks at the benefits this strong woman demonstrates...everyone has good.

But Hilly. No oh no will she allow Red Vine Neck to use her hands. She refuses to see the benefit Red Vine Neck could be to her, and instead demonstrates behavior only visible to Red Vine Neck. She plays the role well. She picks the right friends.

Sadly, even though the project is in motion, Hilly is still causing drama. She's trying to make it difficult for Red Vine Neck to succeed. Judging from the history between the two, typically Hilly wins because Red Vine Neck refuses to cause any problems.

Tragic that something so magical, that could help bring such good to so many people, is still being impacted, by her.

Even worse, she has this ability to make it seem as though Red Vine Neck, is the one at fault,

Me and also that favorite letter of hers: "I."

 I'm causing the issue. I need to come to her. I need to send her all the information and she will look it over. There is no degree of power in relation to this one project. Yet the irony of bullying being on the front line of the schools this year, despite the fact that bullying is older then the dirt that makes up the farmers field behind our home, is that there are so many Mom's being bullied by so many Hilly's.

This Hilly has power. So far she has yet to taste the magic of a homemade baked pie.

Will it ever end?
Maybe bullying between students and children will. But something tells me that the "Hilly's" of the world, of the school, will never stop. The majority of them, winning on their game plan of exclusion.

I just don't understand why.

I never guessed that even when you give a good project a good cause, a bully in their late 30's will try to make your life miserable. Instead of realizing that I am happy to give her all the light, I don't want the light, she can say it was her idea for all that matters, I just want to participate in the project itself.

And so the wait for the pie man continues...
I would like to hope that there are some women out there without a "Hilly" in their life."

Thursday, October 06, 2011

My Son's Are In Love With Their School Nurse!

"Gargle with salt water...."
"Gargle with salt water..."
"Gargle with salt water...."

It seems to be a common post bus drop off statement in our house these days.
Not just with one or two of my sons, but all three. I think the third is just influenced by two and one.

You see, they LOVE the school nurse.
Or, rather, going to SEE the school nurse.

I don't know where they got that from. Sure, in High School I would fake the occasional cramps are ruling my ability to participate in P.E., but that was High School. Even then I was worried about being seen as a fake especially when I was being honest. 

But when you hear from all of your sons, "I went to the nurses office today..."
"I fell at recess and went to the nurses office today.."
"I felt sore and went to the nurses office today..."
you start to second guess your parenting skills.

"What have I done to my young boys to make them confident enough to mention pain to the teacher on duty?"

"Have I babied them?"
"Am I not babying them, enough?"

It was two weeks into school, and I kid you not, out of two weeks, which equates to 10 days, Sullivan had happily stopped by the nurses office 4 out of the 10.

Every time I'm at school, there's always someone coming and going from the nurses office.
Usually with the suggestion to..."gargle with salt water.."

Is it our teachers that are not able to deal with whatever tiny aliment they're complaining about?
Is it out of fear of lawsuits?
Is it just that my sons enjoy the break from their classroom?

Who needs a break when you're in kindergarten? 1st grade? 4th Grade?
There's no excuse, unless they're all just smitten for her and are in competition for her love.

Makes me wonder how I can change this at home.

My son had a sore throat, no fever, all was good, but I knew it was allergy like. So, he went to school, because I'm that kind of Mom. I did send him with cough drops to help him out if he should feel the tickle getting a bit too uncomfortable.

Then I get a call from the school,...."Hi Mrs. One Crusty Mom-E," just to make you aware, but children are not allowed to bring medication to school."

"Medication??" I quickly run through the morning events? What did I do? Stick Aspirin in place of the snack in their lunch? I'm seeing my morning play by play still thinking, medicine, when the nurse says, "cough drops."

Apparently they're not allowed to bring them to school.

Therefore Sullivan had them confiscated (exaggerated word) until the end of the day. He was informed that he could pick them up at the office before heading out to the bus at the end of the day. In place of the drugs that I sent my son to school with, the school nurse provided him with a mint. Told him to suck on that for awhile and it should help with his sore throat. Then, told him guessed it....."gargle with salt water."

