It has been a while since I have written for this blog. This is partly because my list of things that needs to be accomplished is longer than either the available time or motivation in my life at the moment. But it is mostly because I noticed that I was close to 1,000 page views on this blog and I was kind of waiting to hit that number before posting again so the post could be about reaching the big 1K mark.
Well, I am stalled at this moment at 998. So, I guess this one will be the one that will put me over the top. Insert early celebration dance right here because I know it will happen soon. That being said, I am choosing to not write about the 1K mark. I mentioned it. I am happy about it - thrilled actually, but what else should I say about that? You get it, now let’s move on.
I would rather spend a moment talking about my never-ending contradictions, my double standards, and my inability at times to remain consistent. Let me preface this by noting for you that I am not upset about any of this. Some of this is just who I am and who I will likely always be and some is what I am working on somewhat consistently to make better.
First topic: Sarcasm. Oh, sarcasm, my constant companion, you witty little devil you. There are people out there who simply do not get me. That’s cool. Because there are some people, if they did get me the way I usually intend, they would not like me. Not one bit. I have a very weak filter on my sarcasm. I have gotten better as I have aged; trust me, the former bartender me wouldn’t even recognize this version’s ability to tone it down. But I still have an inability to shut those comments down sometimes before they come flying out of the face hole.
I am not bothered by this. Sarcasm, when used correctly, can be quite entertaining and I am not the least bit upset when I can be entertaining. Sarcasm, however, when used by a nine year old and it is directed at me (Mom), is not – I repeat, is not – entertaining. It is downright infuriating. Yep, I get it. Double standard right here – I can speak to my child with biting, though hilarious, sarcasm; but the moment he points that sarcastic mouth of his in my direction I start taking away privileges.
It is not that I don’t on some level truly appreciate his wit and his ability to wield the sarcasm in a way that will one day probably make me very proud. It is that he should not consider his mother to be his testing ground. At least not yet; he needs a few more years on this earth before he can even think it is okay to speak to me in that way. It is the timing that infuriates me the most I suppose. And I imagine that the hands of time will even this out long before he learns to shut his face hole when sarcasm is inappropriate; he is, after all, my son.
While there are probably a million examples of how I have double standards, the sarcasm is probably the best. Truth be told, it is usually the things that my children do that are most like the things I am the least proud of in myself that bring out the double standards. Sometimes it is like they are standing there, miniature Nikkis, throwing my imperfections in my face. They learned them from me, I know. But it is still my job to try and train it out of them long before my imperfections become their burden to bear for life. So, yes, there are things that I will say and do that I fully expect them to never say or do.
And all the while I am inconsistent. I knew that I would be the very first time I thought it was cute the way Alec told me “no”; I laughed at it, thereby encouraging it, and brought on the learned habit that telling mom no makes her smile and I should do it all the time. There are many examples of this as well. Any parent knows that the minute you laugh at something your child does, inappropriate or not, you have just given that behavior power and the validation to be repeated. It is hard to come back from that under the best circumstances. It is even harder when you simply cannot help but laugh all the time. Everything these boys do is funny to me at least once. The consistency issue comes in when I no longer think it is funny and the wrath of mom comes into play.
I do not know what logic I use to decide when it will be funny and when it won’t. I don’t know what criteria exist for what works one day but won’t the next. Maybe it is my mood. Maybe it is in direct proportion to how stinking cute the offending child looks while doing it. Maybe I am just a mess and there is truly no rhyme or reason at all. No matter where the inconsistencies come from, I am fully aware of the fact that it is unfair to expect these young boys to clairvoyantly anticipate whether I will react with laughter or with anger.
Like I said, I am working on it; somewhat consistently. In the meantime, though, at least my children are learning early that people can be difficult. The tools they will someday need to deal with the whims of their girlfriends, friends, bosses, wives, kids, or whomever they come into contact with, are being learned right now.
You are welcome, boys. Your Mom’s contradictions, double standards, and inconsistencies are not personality flaws at all; they are teaching tools to prepare you for your future relationships.
And next time I will teach you all how to spin a personality flaw into a desirable trait. Or did you already see what I did there? :-)
OK, here we go. Part Two. I am writing this in response to the TED Talk mentioned in my previous post (if you didn’t catch that one, scroll down and catch up; I will wait…).
