Recently, due to the age of my son and the rage I sometimes feel, I’ve been thinking a lot about my parents and how I was raised. Running with TNT for my father makes me think of him a lot. And it is hard to come up with happy memories. Which is unfair, because I know there must have been some. To be honest, it’s hard to come up with any memories, mostly there’s just a feeling of fear and guilt in the pit of my stomach, unconnected to anything I can put into words.

The people upstairs bang around a lot on their hardwood floors. It took a long time for me to realize why that made me want to grab the kids and hide under the bed, not breathing.

These things are things I need to talk about. Along with the positive, absolutely wonderful things that are going on. But to talk about one and deny the other has the ring of a secret. I hear my mother in the back of my head telling me not to talk about it with anyone. Not to mention it. And I can’t do that. The more I do the more I draw everything in, the less I talk about anything with anyone. And I can’t do that to my kids. So on my desk I’ve placed the secrets quote, and I’ve made up my mind to discuss what I need to, with the knowledge that for awhile it’ll probably be heavily negative. But once told most stories don’t need to be repeated.

I should probably follow through and try to be more anonymous, restart a blog without telling any of you where I’ve disappeared to. But it comes down to pride, as ridiculous as it may sound. These are MY experiences. I may not be happy with them, they may have sucked (and I’m the first to admit I had it better than most), but they are still what made me who I am, and I still was the one who survived them. In the end I can’t let fear of being caught stop me from relating my truth (good god, that sounds like such new-age crap).

I can not ask you for your discretion: I’m airing my dirty laundry for all the world to see. But I do ask that if you know my family, please keep in mind that we all have our bad moments. We are all trying the best with what we have been given. And you’re only hearing my side of the story, warped by my age at the time and immaturity, then and continuing to the present.

So, yeah, 2012, perhaps the year I can let my rage go, stop tensing up my back when someone asks if they can ask me a question, stop being so afraid someone will find me out, stop jumping when someone slams a door. Even if it doesn’t happen, there just isn’t any space left to hide this shit and it’s no place to raise children.

We’re in the middle of snowmaggedon right now, and while it’s nice it’s still chilly. We spend about 10 minutes getting Reed dressed every time we go out, and I still worry that he’s too cold (mostly because I am too cold). But we got down to the plaza and there was this baby with his parents screaming his head off. He looked like he was about four months old. And he was NOT wearing enough. He had a pants, a shirt, and a sweatshirt with a hood pulled up.

The couple came over to say hi (because usually you can count on people around hi to be nice and non-judgmental–at least until after you’ve left). They tried to get the baby to take notice of Reed and smile and maybe calm down a little. And I just couldn’t stop myself when his mom said, “He’s usually so happy to be out.”

“He needs gloves,” I said. “It’s cold.” Which is true! But she replied that he didn’t like gloves and walked away. It wasn’t like they were abusing the poor kid, but where do you draw the line in speaking up about kids that look like they may need a little more attention? The hands in question were bright red, and being out for only a few minutes I was already losing feeling in my toes. I was torn because I wanted to tell them about the bunting thing we’d had (which covered feet and hands without needing gloves) and wanting to keep my mouth closed, because it isn’t fair to assume that they’re stupid enough to take their son out in such cold weather dressed so poorly.

I’ve heard of people being told that their child wouldn’t be able to breathe with the plastic covering sold with their stroller, had people tell me that Reed shouldn’t be allowed to walk around the plaza as far from me as I let him, and had my mother tell me that Reed was very unsafe being carried by me. I know all of these people are acting with love in their hearts, as I was, but I still hate these people just a little.

Of course we used to raise our children as a village, with multiple generations having input. I don’t know. Should I be changing my opinion of busybodies? Or should I keep chastising myself for being one myself?

When I was a child I had a doll with a heavy, floppy head. Her body was designed to feel exactly like a real baby’s, her arms moved exactly like a real baby when you picked her up, and her eyes fluttered when you laid her down. I was her third owner. I loved her more than anything. And I took very good care of her. She went for a walk every day in her pram; she was fed (with a little bottle that bubbled towards the top making it look like she was drinking) at least once a week; and she had her eyes poked quite a few times until they were broken.