He wanted to bring bandaids to school the other day, should the one he was already wearing, come off.

I told him to just "gargle with salt water instead" and go see the nurse for a band aid.
There's so many new rules with school today, I don't know how the PTA President keeps it all straight, let alone the School Nurse.

At least the school is comfortable sending the kids whenever they complain about a body part. The funny part is, they're always told to "gargle with salt water," whenever they go.

Wonder if that's code for: "Solve it yourself little one."

Friday, September 30, 2011


I really think I need an alarm clock sans snooze button to help out this Crusty Mom-E.

Right at this moment I have half chewed nails, roots that are screaming for color, dog hair on my socks and sweet pepper jalapeno dip on my shirt. Hair is a hasenbeenwashedsincewed pony tail and I am exhausted.

I knew I hadn't been over here for awhile, but this long? Yikes! Is there a blog app for that somewhere? A "you need to post something" app?..............

It used to seem as though life were busy with little drooling ones. No time. Same need for color, new socks, and washed hair. But the more they progress, the more again, I am witness to how much time it takes out of my own life. Not that I'm complaining. I enjoy the amount of time parenting takes-even when I'm screaming at the top of my lungs because my sons have looked at me cross eyed with eye rolls over long division lessons-. But it takes time. I don't know the amount of time Jr high kids take, but I do know that three boys in grades 4th, 1st and Kindie, take a lot of time.

Are any of you familiar with what an IEP is? Those of you who aren't, that's wonderful! Your child is normal! (Based on state standards that is. Hee-hee.) Our youngest is on an IEP and we've recently been informed that he is falling behind in the normal classroom like setting. That isn't a surprise to us. We knew he wasn't ready for kindergarten. "Then why did you send him," you ask? Well, for those of you familiar with an IEP will understand. But to sum up, if your child, in this particular state that we live in, is on an IEP and turns 5 before the cut off date, in order to continue to receive the state funded services, due to the child's disability, will have to either a) go to kindergarten or b) parents revoke the services that the child needs.

We're lucky that Ben was/is able to be in a Gen Ed classroom. Up until recently. We're so grateful he has a very caring teacher to notice how much he is falling behind because he does need to leave his Gen Ed classroom to receive the services that he needs. Only problem is, when he returns to the classroom, he's behind on what they're learning and unable to keep up. The fast pace roll of Gen Ed is too much for him right now--not just my words, but his teacher's as well- He needs more one on one guidance, and in part because of his young age and the other because of his disability or learning disorder, has put him at risk for falling even further behind. The scary part is that Fall is more review time in school, they teach and advance the children but in a pace not nearly as fast as the program after December. So we have some decisions to make, but one that we all know will be to start, is to have our little dude spend most of his time in the smaller classroom setting instead of vice verse like now. He'll still join his class for gym two days a week, but aside from circle time in the morning, he'll spend the majority of his time in a smaller "self contained" classroom.

This recent discovery has my mind exhausted. Has my fingers worn out from the endless hours of research spent online and by means of pen in hand to take notes. Ben and I, since school has started, spend every afternoon up until recently, "learning."  I've probably exhausted him, but I try to make it fun. Instead of sitting and tracing letters, and making sounds, we listen to music that relates to it, and act it out. We play alphabet baseball and he can advance bases when he is able to speak the letter and say the sound. We make it fun for him, but no matter, he is still falling behind.

That has me beached.

Bullying, as you already know, has me beached.
Our middle balance, actually right now is the only normal right now. Meaning our son. But it's still exhausting because of the constant reminder in my head to be sure to keep things "fair" when parenting.

And people wonder why I don't have time to get out.

I could, probably, if I put my mind to it. But when there is downtime, I long to just spend it with my family. To do normal family things around the house like yelling and breaking up fights, and playing fun games and doing fun family activities like who can burp the longest but the quietest.

I could get out more. But I prefer to get out with my family and do normal things. When I'm not working, which has been more often lately-daily for a few hours and then usually on Saturdays-I just want to be at home.

