PYHO: So Blessed

I’m a worrier, just like my mother before me. I worry about Jellybean’s future. I worry about bullies—mostly my child becoming one.

 I worry about so much that I really have no control over. I do my best to teach them life skills, how to respect others, how to give and show love on a regular basis. 

How to treat others the way they want to be treated.

I worry about Scooby too. He’s three, still, and becoming this awesome, sweet, and VERY independent little person. I worry about his speech issues. I worry that his huge heart will get broken because he’s just a typical three old boy with this really big zest for life, and it often gets him in trouble. I worry that he will follow in his sister’s footsteps and have ADHD too.

So, I watch. I love. I teach. I discipline. I snuggle. I play. 

I pay extra close attention to tongue placement when we talk. I give him moments of independence that are appropriate for him. He gets to make some decisions on where we go, what he wears.

He gets hyper in the evening. He is incredibly active, almost constantly in motion from the moment his eyes open, til the moment he is tucked into bed at night. He has his quiet moments where he will sit and play with his cars for 30 minutes here and there. 

His imaginative play has picked up and I’m finding it to be quite entertaining. His ability to play pretend, something his sister never did, has my heart doing little leaps and cheers. 

Watching him grow, something I wasn’t able to do in the same way with his sister, has helped me understand just how early Jellybean’s symptoms began emerging. 

It lets me rejoice in his accomplishments because they are so very unique to me, and so very normal for him.

Empathy is a huge struggle for Jellybean. She is so very literal that she has a difficult time seeing things from another’s perspective, even when it is explained to her. She lacks empathy, sadly. She has never shed a tear for anyone but herself in all her eleven years. Not when her beloved Grandma Nora died. Not when her Poppy passed away on Christmas. Not when her puppy died. Not to a sappy commercial. 

She has never cried to a movie, a commercial, a book, or because of something happy. 

Yesterday, for the very first time, at a moment I least expected it, I caught Scooby sniffing and wiping his eyes as he sat at the edge of my bed watching Where the Wild Things Are on HBO. It was the end of the movie and the wild things were wailing because Max was leaving.

AND MY SON WAS CRYING.

For the first time. 

For someone else.

PYHO: What Not to Wear

I like to think of myself as the non-judgmental type. I'm a laid-back, take-it-as-it-comes person. Most things I just let roll off my back, simply because they just aren't worth getting bothered over.

Yesterday though, I saw something that not only shocked me, but saddened me. It also made me want to cover Scooby's eyes, and he isn't even old enough to appreciate the scenery provided.

As I said, I'm not the judgmental type. However, yesterday, I found myself thinking,"OMG. What are her parents thinking?" That was swiftly followed by, "Do they even know?"

Yes, it was THAT shocking. At least, to me.

Scooby and I go to Chick-Fil-A every Tuesday night for family night while Jellybean is in dance class.

Family Night.

Yesterday, I noticed this 16 year old girl from the back. It was the first thing I saw of her. A black lace bra showed underneath a completely sheer back dress? top?. A sexy black lace bra, at that. I think it was more the combination of the racy bra with the sheer black back that was more shocking then either of them alone.

Until she turned around.

First thing to catch my eye was the cut down to the navel front that revealed her satin leopard print push up bra. Yeah. That was followed by a really cute iridescent blue-purple-pink flapper type dress without the fringes that barely made it past her underwear.

At least she had jeggings on, right?

What upset me the most was really not the top. It was the combination of her age, mixed with the fact that she appeared to have worn it to school (though, how she got around the dress code I'll never know).

Perhaps, on further reflection, she merely changed into after school was over. But still.

Her 2 friends were appropriately dressed like teenagers. She stuck out like a sore thumb. The poor child looked like a bonafide street walker. I worried about her safety, and she is not even my child.

Then, I worried that it could be MY child someday. We have discussed the choice of costume for so many of the pop stars today...Lady Gaga, Katy Perry, and most notably for my daughter, Miley Cyrus.

I should be happy that she finds Miley Cyrus's camel toe showing contraption she struts on stage with indecent, but will she always?

I certainly hope so.

Pour Your Heart Out: The Art of Friendship, Edition 6 Volume 4

This is my first time participating in this meme. I try to keep my blog posts light-hearted and fun, but every once in awhile, life gets in the way. So, today I am pouring my heart out (and thanks to Shell for hosting this)....

I am scared. I am scared to start a friendship back up, open my heart (and my kids hearts) only to have you trample them down again. I am scared to completely ignore your multiple requests to be added to my messenger list because you might hurt me.

This does not give you the right to harass me by sending me an IM every other day, trying to be nice. I can forgive you fine, but I do not have to open my heart and let you burn us for the 3rd time. You had 2 chances. That's one more chance then you should have had after dumping my daughter and I onto the street, breeching the trust I gave you by offering you a room in our home.

And your little tirade about my wanting my wedding pictures to be balanced, therefore I asked someone other then you because you are oh "so much smaller" than I am? Yeah that.

Well, I am still working on forgiveness a year later, because that was just wrong on so many levels. Maybe if you were more compliant with my wishes and choices and things I wanted for my wedding instead of trying to make it your own, I would have been more interested.

Maybe if you didn't ignore my updates on how it was coming along, you would have seen that I did ask you. Maybe if you hadn't told my 15 mo old son, who was tired and hungry after a 4 hour wedding dress trying on ordeal, to stop crying or you would give him a reason to cry, you would have been a part of my special day.

Maybe if you had stopped bitching over how many times I changed my colors (because it was my wedding after all), I would have thought you really wanted to be a part of it.

I give you excuses because you have a disease (or three or four, I can't keep up anymore) that makes you act like the bitch you have been. But, you have worn out your welcome and I am beyond done. I feel sorry for you. I honestly do. Maybe when you've learned the real meaning of friendship, that it is a two-way street, people would be more willing to invite you back into their lives.

This involves learning when to shut your mouth and listen to other people's stories sometimes. This means that even if you've "been through it before" you shut up and wait for the other person to finish pouring their heart out. This means that you don't unload all your secondhand treasures junk on your best friend even though you know it's not her taste or style. Your best friend has enough junk of her own. Trust me on that.