Threenager Life

From the time Clark was born, fellow parents have warned me about raising teenagers. And to be perfectly frank, I remember being one and it must have been pretty terrible for my saint of a mother. I was the worst. Entitled, disrespectful, and generally obnoxious. And those were on the good days!

Of all the ages I have been warned about parenting, teenagers are always at the top of the list. Followed closely by Terrible Twos, which we sailed right through. Three, on the other hand, has been a ride that I was not prepared for!

I have always sort of hated the term 'threenager' (nor do I love aforementioned 'Terrible Twos'), as kids are not terrible or any other derogatory connotation. They are just small people with big emotions that they are learning to control and understand. I was never a fan of such generalizations...until I had a 3 year old. 

As we get ready to close out Clark's year of being 3 in a few short weeks, I cannot think of a better word to describe that 3 foot, 36 pound bundle of pure will and personality than 'threenager'. The similarities are striking:

Recently, Clark was moved from a crib to a toddler bed and all the freedom that comes with that transition, namely the ability to get out of bed 137 times per hour to pee. I try to be a pick-your-battles parent, so I grant amnesty most nights for the first several ventures out of bed. One night in particular came along recently where I called up from the bottom of the stairs that his field trips had come to an end and he needed to get into bed. Subtlety not being his strength, my usually sweet, kind, obedient child screamed at the top of his lungs and slammed his door with all of his strength. My first door slam! 

I grew up in a household where if you slammed your door shut, it immediately came off the hinges and you had no door left to slam. As I marched up the stairs to make it clear that this was his first and ONLY door slam, the mom lightbulb came on. We have older style door handles that his chubby little baby hands can't quite grip correctly when tightly shut. So after a stern chat about privileges and the loss of them, Clark spent a night with his door shut after only 112 trips to pee beforehand. The horror! But also, go me for thinking on my feet!

Also new and teenager-y is the chance I take daily of embarrassing him by merely existing. We were late for dinner and he was stuck at work with me finishing a month end 911 and he was hangry. He asked to go see some of his favorite coworkers of mine before we left, and I tempted fate and said 'yes, but it needs to be quickly'. After giving his usual hugs and answering a few questions, my coworker and I got a little sidetracked in a conversation, and aside from holding his hand so he didn't dart out in front of a moving vehicle (I'm an excellent parent!), I basically forgot that I had promised a hungry kid brevity in my conversation. 

Suddenly, I felt a tug on my hand and as I looked down at him to listen to him, my soul was burnt into by the raging fires of Satan coming from his eyes. Nose crinkled angrily and teeth gritted, he whisper-screamed "Mom! We are NOT doing this! We have to go!" Eyes still actively rolled to the back of his head, we walked to the car in silence; save for a few very annoyed deep breaths from the 3 year old. 

And just this week, we sat Clark down to tell him that Mommy is going to stop going to work every day at the end of the month and he and I are going to stay together! Sidenote: this has been a goal of Ryan's and mine since I went back to work when he was 10 days old. I've endured years of nasty comments about him probably thinking I'm daycare and daycare is his 'real' mom, I've been told how others could never choose work 'over' him, and also, I really freaking miss him. For four years, I have been blessed with a job that I love, with coworkers that I truly enjoy 96% of the time, that has allowed me to help provide for our family and offer Clark the chance to learn and grow with other children. The same job and boss bent over backwards for me 18 months ago when I said I needed to cut my hours and spend every Monday with my child. Without hesitation, I was told to do what's best for my family. (No boss is perfect, but I will never forget that gesture. BP - you are one of the good ones. You will always be the one who supported me every time and in every way I needed, and you are one of the hardest people to leave. Loyalty goes both ways in a job, and you made sure that your staff knew that you had our backs. Two people who feel as deeply as we do aren't always a good combo in a work atmosphere, and we have had our share of sparks over the years, but I always knew we were still on the same team, even when not each other's biggest fan that particular day. Your leadership and friendship made this the hardest professional decision I have ever made.)