Let’s talk about my reactions. My first thoughts were about how on earth you teach the sort of leadership that is required to stand up to your peers and call them out on their sexist and violent attitudes. I started by breaking it down in my mind. There must first be a foundation of true understanding and belief in right and wrong. There must exist in the individual a respect and a love for all people, regardless of skin color, income, gender, or any other factor. The individual must be secure and confident in their own belief systems and in their masculinity; they must be capable of using their voice even when they are not using it to say popular things. And they must have a faith in their statements that is unshakable by peer pressure.
So, on to my task: teaching all of this to my four boys. Right off the bat I feel a sense of being an underdog. I feel a little bit like I have shown up to a knife fight without a knife. This is due to the fact that, as a woman, I do not have a lot of credibility when it comes to teaching a boy how to be a strong and confident man. I have never been a man. I will never be a man. I am a woman and have a woman’s perspective on everything.
I have made choices that have led me to this underdog status. I divorced the boys’ father and then I did not remarry. I have not provided an in-house example of a good man. There is no male figure at the head of our dinner table. The choices that I have made regarding my relationship status have an impact on the raising of my children. I understand this. I understand that every choice I make will have some sort of impact on the boys. I understand that by modeling that it is not necessary to be married or in a romantic relationship to have a happy and fulfilled life, I am also leaving the boys without a convenient male role model. Obviously this is a trade-off that I am comfortable with and I am willing to put in some extra work to make up for it.
I believe that there is already an understanding of right and wrong in my boys. There is also a basic love for all, though I can already see where life experiences with a few individuals are coloring the boys’ attitudes towards entire groups of people. These are things that I can continue to reinforce and teach them without too much stress.
It is the self-confidence and the ability to use one’s voice that has me worried. One of the boys is full of self-confidence and will over-use his voice right up until he thinks he may upset someone or lose a friend.One of the boys cannot ever find a voice in an intense situation. One of the boys wrestles with the idea of being a “bad boy” because that designation seems to achieve greater popularity and is consequently more vocal in poor choices than in the ones he knows to be right. And one of them is so inside his own head that he may or may not even recognize a situation where his voice should be used.
Four boys, four very different challenges. While I would love to be able to list a plan of action right here in this blog, the fact is I don’t have one. I am painfully without a decisive plan of action here. But, what I do have is the knowledge and belief that this is important. I feel the responsibility to ensure that these lessons are taught to and learned by all four of my children. I have a strong sense of responsibility to helping them individually build their confidence and to finding the faith in self that will be required to make the choice to speak up when the time comes.
While I struggle with the mounting pressure of teaching my boys how to be men without the inherent credibility that comes with being a man, I will continue to do what I have always done: assess and adjust, while remembering that four different boys very well may require four different approaches. Not only has this one video reminded me of some important issues in our society that will directly impact my boys as they go through their life, it has reminded me that differentiation is not just for the classroom.
Differentiation is also needed in family management. We do not all learn the same way at school and we expect educators to take that into consideration when teaching our children. I have just been reminded that the same goes for the home. My four boys will have differing ways of assimilating and applying all the information and characteristics that will be required to become good men; it is my job to provide those lessons in whatever way is necessary for them to learn.
I may temporarily feel like an underdog and I may have failed to bring a knife to the fight, but that does not deter me in my quest to raise outstanding young men. Because at the very least, I have the knowledge of what is required, I have the determination to relentlessly provide all that I can to my boys, and I have unshakable faith that my Father in Heaven will help me to use my very Nikki way of parenting to provide for the boys’ every need.
I was first introduced to TED as a graduate student. While pursuing my degree, there were many assignments given that included the viewing and analysis of education talks on this amazing website (https://www.ted.com/). What I have discovered since then is that there is a lot more than just the field of education that is addressed in TED Talks.
One of these talks just hit home with me as the mother of four young boys. If you have 20 minutes, use them to watch this: http://www.upworthy.com/a-ted-talk-that-might-turn-every-man-who-watches-it-into-a-feminist-its-pretty-fantastic-7?c=ufb3. It is important, not only for some groups of people, but for all. If you don’t have 20 minutes, allow me to give a brief recap.
