New Jersey Moms Blog

Unplanning Parenthood and Minding Your Mommy Brain

Photo source:  horrormovies.org

Many years ago -- before, the hormonal super wave hit and my world turned PG-13 -- I used to be quite the planner and followed a very strict regime of making lists for, well, everything.  Especially, if in a course of one event, I had more than one thing to do, I made a list:

1. Shop for groceries
2. Shop for paper products
3. Make place tags
4. Make party favors
5. Clean house and decorate
6. Go to the bathroom
7. Flush toilet

Even made my kids' birthday cakes (thank you, Family Fun Magazine) and then, I dunno, around the time my youngest (she's 7) entered kindergarten, 3 years ago, I think, something major happened to the positive side of my mommy brain.

Call it a malfunction, dysfunction, whatever, I've become forgetful and perhaps even a little absent-minded (as most parents, I hope) but, lately, I find myself feeling frustrated...no, wait...annoyed, more often than not, especially when reading research on how having babies can sharpen women's minds.

Really?

Apparently, It Also Takes A Community to Raise a Sex Offender

I've never admitted this to anyone (besides my husband) but, I was raised in a family with a long history of sexual abuse.  My parents were well aware of it and tried their best to shield us from the abuse. Sadly, only now, as a parent, do I understand now how difficult it must have been, when "the abuser" happens to be a member of your immediate family and you happen to be living in their house.

Still.

I vowed, long ago, that I would never "knowingly" expose my children to that sort of toxic environment and that I was going to do everything in my power to break the chain of abuse.

My family eventually moved out of my grandmother's house right before my twin brother's and my 13th birthday and, a few years later, my step-grandfather was FINALLY arrested and we cut all ties with the abuse, right then and there.

Long story short, the charges were dropped -- it's not easy to face ones demons, after all -- but, it was the last time I saw my step-grandfather.  I did not invite him to my wedding and he never met any of my 4 children.  In keeping "the abuser" out of their lives (and mine) I no longer felt like a victim.  In fact, I feel it safe to say that, since becoming a mother, I have gained back all the confidence that was stolen from me, long ago, sort of.

My children are better for it.

No, I can't protect them from everything, but Megan's Law dictates that it is a parent's responsibility -- moral obligation, I say -- to do everything we can to insure that our children are raised in the safest environment, possible.

Frankly, in my opinion, anyone who says differently is not, or should not be raising a child.

Apparently, our local laws are too tough on sex offenders:

"In 2005, Galloway Twp. passed an ordinance that placed restrictions on where convicted sex offenders could live -- today the State Supreme Court ruled against that ordinance."

Proud Parent... Period!

When my husband, Garth (not his real name) and I first became parents, it was a moment of unequaled happiness -- not to mention, bravery and endurance on my part -- and we both swore that nothing could ever rival the ferocity of sheer joy and absolute terror we felt when Holly was born.

Then, we added a few more kids to the seating arrangements and -- especially, once they ALL were in school -- our life quickly became a cycle of acknowledging the fact that our most defining moments, as parents, would often times arrive disguised as incredibly tedious events and how we choose to acknowledge that fact, could potentially scar our children, for life.

Just one look at our refrigerator would be enough to tell a person...yep, they've got kids...and I don't mean by the sheer size of its freezer, or the dozens of fingerprints that seem to be embedded on the front for life, either.

When Did 90 Become the New 70?

My friend (and fellow New Jersey Moms Blogger) Christine has a son who seems to be having trouble in school and it's pretty much the same stuff my son (he's 10) has been struggling with since the beginning or 4th grade -- a time my two oldest remember as, "The year when math got real hard."

Like Christine, I also get that our children need a good education in order to succeed and -- especially, with today's economy not looking very good for the next couple of years -- I realize that competition is fierce. 

I've got 4 kids fighting for my attention and over pretty much everything else, here at home, too.  So, I feel it safe to say that our school system is not helping and when the hell did getting a 90 on a test become the new 70?

My Son Is Failing Everyday Mathematics and I'm Not Even Taking It, Anymore!

Some people just have a really good head for math, you know - I'm NOT one of them -  but, they're teaching my kids to do basic math, in a different way, without using the good old-fashioned multiplication tables and flashcards I grew up with and I can't help but wonder...am I the only one who thinks it's dumb?

Next week, I have an appointment to meet with my son's teacher and I am working up the courage to actually admit that I simply cannot do the "new math!"

[shiver]

My 10-year-old son is in 4th grade and he's having a hard time understanding why mommy can't help him with his math homework.   Me, too.  I want him to "work it out on a sheet of paper."   He insists on trying to do it ALL in his head!