As much as this has been our goal, I still sat in my General Manager's office and bawled while tendering my resignation. A lot of people say their coworkers are like a family, but I find it hard to believe that many could feel more like one than my work family. I enjoy going to work most days, and getting to see the people I work alongside, knowing about their lives and their successes and being there to pick one another up when a tragedy is faced. 

And if I'm being blunt, I'm pretty good at what I do. I'm not 100% sure I'll be a good stay at home mom, but I have known for a while that I needed to try or that I would regret losing out on this time. I left my 10 day old to return to that job - if that doesn't say something about my sense of being part of the team, loyalty, and love of that company, I'm not sure what does. Still, that GM who so graciously listened to me cry over leaving, told me, without hesitation, 'do what's best for your family'. Knowing that me leaving means headache for him, he still supported my choice. Those are good people and I am really going to miss them.

Back to Clark, after arriving at this decision through months (and arguably, years) of pros and cons with Ryan, we finally agreed this week that this would be our next chapter. As my sadness waned and my excitement at getting to see my kid more bubbled over, we told Clark about our schedule that will begin at the turn of the new year. With anticipation, we gave him the information and waited for his glee. 

I'm still waiting for the glee. His first response was "No fair! I don't want to quit daycare!" We carefully explained to him how we will get to see each other and go places and make new friends. I, again, waited to see joy spread across his face. Instead, I saw the wheels turning as a smirk opened across his face and he asked "Mommy, can you go to work and I stay with Daddy every day??"

So, if you're thinking I'm questioning my decision, it's clearly going great. Exactly the reaction I hoped for while wallowing about sacrificing a job that I love that pays actual money. I'd totally rather not get paid and have my boss completely pissed that I'm around all the time. Can't wait to see what he thinks of me when he's an actual teenager. #Winning. #BringOnFournado

*Late edit: I see that I made the grave oversight of no photos. Enjoy these 'teenager-like' snaps from the past few months and tell me which you think I'm most in store for in 9 short years.

From Rags To Dollar Menu Riches

For as long as I can remember, I have always been pretty lucky. From drawing a family member’s winning raffle ticket when I wasn’t much bigger than Clark all the way up to winning things like free concert tickets. I have been to countless concerts where I have left with a pick the artist played with – once, I got one while sitting in the 10^th row. Landed right at my feet. Typically, I have to forfeit said pick to a whiny older sister who tells me that she “had a moment” with the artist who actually meant to give the pick to her (you know who you are!), but nonetheless, they were actually given to me.

When I lived in larger cities like Phoenix and Las Vegas, I had a way of winning more concert tickets than I ever actually purchased. Whether I had to be caller 10, caller 30, or answer a trivia question, my phone got through the crowded lines on a regular basis, without ever needing to redial. A quick mental count reminded me of 11 different concerts I have seen on a radio station’s dime, plus several experiences won through random luck or writing contests, and countless goodie bags. Granted, I always have the radio on, so the law of averages suggests that I would have several marks in the win column, but I think it happens even more than that. I’m just plain lucky.

So it was no surprise to me today when I got into the car for work and turned my radio on that I heard a trivia question that I knew the answer to – it happened to be about Vince Gill, who I just adore and  happen to have tickets to see in a couple weeks when he is in town. I grabbed my phone, dialed, instantly heard it ring and had my call quickly answered. I gave the correct answer and immediately started answering all sorts of questions about myself that I will need to answer correctly when I arrive at the station to pick up my prize. The prize that I didn’t hear advertised, because all I had time to do was hear the question and call. I incorrectly assumed that it could be closer tickets to the upcoming concert, since Vince was the answer and he will be here soon. After thinking about what else it could be, while still answering a million questions, it occurred to me that our county fair is this week and it was probably tickets to that. Finally, the thought crossed my mind that this station periodically gives out money in increments of $1,000! I could most definitely find something to use that on!