Jackson Katz. Ph.D., talks about the pervasiveness in our society of the idea that gender violence is a women’s issue and how that view is wrong. It is instead a men’s issue, as well as a women’s issue. Gender violence (i.e. physical abuse, rape, sexual assault, sexual abuse of children, emotional abuse, etc.) is an issue that we all should be concerned about. It is also something that can be radically changed in this country through a paradigm shift that moves our way of thinking from victim blaming and silence to leadership and the use of our voices within peer groups to remove the status of perpetrators. In a nutshell, the idea is that when more people (mostly men) speak out and shut down sexism and violent verbal statements within their peer groups, the sexist loses status, and therefore power, leading to an overall decrease in gender violence.
It is not possible for me to sufficiently recap these powerful 20 minutes in just a paragraph so I suggest that you spend the time to watch and form your own reactions and opinions. I did watch it, twice, as of the writing of this post, and I can tell you what my reactions are: First, I have a lot of work to do as a mother; second, I need to seriously consider where I can find the teachable moments with my children so that they will learn these lessons now; and third, I feel a tremendous amount of pressure as a single mom to find a way to instill what it actually means to be a “man” in the hearts and minds of my four young boys. Because this is important; I am responsible for raising four young boys who will soon be men. And I am responsible for raising them to be not just men, but good men.
Don’t get me wrong here: my boys have a father and he is a part of their lives. So when I say I have a responsibility to teach them how to be men it is not because they are without a father. It is because I have no concrete knowledge or control over what or how he teaches them. As such I approach the responsibility as my own. In this way I can be sure that I have made a serious effort in my parenting to cover all the bases.
Before I go into further detail about my reactions to this particular video and topic, allow me to first give you some details about my style of parenting. I approach parenting in a very Nikki way and it is not what I would call common. My relationships with my boys are unique to this home and I approach my parenting, or family management to be more accurate, as a team sport. I may be the coach, but we are all going for the same championship title.
I have always spoken to my children as if they were older than they are while still considering what their brains are capable of truly understanding. I include my boys in all family decisions and we talk about and often times vote on all major decisions. I never speak negatively about any person in the boys’ lives, regardless of my personal opinions; I stand firm in my faith that the boys are quite capable of forming their own opinions of the people in their lives and of choosing their own relationships. I will step in and help when one of the boys is in a moral struggle that they do not have the strength to overcome alone, but only with their permission and a mutual understanding that work will need to be done to increase their strength for the next time. I take silliness to the extreme. I try very hard to endure the noise of a house full of boys, as long as it is fun and cooperative noise. I require that the boys speak to me with respect and do not fail to call them out when they do not.
There is no topic of conversation that is off limits in this family and I do not ever lie to my children. Even when they ask about things I don’t necessarily want to share or things that I am not necessarily proud of, we talk about it regardless. My children can trust me with the smallest secret or the biggest confession and my love never wavers. We pray together as a family every night and we talk often about Heaven and Hell and society and poverty and charity, and anything else that we can think of.
I do not allow myself to compare my parenting style or my choices with other parents. I figured out long ago that those parents are not me and I am not them and we are not raising each other’s children and comparisons are a waste of time. When something isn’t working, I assess and adjust; simple as that. I also remember that it is impossible to know what goes on behind the closed door of another family’s home and comparisons would be based on only that which is allowed to be seen and are therefore pointless anyway.
My personality pervades every action that I take as a mother and my personal experiences color every choice. I am a little crazy and a lot weird and that is what my family is as well. I have learned a lot about life in my 38 years, but I have never professed to know it all. I apologize sincerely for my mistakes and when I promise my boys that I will try harder, there is no emptiness in the promise. I am fallible and I am human and we sometimes learn our lessons and take life’s punches individually and sometimes as a family. Life has never thrown a knock-out punch at any of us, and until the pre-determined time of our personal KO’s, it never will. We believe that with child-like faith and we maintain forward progress at all times.
Where does this all fit in with the video I mentioned above? Check out the next blog post; this one has run over its allotted time and it is necessary for this one
To Be Continued…..
Today is the 2-year anniversary of the craniotomy that evicted Matilda the Tumor from my brain. I have been thinking about writing about it for a while now and could not decide exactly how I wanted to approach it. I could talk about all the life lessons that come with facing something so monumental. Or I could talk about the emotions that happen when you are facing something that could blind, or even kill, you. Or I could write about the way it affected my boys and about the resilience of children. Or about the way people have a limitless capacity for love and support that you rarely get to see until you are in a situation like this; because they really do.