I don't know what it's like to have the issues that parents of HS and JR high and College age kids have. But what I do know is that when they were babies, when my little ones were babies, I spent a lot of time running around. I was always busy by choice. I made cookies and crummy crafts. I got out socially, with them. I disrupted their sleep and naps to get out.

I think all of that running around "back then," has turned me into a homebody now. It feels good, up until the guilt sets in as to why I never initiate any sort of hang out with family and friends. But, if I were to look down the road at my face in JR or HS mode. The face of a parent with a child at that stage of their life, I know that I won't regret saying "yes" to family, even when it's BMS family, because gradually my own sons will prefer not to have family time with BigDog and I.

When that time comes, not only will I not have any regrets for the need to spend time with my family now, but I'll have more me time-without guilt.--

What about you? Do you have a better way of balancing? We all parent and run our lives differently. I'm blessed to have an adaptable personality and am always looking for potential new ways to run alongside it as a wife and mom with the me shadow as well.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Bullying Moms- Bystanding Broads-Victimized like Cancer

Bullying. It brings our minds to so many very different things. For me, I think of Columbine.

Bullying in elementary schools?
Bullying in elementary schools does exist.

I used to think it was only possible in private schools.
But that was during my youth. During my grades K thru 8th stint in a private school.
I used to think it wouldn't be bad once switching to a public HighSchool.
But then I became a Freshman at a Public High School.

I've chatted up my blog posts previously, on bullying.
On bullying Moms.
On catty kitties.
On bullies and children.

I don't know what your situation is, if you have children in public or private schools, if you are a student yourself, or a happy AARP member hanging out with your bridge or Mah Jong friends every other Thursday..but what I do know, and so wish to be told I'm wrong, is that no matter how old we get, women will either bully, be bullied or watch it from the sidelines, for as long as we all shall live.

Someone tell me I'm wrong!

You may think that this has to do with me and my past. Maybe that I was bullied my entire life?  Thankfully my bully experience was chronic in elementary school, like having a consistent flare up of herpes, but has been only episodic later on. I've learned how to manage it. I've learned how to treat it, like you would IBS. You know the signs and how to spot  But I haven't been bullied my entire life. I've witnessed it as well, and as far as the way women bully other women, I'm sure at some point I may have intentionally and repeatedly excluded another fellow woman, for that I am sorry, because to have done so, meant that I myself took the Bully card. 

I'm clearly pointing out the observations I've made throughout my young life, as a victim, and as a bystander as well. Here's the reason that concerns me about bullying:  people don't realize that there is a very silent form of bullying, and I explain it in comparison to the silent killer of cancer in women; ovarian cancer. It's a hard thing to see, to diagnose, until you actually get in there surgically, and take a look around. It's easy to say, "oh you're just bloated because of hormones.." Or in the form of bullying, "you're just extra sensitive and upset because of hormones.." Do you see the relation? In young girls, my fear is that by the time you discover this form of bullying, it will require extensive treatments. Surgical exploration and biopsies to see what sort of damage the bullying cells have caused within the girl.

The longer it takes to diagnosis it, the longer it'll take to consider yourself part of the remission category.

Many are never cured by bullying. Yes, that's right! They've had to adapt themselves to the cancerous cell, making it part of their life, despite the fact that the tumor is probably long gone. There are no signs of cancerous cells, and no longer any symptoms, but it never leaves you, it's just placed in the remission category. 

Don't get me wrong, there are some of us that have been victims of bullying, that are able to walk out of treatment and chemo and get in the curable line. But even in the Curable category, it still is discussed. You're still in line with other cured victims, and you all have horror stories...perhaps the ones that hurt the most are the stories of your friends that succumbed to the bully cancer. 

The horror stories for the cases where the "cancer" wasn't caught in time, wasn't treatable and definitely  not curable.  While those of us in the curable and remission categories know that the cancerous past of bullying will always remain a part of our life, there are so many girls that cannot get beyond treatment, that either turn into a bully themselves, or even worse, feel as though there is no treatment for this form of cancer. That they are meant only for the terminal category, no matter how much information is out there to help them. Those bully cells remain a part of their life, dividing itself further, until all this girl sees with herself, is low self worth with the Bully Cell standing front and center in the mirror of her own image. She sees herself as ugly, in shock over what the chemical has done to her, made her not only lose her hair, but worse. . We all know that bullying is for many, life threatening and terminal. Sadly for many girls, they see it as just that, "terminal."