I lift Thrace sometimes and am transported back to those moments. I remember playing in the cellar clutching her to me, telling her I loved her. I don’t know if it’s because she is my daughter instead of my son, or if somehow her weight is distributed closer to the weight of the doll’s, but I never had these memories with Reed. These memories seem newly uploaded.

It’s an odd feeling. I don’t remember a lot of my childhood. I remember occasions: specific birthdays, holidays, moments on vacation, the time my mom was pulled over for a broken tail light. I remember sitting in reading class in jr. high with my friend turned around to chat. I remember that time my Grandmother came shopping with us and had me bend down in front of a mirror and told me to “remember that” (but I still don’t know whether she was telling me to remember I have cleavage so that I wouldn’t show it off or remember that I’m a woman). I don’t remember generic moments. I don’t remember gardening with my family or sitting down to dinner. I don’t remember playing with my siblings. I remember the things we have pictures of or I wrote down in my diary.

Worse than the strangeness of being hit by these memories is the fear. I feel suddenly as though I’ve no clue what I’m doing. And as though I’m seven again pretending to be a mommy. And I realize I really don’t know how to parent. Is this an ACOA thing? Is it just because my kids are still young? Will I grow out of it as my kids age and I deal with each new issue? Do real people ever have moments where they feel not real?

I see moms in the supermarket or at the toddler playgroup I’ve just found, and no one seems to be worried that someone’s going to out them. I keep expecting one to point me out and whisper theatrically, “she’s totally faking it.” Or for MPs to jump out from behind walls to take away my kids because I’m not a “real” mom.

I keep expecting for someone to leave a glass unicorn on my doorstep.

I don’t want my children to be second-generation survivors. The woman who sent me to Al Anon wasn’t the child of an alcoholic, she was the child of the child of an alcoholic. She told me how the survival tactics her mother employed affected her own growth and development. In times of stress those traits come out in me. I don’t want to pass along the inability to function.

And so I set up programs to follow and mimic the examples I see other moms setting. I try to be as real with my kids as I can, especially right now with Reed. And I just keep praying that no one looks too closely and sees the strange way I bat my eyes or that my knees don’t bend.

Like most things, I find it easier to when people show an interest and want to hear more. Getting this stuff out in the open is nice, it makes it feel less taboo. I’d like to suggest that if you know anyone with depression, a child with a speech/learning impairment, or other difficulty that you ask them if it’s something they’d like to discuss and if it’s okay to ask them questions about it. While I’m sure that not everyone is like me and wants to get into the details of their lives, we know that you’re thinking about what’s going on. When the elephant has been parked in your living room, you know everyone knows it. My main fear is that he’s been sticking his trunk where it doesn’t belong, and you’ve been complaining about it with others instead of with me. But it’s hard for me to bring up because you’ve got your own things to deal with.

There’s been a LOT of progress in Reed’s speech. The greatest being that he seems interested in talking. He will occasionally repeat words we say and, wonder of wonders, say new words on his own without prompting! This has been the hardest thing to explain to people. Someone will hear me say “now you try” and Reed repeat the word back (such as “all done”) and then say “well, that’s great! He can say ‘all done.’” But that’s not entirely true.

Reed doesn’t “own” many of the words he’s technically able to to say. He replaces many of these with “Budd-ah” which seems to be a cross of “buddy” and “what’s that.” Or else he’ll say “I don’t know.” These are placeholders. They give him a way to answer, which he’s realizing he needs to do, without actually speaking. It hurts. Especially when it’s a word we just had him say. It is getting better, though. I can’t stress how much having a speech therapist with him once a week is helping. She makes a point of telling us what we should work with him on each given week, and these things are usually something he’s caught on with by the next session.

Oh, he also “read” parts of Go, Dog. Go! (Beginner Books(R)) with us, and I must say that is a great book for this age. If Reed knows a lot of the words (Up, Down, Dog, Car) then other kids must know even more, and it should really help engage them in “reading” the book with you.

So, if you have any questions about this, even if you aren’t going through it yourself and are just curious, feel free to ask. The news is positive now, but even when it’s not it feels better to discuss it. And, no, you won’t make me feel like my kid’s a freak show.