"Because, that's how the teacher says we SHOULD be doing it!"

Then, last week, I did the unthinkable.

The Darkside of "Planned" Parenthood

My husband, Garth (not his real name) is no longer working for The Bank That Shall Not Be Named [boo-hissss-boo] and has officially moved into his new office which, hopefully, will be somewhere closer to the Partially Luminescent Side of the financial industry.

[shiver]

Either way, it is a BIG move for him and not so much for the money (though, it is better) but, resigning his position, after 10 years of building a pretty solid customer base, caused quite an inner battle and totally goes against my husband's New England upbringing.

I mostly blame myself and I'm pretty sure that my in-laws probably would, too.

My father-in-law worked for the same company for their entire marriage, while my mother-in-law stayed home and raised their 5 kids, ran the girl scouts and was my husband's den mother, all at the same time.  Very little was left to chance -- heck, they even had a standard order of eggs, butter and milk delivered directly to the house -- yep, my in-laws had a rock-solid plan and pretty much stuck to it, their entire lives.

It's the sort of life I always wanted (especially, as a kid) but, being raised by immigrant parents who were just as happy living day to day, I had a hard time envisioning the future beyond knowing that I would, one day, have children.

Many, many children.

Raising Teenagers With My Eyes Wide Shut!

My middle girl child (11 at the time) needed a photograph of herself for a school project and I was prepared (for once) to offer up some pretty good examples of my futzing around (yes, it's a word!) and organizing some of our family pictures.

So, after only a few minutes of zooming, cropping and clipping, we finally agreed that the end result (see picture above) matched Thing Two's personality, perfectly!

Fun...a bit abstract...perhaps a little cool, even.

Then, she turned 13 (just a few days ago, in fact) her hormones kicked in and all hell broke lose on my face.

[flashback 15 years ago]

From A Mom Who Still Believes

[Disclaimer:  Adapted from an online holiday greeting I received on Christmas 2006 and it STILL fits!]

Dear Santa,

I've tried to be a good mom, all year.  I have met with sixteen teachers, 4 guidance counselors (one of whom I have on speed dial) arranged for dozens of play dates and even hosted a sleepover, or two, sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money and plant a shade tree on the school playground, along with keeping up the little things...too many to mention.

You're welcome.

I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmases, since I had to write this letter with my youngest daughter's red crayon, on the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when I'll find anymore free time in the next, I dunno, 18 years.

Here are my Christmas wishes:

• I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache (in any color, except purple...which I already have) and arms that don't hurt or flap in the breeze, but are strong enough to haul a jumbo pack of bathroom tissue (a.k.a. toilet paper) while pulling a screaming child out of the candy aisle in the grocery store.

• I'd also like a waist, since I seem to have lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of my last pregnancy, seven years ago.

How do you spell Diversity?

My father and mother immigrated from Hungary in 1956 - at a time when bigotry and racism pretty much ruled the earth - and my parents were very lucky to have American sponsors (mostly families with Hungarian ties) who were willing to give them free room and board, until they were able to get out on their own.

My 19-year-old father shared a room with 2 of his buddies.  My 14-year-old mother took care of her 4-year-old sister while moving in with a farming family, until my grandmother was released from a local hospital for a suspicious spot on her lung.

Unfortunately, the goodwill stopped there.

My mother was enrolled into high school and joined the rest of her "English-speaking" 9th grade class, without any consideration or special privileges, and was instructed to simply "catch up."

My father learned English from watching television shows like Bonanza and Gunsmoke - cowboys were big in Hungary, too - and still speaks with a very heavy accent, which my kids happen to think is "totally cool!"

Me, not so much.

Sometimes, Moms Just Wanna Have Fuh-un!

As you can tell -- judging by the "ho-hum" look on their faces -- I'm beginning to wonder, are we really having fun?  Or, are my kids just humoring their momma?

"One...picture...isn't...going...to...kill...you...now, GET OVER HERE...and...you...best...be...smiling!"

I swear -- I must have been a ventriloquist, in a past life -- talking through my teeth and insisting that, one day, my children will appreciate this memory!

My 14-year-old, however, was a hard sell.

"Do I HAVE to sit?"

Lord knows, I'd never make Thing One do anything...she didn't have to.

"Nope, you can stand."

You see, Halloween and Thanksgiving has always been our favorite time of year.

"This one's for the memory books."

Kids grow up so fast...don't they?

"Now...smile...DANG IT!"