All the suspense FINALLY culminated, and I was ready to hear my grand prize. Well, I thought I was ready to hear it. I was imagining things like “you have won backstage passes and front row seats to see Vince Gill!” or “We have a $1,000 check we are writing to your name as we speak!” Instead of hearing something along those lines that would cause me to scream right into the phone, I heard “……gift card”. Not wanting to be ungrateful, I was still excited to hear where I would be spending my newfound inheritance, thinking maybe I could have a clothing shopping spree, or a couple of really fancy dinners. I told them I was having trouble hearing and asked them to repeat my prize. This time, all I heard was “Wendy’s”. Quickly using my college educated brain to piece those words together and try to think of what fancy store I knew named “Wendy’s”, I could see it flashing in front of me: Wendy’s. Gift Card. Wendy’s. IT’S A WENDY’S GIFT CARD. I flashed back into the conversation just in time to hear “Baconfest is currently going on at your neighborhood Wendy’s”, which means absolutely nothing to a vegetarian like myself.

I went from winning coveted, front row concert tickets, backstage passes, a shopping spree, and a thousand dollars to winning a fast food gift card in an instant. If you need me, I’ll be crying into a frosty.

Won't You Be Our Neighbor?

No, we aren't moving again (thankfully). And to the best of our knowledge, nobody on our street is selling their home. But the next time we do move, there will be some pre-interviews to find out what we're dealing with before taking the plunge.

Ryan and I have moved 4 times in the nearly 8 years that we have been together, and it wasn’t until recently at lunch with friends that we realized just how bad our luck with neighbors has been. As we were reminiscing, the stories really started piling up. Join me on a walk down the strange avenues we have lived on:

The Stalker

When we moved into the first home we purchased, a man was standing in our driveway when the moving truck pulled in, waiting to introduce himself. How long he had been there or how he knew what day we would be arriving is, to this day, a mystery. After exchanging pleasantries, our new neighbor handed us a SEVEN page poem he had written about a Bible story, along with a letter detailing how he enjoys reading these poems to small children he meets while running errands. As if that isn’t creepy enough, there at the top of the first page was our engagement photo and our names. OUR ENGAGEMENT PHOTO! That you can’t find on Google….trust me, I have looked.

The Swingers

At that same home, the couple across the street owned a snow blower, and a couple times each winter, would snow blow our double sidewalk and dig our fire hydrant out. As a thank you, I always prepared some kind of homemade goodie and we would walk across the street to deliver them. Like in a movie, after we knocked on the door, we could hear several locks being undone on the other side of the door, before the husband opened it just enough to stick his head out the door, grab the treats, close the door, and lock all 7 locks. I would see the same couple pretty often at our neighborhood nail salon, always with another couple, always sitting in pedicure chairs in every other person fashion, always holding hands and putting on a PDA show with the other couple.

The Witch

Most neighborhoods have one of these, and ours was a real doozy. Our backyard was in a valley, and this neighbor was up on top of a small hill. She would constantly point her gutter drain hose directly INTO our backyard, so it would routinely flood. We thought maybe we could have a civil conversation with her about it and see if she would kindly put it on her own property. Which would have been a great plan if she would have EVER spoken to us, but even when we said hello, she would look right through us and refuse to speak, but she did make sure to flip us off every time she drove by.

The Dog Owner

Before we lived in a house with a fence, we had to take Mia outside on a leash to do her business. One afternoon, Ryan was outside with her when a small dog wandered directly into our yard and walked right up to them. Ryan told Mia to sit and to be a good neighbor. The two dogs sat down, facing one another, and things seemed to be going well until the small dog (it’s ALWAYS the small dog, isn’t it?) reached a paw right up and booped Mia’s nose. Now, I wasn’t there, but Ryan assures me that in a split second, Mia took one paw and had the small dog pinned to the ground, letting it know that it couldn’t come into our yard, start a fight, and be welcomed. Ryan handled it quickly and told Mia they were going inside until the rude four legged neighbor left. Approximately three minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Ryan opened it to find SOMEONE WE WENT TO CHURCH WITH, asking if we had seen his small dog that got loose. Oh, the one that assaulted our dog and that our dog could have torn to pieces in five seconds had Ryan not been there? Nope, haven’t seen her.