Some background, in case you’ve missed it. My dad was an alcoholic. The summer before my second grade I had a birthday party and cookout. My mom took us to the park and when we returned he was plastered with the parents of another attendee. Things were thrown, my mom took us back to the park, stories (most likely embellished, but even if they weren’t certainly terrifying enough to make parents forbid kids from coming to my house) were told to parents, I entered the second grade and no one would talk to me. It didn’t help that I was already pretty awkward and loved being the teacher’s pet.

My mom took in latchkey kids for extra cash. One, S., was forced to include me in all of her events, including a pool party at her house at the end of the year. S told me I shouldn’t go, that it wouldn’t be fun, that we wouldn’t be able to use the pool, etc. I wasn’t stupid. I knew what she was getting at. I begged my mom not to make me go, but she went on and on about how lucky I was to be included, how fun it would be, how she wished she had such rich friends when she was a kid (yup, she actually said that).

At the party I had a great time. I loved swimming, and though most of the girls were avoiding me, I barely noticed there was so much to do by myself. (They even had a DIVING BOARD!!!) Then S. called us all into a huddle the way only second-grade girls can. She talked about how much fun we were going to have and how great the sleepover was going to be and how we “all love everyone who’s here…well except for one person, but she doesn’t know who she is.” Only she did.

As calmly as I could I walked into the house and called my mom to come get me. I kept it together until I was on the phone and my mom just wasn’t understanding. When I started bawling she told me to “grow up and get over it” and hung up. S.’s mom got me a glass of water, but I don’t know if she heard my story. She showed me how to use cool water to make my red eyes less noticeable (not that it helped) and sent me back out with a plate of cookies.

On Monday one girl had lice and it was said I gave it to her at the party. Songs were sung about me and lice and my general disgustingness. I got over it.

People turned down my invitations. I wasn’t invited to every party. I don’t remember a single one of those. I do remember the sneers, the statements of “my mom is making me invite you,” the mean notes inside thank you notes and invitation cards and Valentines. Kids are mean. You can’t force your kids to be nice. Trying to get them to invite the kid they don’t like only teaches them to be disingenuous and increases the divide between them and the outcast.

I’m all for getting your kid to try new things, to invite the new kid, to step out of her comfort zone. But I will never force mine to invite the me-equivalent. Maybe I’ll suggest it, and if they so no we’ll try to talk about it. But forcing the issue is doing the outcast no favors. We may want our kid to be the one who doesn’t care about being popular, or who cares more about being nice and fair than being popular, but it isn’t fair to make that choice for them. And it’s a really hard choice to make when your entire world is school. I don’t think I could do it.

And if my kid ends up being the outcast, as I think everyone is at some point in his life, I’ll listen and give him hugs and make sure he knows that he isn’t an outcast with me and that there is NOTHING wrong with him. I’ll find him other activities outside of school. Mostly I’ll try to help him understand that we can’t change the way other people act, only how we respond.

It’s frustrating. Insurance companies claim that they want the best for your child, yet these quality of life issues and mental health/learning disabilities situations never seem to be included. I’ve heard of other people dealing with much more intense issues costing FAR more than our predicament, which has always infuriated me, but reading about them and having to spend the time figuring this out yourself are two completely different animals. And no one I talk to with my insurance provider seems to understand how large Virginia is or what it means that I don’t have a car every day.

We’ll get this figured out, I’ve no fear that we won’t find a way to cover the cost. And, seriously, it’s a little bit of a relief to have someone tell me that there is a problem, that it isn’t just a little delay, that we should stop responding to signs and his pointing (which is what the pediatrician told us). The speech pathologist who was part of the team called it a “disorder of motor planning” and mentioned “apraxia.” From what I understand looking at Apraxia-Kids they can’t truly diagnose it as apraxia until he’s three. It does explain why, when asked to repeat a word, he replies most often with “buddy” and why he didn’t babble-talk with us when he was a baby.

And it’s nice to know he isn’t lazy or slow. Both the speech and physical therapists had been impressed with his intelligence and seemed intent in making sure I understood that he was very smart and no one was claiming otherwise. It wasn’t necessary, I know he’s smart as a whip, but it was still nice to hear. And it must be so frustrating for him, not communicating with us, and I know he has so much to say.