Speaking in categories, this particular form of bullying is known as "exclusion." So very common in girls. Even more obvious in grown women--especially in Moms.

How do you know when you're part of a bully encounter?
If girls, women, moms, and our senior card sharks, intentionally and repeatedly behave in a manner by excluding someone on purpose, refusing to talk to them, spreading lies or rumors, the examples go on and on, that is how you know you're involved in or with a bully encounter. The key word is repeated behavior. 

When they do these things to make someone feel uncomfortable, hurt or afraid, they are a bully.
Again, I cannot stress enough, they are a repeat offender. They are the tumor cell repeatedly dividing within the confines of the victim's soul, heart and mind. This innocent victim didn't go looking for this under rocks, material labels and bra sizes, but when it did find her, she didn't feel as though any form of treatment would make it go away for good. Curable. She didn't even see herself in the remission category. 

 The only thing that would make it stop, would be for her to make her own heartbeat stop. Because her body must not be worthy of anything, since the bully cell found her. Her own spirit and passion intentionally interfered with, and she then makes it stop by stopping it herself. By ending her own life. Too many beautiful girls stop their heartbeats because they felt like even the most useful clinic, couldn't do anything to help her.

This has got to stop.

There are schools taking bullying by the cells of it's own division, trying to find ways to show awareness. To see only the words: "remissions and curable" under bullying, someday.  I hope that school districts are developing groups and task research forces, to brainstorm and implement ways to counter the bully encounter. To teach and educate students and families (and work environments) on how to manage a bully, how to survive as a victim and how to avoid being a bystander..

But until then, what can women do?
Simple. The Moms can stop bullying themselves. Its far more discreet and subtle, but oh boy is it ever there. Sneak yourself into a flies eye, and observe different groups within the elementary walls. Parental groups. Committees, PTAs, you name it...the bullying Moms are recruiting more cells at the very moment you are reading this sentence. Pretty freakin scary, huh?

As a Mom,  and an elementary Mom, mind you, I see it and hear it and have at times been bullied myself. Or at least they've tried. Frankly it makes me cringe and want to vomit. It makes me ever so grateful that I have sons. Don't get me wrong, boys bully too, but I tell you these Mombullies are just cruel..and yet they're usually the ones running the committee to stop the bullying. Their daughters hear them talking amongst their own recruits outside of school such as this one such example: "this particular mom, well she wanted to volunteer, except she was adamant on knowing who she was helping, she wouldn't give any of her items unless I told her who the family was that we were helping. Needless to say, she won't be on our list of Moms and if she ever does reach out to volunteer, we just will need to tell her that we are okay at this time, and will reach out to her at a later date." Exclusion.

But boys are bullying..just in more obvious ways.

My son has been placed in that role.
The V role. 
Sadly, he wasn't cast in a made for TV movie on aliens, but was definitely treated as such.


That's all it takes to ruin a child's day.

TURD. TURD. TURD. TURD. and one more for the road, TURD.

That's all it takes to damage the way they think of themselves. Five turd words can ruin a month of school.

In advance.

All because some other boy didn't want to have to get "stuck" building Lego's  with another kid, within the classroom.

This happened to my son. The bully wanted to build Legos with another group of boys, but they had reached their max of amount of kids per table. That group of boys said for this bully to go build with my son, but it pissed him off. So, he calls my son a turd.

In the classroom.

In the lunchroom.

At recess.

The entire day my son's a turd because this goofoff didn't get to pway wegos with his own friends. Shouldn't he be calling his friends a turd verses my son? Sure, you'd think, but with bullying, no matter the gender, the victims are attacked for no purpose. No reasons other then being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and for boys, I think that's how it usually happens, it's less bra straps and more pull on the jock straps knee jerk situations.


