I always thought that by the time I was this age (an age which shall not be published here) that I would have long ago grown out of the whole hurt feelings thing. That as an adult I somehow have the superpower of being able to be reasonable rather than emotional, especially when it came to feeling-hurting.
But apparently, I'm not. At least, not today.
It was my fault. This I know. It was the posting of a simple photo--something that made me laugh, and I believed that many would laugh with me. Some did. Others scolded me for being less than kind to myself. But I chuckled and moved on, not really supposing that anyone would actually, truly agree with it.
But then someone did.
And I laughed. And I felt funny inside. And then I cried. In my car, on the drive home, away from where anyone could see or know that it hurt.
I know he meant nothing by it. I know that he believed that I had such a great sense of humor that I could laugh at myself. That I knew all along I didn't really look like the others there.
And now, I guess I do.
Strange the things you learn at this ripe old age. And how they still hurt. Maybe tomorrow that superpower will kick in.
I can only hope.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Love Notes
Just over a year ago, Ethan brought me a note home that he'd had his after school teacher write for him. That note reads: "Dear Mom, I wanted to give you a note because I love you. Thanks for cooking for me. I love your chocolate chip cookies. I like you and your smile." It's a note that I've kept with me ever since because whenever I need a pick me up, I can remember that I know someone who loves me and my chocolate chip cookies. It's one of my most treasured possessions.Today, I got another missive from my boy, which he wrote (and spelled) all by himself. In case it's hard to see, it says: "Dear: Mom You are cool At singing that you sing good and yer voys (voice). Love Ethan!"
As you may guess, this will be another of my treasures. Because on those days when I feel like a big dork, I can look at this and know that one of the world's most awesome kids thinks I'm cool.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
My Son Just Got His First Ticket
Yes, he's 7. And he got a ticket. But before you call in Child Services, let me do some explaining.
Ethan is, according to pretty much the world in general, perfect. He never says anything or does anything that is remotely naughty in school or in his church class or pretty much anywhere else in public. Now, his father and I know differently, as do a number of those people closest to us. But to everyone else, he's perfect.
And in fact, it causes me quite a bit of concern. I know, I know, that's odd. But it's like when he was little and he'd run into things and not cry, and I was convinced that he was going to be a CBS special on the boy who was born with no nerve endings or something. So, following that course of thought (and I know, it might be tough) I thought that he was never saying a word to or interacting with another kid in his class. And see, that's a whole different kind of CBS special. Like "The First Grader on the Bell Tower" or "Ethan Doesn't Speak Because His Mother Messed Him Up" or something like that.
Work with me.
So anyway, when he crawled up on my bed last night and confessed that, indeed, for the first time in his school career he had pulled a dreaded "ticket" (an indication that he needed to slow down and think about his actions) I was not exactly sure how to act. All of the appropriate parenting nonsense rolled through my noggin' like a movie. Should I shake my head and say that I am disappointed, but know he can do better? Do I hug him and tell him that he can still make it into the Ivy League if he just keeps his nose clean from here on out? Do I file suit against the school on the grounds that they have injured the tender psyche of my firstborn?
But here's my little secret: the first thing that really, truly came to my mind and stayed there was a really super duper loud "Yahoo!!!!!" You see, I knew at that moment that he was absolutely, one hundred percent, without a doubt...normal.
So hiding my grin, I solemnly asked what his alleged offense might have been, a query to which I first received the obligatory "well, I don't know" and then learned that, of all things, he had been laughing too loud during his reading time. A misdemeanor offense in Montana, luckily. So I said that he needed to listen to Mrs. Simcox (his amazingly awesome teacher) when she asked him to remember his inside voice and to try to focus better on his books next time. Then I gave him a kiss, complimented him for being honest and sent him on his way.
And the moral of our story? Well it's this: my son fought the law and the law won. And I couldn't be happier.
Ethan is, according to pretty much the world in general, perfect. He never says anything or does anything that is remotely naughty in school or in his church class or pretty much anywhere else in public. Now, his father and I know differently, as do a number of those people closest to us. But to everyone else, he's perfect.
And in fact, it causes me quite a bit of concern. I know, I know, that's odd. But it's like when he was little and he'd run into things and not cry, and I was convinced that he was going to be a CBS special on the boy who was born with no nerve endings or something. So, following that course of thought (and I know, it might be tough) I thought that he was never saying a word to or interacting with another kid in his class. And see, that's a whole different kind of CBS special. Like "The First Grader on the Bell Tower" or "Ethan Doesn't Speak Because His Mother Messed Him Up" or something like that.
Work with me.
So anyway, when he crawled up on my bed last night and confessed that, indeed, for the first time in his school career he had pulled a dreaded "ticket" (an indication that he needed to slow down and think about his actions) I was not exactly sure how to act. All of the appropriate parenting nonsense rolled through my noggin' like a movie. Should I shake my head and say that I am disappointed, but know he can do better? Do I hug him and tell him that he can still make it into the Ivy League if he just keeps his nose clean from here on out? Do I file suit against the school on the grounds that they have injured the tender psyche of my firstborn?
But here's my little secret: the first thing that really, truly came to my mind and stayed there was a really super duper loud "Yahoo!!!!!" You see, I knew at that moment that he was absolutely, one hundred percent, without a doubt...normal.
So hiding my grin, I solemnly asked what his alleged offense might have been, a query to which I first received the obligatory "well, I don't know" and then learned that, of all things, he had been laughing too loud during his reading time. A misdemeanor offense in Montana, luckily. So I said that he needed to listen to Mrs. Simcox (his amazingly awesome teacher) when she asked him to remember his inside voice and to try to focus better on his books next time. Then I gave him a kiss, complimented him for being honest and sent him on his way.
And the moral of our story? Well it's this: my son fought the law and the law won. And I couldn't be happier.
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