To be clear, the baby signs did NOT cause this and the therapists both recommended continuing with them to help Reed learn to communicate more while he learns to vocalize and to help prevent him from becoming frustrated. So if you’re considering baby signs, please don’t think they will cause speech delays, studies have shown over and over that this is not the case…. no matter what you may hear from my mother. :)

Today sort of sucks. I’ve had people ask me what I find hardest in being a stay-at-home mom, and I always tell them that it depends on the day. Also, it’s worth it. Any given day it’s totally worth it.

Only, maybe not today.

Reed’s been sick with a stomach virus for a week now and I’m at the end of my “oh poor little boy is suffering and that’s why he’s so cranky” rope. I’m not being mean or anything (well, unless you ask him, there’s a whole “cookie” incident that we won’t get into), but he’s on his third episode of Sesame Street. I SWEAR we usually watch about 4 hours a week, and I try to keep it under that. Yes, I DO believe that television is the devil, if only just because of how it makes me feel when I’ve watched more than a little of it. And, yes, I do believe it contributes to bad behavior, and, no, you aren’t going to convince me otherwise. And, no, I don’t REALLY believe you’re a bad parent if your toddler watches more TV than mine. But I feel like a bad parent. I feel like a lazy parent who can’t find something else to do.

But I’m not beating myself up about it today, because, you know what? I’ve had it. Yesterday Reed had NO urine for about 7 hours. And when I told the doc she told us that we needed to up the fluids (oh my god as if I hadn’t been pushing Pedialyte every second of the day and following him around with a sippy cup of juice!) and that we needed to stay out of the heat. She’d mentioned keeping Reed “comfortable” when we saw her last Friday, but hadn’t really said no to being outdoors. Live and learn I guess. Anyway. Those Mighty Mini popsicles? A GODSEND. Woke up dreading checking Reed’s diaper (no pee tonight would have meant a trip to the ER) only to find his sheets drenched. Hooray! Yes, I was cheering over yet another load of laundry.

This is a bad, complain-y post. But I have a point. Seriously. I think.

This week has been without the park, which is much harder than I ever would have thought. It’s contained my being sick with the same bug Reed has (oh, and, hey, I’m 13-or-so weeks pregnant so that’s added to the wonder!), fears of an upcoming flight (I HATE flying. I’m not AFRAID of flying. I HATE it.), missing out on two really, really, really exciting events, one including a friend I haven’t seen in YEARS.

And so I’m feeling a little sorry for myself. I’m feeling a little blue. And then Reed comes and snuggles next to me on the floor and we pick up How Do Dinosaurs Say I Love You? which we’re borrowing from the library, and I remember that this will end. He pulls down the neck of my shirt so he can place his ear against my bare skin and hear my heart beat. And it’s a little better. It still really sucks. But it’s worth it again.

Somedays I hate the playground. Most frustratingly, I tend to hate the playground the worst on the days Reed loves it the best—those with the most kids.

Sand in my jeans, sand in my house, the possibility of falling off the ladder or running into a swinging child, the sometimes sharp toys brought by kids, the food I forgot to bring (oh, but how nice that everyone shared today), eating the wood chips, falling off the bench, trying to climb the fence and splitting open a chin, having to make small talk with some of the more intimidating moms and nannies. All these things are worth the fun we normally have.

But there’s one thing that makes my heart race. It’s going to sound ridiculous, and it’s not what you think. But I hate when a mom goes to sit or stand right next to her kid when he or she is playing with Reed.

I tend to hang back. I don’t think Reed needs my constant presence, and I like him being able to interact with other kids without me, able to solve his own smaller problems. And if another kid takes a toy Reed’s playing with he’ll usually either grab another to play with, try to take it back, or come to me. I’ll step in if there’s a problem: a crying kid, any sort of hitting. I leave it alone otherwise.