But did I anything about it?
Yes I did.
I listened to my son.
I didn't fix.
I waited until he indicated that he wanted me to fix.
When I say "fix" I mean by giving him or telling him "what he should do."
He didn't indicate that he wanted a fix, he just wanted an ear.
He advised me on how he handled the rest of the day--"I just stopped talking for the rest of the day and was just sort of quiet."

I didn't call the teacher or school, because the fact that my son came to me and informed me of it, was good for the time being. I was the machine in surgery, turned on prepared to view the insides, should it seem necessary. I was wheeled into the room, turned on, but wasn't asked to do anything except to be ready for if I was needed by the Surgeon of bullying extractions. I remained turned on as the eyes behind the Diagnostic Laparoscopy scope waiting to be part of the investigation of where the bully cell was located. 

 I'm on call and on alert, and the fact that my son told me, "he (bully boy) must have had a really bad morning, for him to call me those names for no reason," tells me that I'm not yet ready to be placed into the surgeons scrubbed and sterile blue surgical gloves.  It shows me that my son has a very good idea on how to navigate through this particular situation on his own. 

It might also help that he started Karate this Summer, mental strength young grasshopper..not fist strength.

Naturally if the turd word becomes repetitive, and my son stops talking to me or making me aware of any other symptoms, I'll become the surgeon myself, and will  inflate the abdominal bully cavity with gas, make a few more small incisions near the naval, and take that scope in as far as I go, using the camera to spot any signs and cells that require biopsy, resection and dissection.  

For now, I will remain comfortable just knowing I'm in the surgical room, ready if needed. But it scares me that in terms of elementary bullying, and bullying Moms, it's only going to get worse in middle school, for some kids. Because for the higher grades, bullying becomes far more complicated.

The minute your junior high students hit technology with their fingers,when it becomes part of their jeans pocket on the way to school, or on the bus, or while walking to school, another cell begins to divide: cyber bullying.

It complicates things further they you can ever imagine. Like a tumor wrapped up in many of your blood vessels, this form requires far more research, more attention, more detail and more experience. You now need to know not just how to be a surgeon, but be a lawyer as well. To know how to cut away at all the legal factors that won't get someone that tries to help, in massive trouble.

It requires more then just a camera and some gas, that's for sure. But awareness and research starts before the me phone and i void is given to your children. Or at least it should be. Starting bully awareness at the elementary school level, will help reduce tumors that encapsulate themselves causing repeated pain to the victim.

Until then, I would hope that any BULLY MOM's that might not be able to stand that one "other woman" because, she "appears" to have it all, may want to figure out a way to curb that jealousy. They may want to refrain from using the exclusion card, to stop the silly gossip and smack talk about the late hours "the perfect Mom works."

Maybe the Bully Mom and her recruits are envious of what appears to be the perfect work balance and at home balance that she displays. But the way they look at her, it's as if they're staring at a woman with chemo that lost their hair and is revealing it to them for the first time. It's as if they're looking at her as if they're looking at what happens to their boobs after breast feeding--in disgust and horror and misery.

These elementary Bully Moms out in the world presently are toxic to the other no drama Momma's.

Don't forget about the jealous working Moms that have a problem with the Moms that happen to be stay at homers. Put a breast pad in your mouth and knock it off!

Give that Mom a break, my breast sakes! Be happy you have a network of other working women that you see, unlike the stay at home Mom, who may have a very isolated life. Her "outing" consisting of life within the gymnasium. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich combos of  PTA meetings and cookies for caring, and market day smencil bulb wrapping paper fundraisers. Phew!

These women will exhaust themselves in bully jealousy.

It very well could be, that this stay at home Mom isn't thinking she's all hot and glittery because she can stay home with her kids, but rather that this was a decision her and her spouse made many years ago, before she became pregnant with their first son. Even though it meant her taking a siesta from her career, at least until the kids were raised. Because that was the sacrifice this family wanted to make, so that their kids could have a parent at home. Maybe even due to the fact that "dad" didn't have his Mom at home, when growing up, and that was something he always vowed he'd provide for his own children someday.