The (Alleged) Drug Dealer

Our next neighbor was one for the books. Picture a half-naked (always), nice, but way too loud character who stood outside and argued with his wife who was inside. Now imagine that for 10 hours a day, every day, a slew of shady looking cars pulled into the middle of the street, left the car running, and had one person jump out, run inside the house, emerge three minutes later, and speed off shortly before the next arrived. I always said I don’t believe they were smart enough to cook meth, so I’m pretty sure it was only a misdemeanor. Really, the nicest guy though. He always invited Ryan to go fishing, and offered up his wife as a babysitter for us. It was of course a hard pass from us, but he really did try to be our friend. And after a quick tally, we both voted him in as our favorite, which should really tell you something about our luck.

The Driveway Patrol

For a very brief period of time, the street we lived on was having work done and we could not use it. Clark was very small and I had just gotten out of the hospital after an episode of a racing heart and fainting. Our only options were to either park 3 blocks away, or to use our backyard. We decided to use the backyard since it would only be a day or two. Up until that point, our neighbors were very friendly and we would always speak to one another. In order to access our backyard, we had to put two car tires on the corner of the very end of said neighbor’s driveway. Thinking it wouldn’t be an issue, we drove two tires on the last square of driveway that touched the street. We were very wrong. The next day, we awoke to find a lengthy note on our windshield about respect and our lack of it. We half considered leaving him a note about walking through our yard to place the note on our car, but chose to be the bigger people and never speak to them again, and then move.

The Hot Mess

The first time I met our current neighbors, they were plastered and snuck up behind me while I was getting Clark out of the carseat, and drunkenly asked me if he was just getting home from daycare…at 8pm. The second time I saw them, the boyfriend was being taken out of the house in cuffs. The third time, she was being taken out of the house on a stretcher. The fourth time, I saw her half-dressed at midnight with a firetruck outside. And the fifth time, she arrived on our front porch needing to use a phone. I gave her mine, she struggled to dial, and then looked at me and said “I forgot my mom is dead. I can’t call her.”

Kids Say the Darndest Things

People say that you will always get an honest answer out of a kid. There's some serious truth to that - kids don't understand social norms and what might be hurtful, misconstrued, or inappropriate. They just say whatever comes to those growing brains of theirs. And while it is sometimes embarrassing for their parents, it is a quality that I deeply envy, and I think it's often beautiful.

These tiny humans understand things like love, forgiveness, and truth that we adults seem to learn to filter over the years. In between the funny, inappropriate, and sometimes mortifying moments, Clark (and others his age) speak such profound wisdom that it stops me in my tracks. 

I am the kind of parent who believes in never burdening little people with the problems of big people, but I am also a truthful parent who wants my child(ren) --- NOT an announcement --- to know that whenever they have a question, that mom is going to tell them the truth. It's a big part of the reason people treat us like criminals because we don't do Santa or the Easter Bunny. I don't want to ever blatantly lie to him.

First, the funny -

My child is completely literal. Being that he is my only child, I don't know if it's just him, or if every child is this cut and dry, but it CRACKS me up. Below are just a couple of recent conversations that highlight this -

1.) The Ins and Outs of Milk

C: Momma, if you mind, can I have a glass of milk?
H: Sure!
C: Fank you.
H: You're welcome. Do you know where we get milk from?
C: *looks at me like I am a moron*
C: Yeah...from the old ladies at the grocery store.

--- True, that is where we get OUR milk. ---

2.) Snake Hunting

*We were watching a show and a family found a live snake in a box in their home.*

H: Clark, what would you do if we had a real, live snake in our house?
C: *shrugs* I don't know...catch it and make it dead.