But, I don’t want to do any of that. I don’t feel especially nostalgic about the tumor and I don’t feel very philosophical today. But there are some things about the entire experience that I think are interesting for me to share. So, here goes. (NOTE: There will be sentences here that describe what happens in a craniotomy such as the one that I had. Squeamish folks should stop now and catch me on the next blog).
In the beginning stages of the diagnosis process I shared with a neurosurgeon the timetable (about 8 weeks) that I expected for having surgery, recovering, and re-entering my graduate program (I had taken a hiatus from the pursuit of the M. Ed. In order to deal with this hiccup called tumor). He shared with me that I was overly optimistic and that I may not even be able to balance a checkbook when it was all over and I should expect a much longer timetable.
Bite me. I don’t like being doubted for what my body or my brain is capable of. I had surgery on April 3rd and started classes again on June 10th. That is 9.5 weeks. Overly optimistic? I think not. I was off by a little, but not enough to use ugly language like “overly optimistic”.
For the 13 months following brain surgery I remained a full time student until on July 8, 2013 I was conferred a Master of Arts, Education.
One of the first things that I was told when I was given the diagnosis was “Do not Google it”. Like that was going to happen. People were talking about using a saw to bust into my skull and do some repairs. No way was I going in to that experience without some prior knowledge. BIG MISTAKE. I tried today to go back and find the page I found two years ago that explicitly explained the process; the way my skull would be opened up, the bone flap from my skull that would be removed, the skin flap (in my case my FACE) that would be folded down, and so on.
I could not find that page and that is probably best. I found others and the memories aren’t all that awesome. You don’t want to see it just as much as I should not have wanted to see it back then. I knew I would be cut along the hairline from ear to ear. It had never previously occurred to me, however, that my forehead would have to be moved out of the way to perform the operation. That knowledge is still the only truly disturbing part of it all to me.
It took 50 staples to close my skull back up when it was all done. Yeah, I counted them.
Staples do not hurt coming out. That was a shocker.
I have an awesome scar just behind my hairline that I can see clear as day every time I look in the mirror. Others, however, have to be really looking for it to notice. My forehead is misshapen now and it sticks out oddly in two places that it did not before. So pretty.
There are two divots in my skull along the scar line from the drains that were put in for surgery. The one on the right side is deeper and not fully closed. I can press on the very middle of that one and feel tingling at the back of my head. I think it’s cool. Other people think it’s weird. Perspective, I guess.
I had planned to stay with my parents after surgery until I was back on my feet. It was clear to me on the day of my release from the hospital that the original plan wouldn't be happening. I went home, to my home, by myself for recovery. I did my own physical therapy in my living room. I knew that being coddled through recovery was not an option for a woman who just wanted to be well enough for her kids to come home. I knew that if I didn't make myself suffer and work through the early stages of recovery on my own, the process would take much longer; that was time without the boys that I was not willing to give away.
In the entire process, from diagnosis to recovery, there was only one single scary moment. The week after coming home from the hospital a soda froze and exploded in my fridge, dripping down the inside and getting everywhere, finally pooling at the bottom. I got on the floor to clean it up and found when I was done that I could not stand up. I was literally stuck in the middle of my kitchen floor, all alone, no phone near me, and no idea what I was going to do. Those were the moments of panic and fear in the whole process. While I had not fallen because I sat down voluntarily, I could not get up. Suddenly LifeAlert commercials weren't funny anymore. Eventually I managed to crawl to a dining chair in the next room and use it to pull and push myself off the floor.
The reason I could not get up once I sat on the floor is this: the muscles of the body atrophy more quickly than you may think. And while the surgery was on my brain, my body was sedentary for much longer than the nine hours it took to extract the tumor. I went into surgery around 6 am on a Tuesday and woke up mid-morning the following Saturday. I was unconscious, unresponsive, or sedated for four days. I remember one thing from those four days: my surgeon telling me that he got the entire tumor.
That’s it. Four days of my life gone. And I have one singular memory. It is surreal and weird when I think about it. And I still, two years later, am unable to adequately describe with words what that feels like. To go to sleep near the beginning of the week and wake up at the end of it is crazy.
There you have it: some of the highlights from the most insane time in my life. There really is so much more to that chapter in the history of Nikki, but like I said, I’m not feeling very philosophical today. Today, it’s just the facts.