 Whether a Mom works at home or at work, is pretty, has the best shoes, has the nicest most educated children, shouldn't be met with jealousy. None of it is better and none of it is wrong. What's wrong is when the women make it wrong.

Judging and Jealousy and the recruited tag-alongs that bat their eyelashes at their boss star bully friend. The Queen bully Mom that scowls and snorts up more PTA playdough then you could find in a hobby store because she is one mole shy of being attractive. The bully Moms that live for hot lunch bull crap, just to get a bit of a marker high by bashing that stay at home Mom, working as I refer to as "the elementary Mom."

MomBullies are everywhere.

 You'll encounter them at school, at events, on projects, on playgrounds, with nannies without, and they  will make it very sneaky clear, that you are not their fan.

 For whatever reason. Whether because their bedside manner was ditched with their first bleed, or they overheard the husbands saying how "well rounded" that Mom appears, if they're Mom Bullies they'll happily take joy in excluding you. Of setting you up to fail. Please don't let this happen. Don't be like them. But don't let their own empty sex bucket lives hurt your beautiful gifts as a Mom.

I hope that for those that are stuck on the exclusion end, the ones being bullied, I hope that you'll find a way to help others that were put in similar situations as yourself. I hope that your bully experiences will help you help others. It might be very hard, very challenging for you to help out, because maybe, you yourself were never able to completely overcome the scars bullying caused you. But those with scars are the ones that can help others deal with the same pain. Your ability to help other Moms wont stop when the bullying stops, rather it will continue to be passed along thru any little eyes that are watching you. If you bully. So will those little eyes someday.  If you watch a play the bystander role to the bully, so will those eyes. You don't need to be a bystander.

Teach those little eyes that there is far more satisfaction in being an Upstander. Letting the MomBullies know, with tact and grace, "not here, not in my heart, and not in my world."  That excellent group of Upstanders you recruit by your own actions, will not only make the road easier, will not only help improve research and new ideas and clinical trials for discovering cures but it will help stop the same damage from happening within the lives of all those little eyes.

So if you see someone being bullied, don't just watch. Don't think to yourself how glad you are that it isn't you. Don't try to convince yourself that you're not a bully, because all you're doing is listening to the Bully Mom share the story with you about some "well to do Mom." You're not hurting anyone. Newsflash, you are. Don't be a recruit to her, be a recruit to stand against the thought of bullying. Stop engaging in bullying the Elementary moms.

Stop being a bystander.
Be an Upstander.
Be an Agent of Change and be willing to spare the change.
Actually, recruit the change and be the change.

For in order for schools to improve their bullying issues, the parents have to improve theirs as well.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011


I've been "away" for this long. I have been working on a few projects.
For one, I'm trying to adjust to the new school schedule beginning Thursday.
Because my youngest is now part of the Public School System as a happy Kindergartner on an IEP.
He's ready.
I'm not.

Now, my first grader, he's not ready.
My fourth grader, well, he's so balanced that I worry that he's too ready.
He'll be fine.

All of them will.
I don't know if I'm ready.


They're letting go of my hands. Avoiding hugs like the plague. Wiping my goodnight kisses on their pillows.
Asking to wear Deoderent. Looking at Boobs.
Preparing for Advanced Gifted Classes. Asking for the "shampoo and steam/massage and relax" package at the SportsClips where they have their hair cut. Talking about marriage. Understanding the word: "mating." But only from the animal perspective. Using goofy words like "that's beast," for when something is cool.
Watching hot Disney Girls sing on tv. Lady Gaga lyrics known.

There's so many more.

Having Jack smell the different deoderants, showing him what happens when it gets on clothes ("GASP! I Can't have that paste on my football Jersey's Mom!!!")and guiding them towards "older guy" man shampoo and body wash. I am almost through the five stages of grief, when dealing with "Son's That Stop Hugging." Melting when they ask me NOT to wash their pillowcase (because my kisses are always on it). Discussing the likes and dislikes of hot mint scented towels wrapped around them and having one son suggest that they let you "pick a bright scent" because the mint was too spicy. Noticing that Jack and Ben loves Blonds and Sullivan loves Jet Black long haired exotic boobs with legs.