--- Good point, kid. ---

Next, the inappropriate - 

1.) The Penis Rules 

C: Boys has penis.
H: You are right.
C: I show you my penis?
H: No, that is private.
C: Ohhh. Okay. I just touch my penis?
H: No, not unless you really have to, and if you do, go to the bathroom. Otherwise, leave it alone.
C: *blank stare*
C: *In the middle of the living room, opens his shorts*
H: CLARK! What are you doing?!
C: I'm just looking at it! I CAN look at it, can't I??
H: *Facepalm*

--- It's ALWAYS about a penis with a boy, isn't it? ---

2.) The Old Man at the Swimming Pool

*Ryan and I took Clark swimming, and we had to wait a few minutes in a long line.*

C: *Swinging his arms*
H: Please be careful, you almost hit the people in front of us.
C: Sorry, mom. It was a ass-ident.
H: It's okay, but I don't want you hitting the guy in front of us.
C: BECAUSE HE IS AN OLD MAN?!
H: No, it's just not nice. And don't scream.
C: BUT HE IS AN OLD MAN! (He was like 40, tops)
H: *Frantically trying to change the subject*
H: What do you want to do in the pool?
C: *Pointing*
C: Is dat OLD MAN going to da pool, too?
H: *trying to become invisible while pondering moving 3 states away*

Now, the wise -

It should be no secret to anyone who knows me at all that I am an ally and advocate for LGBTQ+ rights and inclusion. And it is probably also no secret that I am angry, hurt, and disappointed in the United Methodist Church's decisions at the most recent annual conference to continue being a culture of exclusion. It further complicates things that my husband is employed by the United Methodist Church, and he is also very good at that employment and loves being there.

One of the million reasons why I love that man is that he never tries to tell me what to believe, or how to process my emotions. I told him that I couldn't, in good conscience, attend our church for a few weeks or more. I needed time to step away and sift through my broken heart before I could decide my next move. He supported me through that and gave me the space and the time that I needed to heed some great advice that highlighted the fact that nothing changes by abandoning it.

So one Sunday morning about a month after the vote, I told myself and my Lord that I was going to get up, get dressed, and be a part of the change I want to see in the world. Which meant attending the church that I love and continuing to campaign and fight for what I believe Jesus would do.

It was an unusually quiet ride to church, as I was still sorting through everything and pretty nervous to be in attendance after such a long absence. Kids are so dang smart and perceptive. From the backseat, a little voice piped up and this was our conversation -

C: Momma, are you okay?
H: Yes, honey, I am. I'm just sad.
C: Why?
H: Because some people not really at our church, but connected to our church did some things that really hurt my feelings.
C:
C:
C:
C: (in the toughest voice I have heard from him to date) Who did it, Momma?!
--- I think he was ready to defend my honor ---
H: Some people that you don't know.
C: What did dey do?
H: Well, they are being kind of mean to families who have two Daddies or two Mommies (the best way I could explain it to his understanding). You know, like your friend at daycare who has two Daddies?
C: Ohhh, yeah! Dat SO cool!
C: Why are dey being mean?
H: Well, these people don't want families with two Daddies or two Mommies to be able to be a pastor, or to marry each other. And I am sad because I think we should love everyone.
C: I wish I had two Daddies. My Daddy is such a good Daddy, Momma! I wish I had two of my Daddy!

Now, I understand that he is 3 and that he by no means understands the full spectrum of LGBTQ+ issues, nor do I completely understand where his beliefs will lead him, but I DO know that I explained it to him the absolute best way that I could, and that he responded with nothing but love. He was reminded of a family structure that looks different than his family, and he thought it was cool and wished he had two Ryans in his life. Again, that shows that his understanding of the situation has some growing to do, but it also shows that his first instinct is to lead with love. Kids understand that on a deeper level than we give them credit for.

I'm proud of my boy and the way that his brain works. And I am proud that I am raising such a compassionate kid, even if he is a blossoming smartass who calls people old and pays WAY too much attention to his penis.