But we’ve had problems with other moms stepping in too early and causing a problem. The worst was over an airplane. A really, really cool airplane. A boy brought it and was playing with it in the sandbox. Because his mom was right on top of him I decided to sit near them on the sandbox rim. Reed asked very nicely (signing and speaking his little “pEEAse!”) and was told by the mom that he could use it when her son was done. He sat waiting and watching the kid play with airplane for a good 5 or 6 minutes. Then the kid put it to the side and started digging in the sand. Reed took the toy and was having a great time making airplane noises and playing gently. The other mom got off the phone and saw him, I had made a phone call so I wasn’t paying that much attention, but I heard her ask her kid if he wanted his airplane back. And then took it from Reed and handed it over. Reed was FURIOUS! And who could blame him? He did exactly what he was told to do, waited patiently, and wasn’t hurting anyone. All that work and someone changed the rules.

I almost decked her. How could she be such a flaming asshat? Her kid hadn’t even seemed to notice. And Reed hadn’t run off with it or anything; they were playing right next to each other.

I tried interesting Reed in something else, I tried getting him onto the slide, but nothing was calming him down. So we had to leave. And I wish that I had said something, even now, weeks later. Her kid was at least a year older than Reed, much more mature and vocal, though the same size. And I know that people assume Reed is about 3 or so, since he’s the same size as most 3-year-olds at the park, and they expect him to act a little older, but even still, this was an awful thing to do.

The other time doesn’t really seem as bad to me, though when I put it in words people seem to get more upset about it. Reed was throwing sand. And I was two steps away to stop him when a nanny grabbed his hand and told him “no.” He wasn’t close enough to get any kid with the sand, though I was still going to stop him. It really wasn’t necessary for someone else to step in. I don’t approve of other people disciplining my kid unless we know them or there’s danger involved, for him or another kid. Okay, not exactly true, she could have told him not to throw the sand, but don’t touch my kid. If there’d been even one other kid in the sandbox I would have understood.

Anyway, I’m always worried about these lines being crossed. I worry that I’m not doing a good enough job parenting my kid, that I’m letting him be too much on his own and pissing off the other parents. I don’t know if I’m right or wrong in this situation. I don’t know if I’m being unfair to the other kids. But 90% of the time Reed and the other kids get along well, it’s only when the other people step in that we’ve had issues.

Where are your boundaries? Am I wrong about the airplane? Would you have taken it away? I know I would have if Reed had grabbed it or the other kid had been really upset. Without thinking, it would have gone back to the kid. But I never would have given it back to Reed if it had been his toy. We share. And he needs to learn that. Maybe the kid has developmental issues, it’s what I’ve been telling myself, but I still don’t understand bringing it up if both kids were happily playing.

Sometimes I hate hearing Tom talking to Reed.

We are all the parents we are, and really I can’t fault Tom. He’s a terrific dad (and a really fantastic husband, too). But I just lose all respect for him when I hear him in the other room. He turns into a sniveling lackey. I expect to walk in their to hear Reed saying “on this, the day of my daughter’s wedding.”

Seriously, everything becomes a question. “Do you want to brush your teeth now?” “Should we go in the other room and eat dinner?” “Don’t kick daddy in the balls, okay?” That’s the worst: the okay tacked onto the end of every statement to prevent it from being too harsh.

And I don’t want to be that wife. I am that wife, but I don’t want to be that wife. I constantly rephrase everything he says when he’s in the room with me. “It’s time to brush our teeth now.” “Let’s go eat dinner.” “Don’t kick daddy!” Arg! I’m such a bitchy bitch! But it’s fingernails on a chalkboard, and it’s so easy to slip into it myself.

“It’s time to go to bed now, okay?” No, it’s not okay. He’s a toddler. Of COURSE he doesn’t want to go to bed now, he wants to play. And he needs to know it isn’t a choice. I counted the other night. He used “okay?” seven times in 15 minutes. That has to be a record.

But what’s a mom to do? I’ve tried explaining Reed will generally follow commands, that it’s easier to start with “it’s time to” so that you can blame the clock. I don’t want Reed growing up thinking that he has this power over his dad, and I don’t want him being confused when he says “no” to a question only to have someone say that it really wasn’t a question. I mean even just that sentence is confusing.

Okay, end ranting. I know this is a triviality. And I know that Tom being a little weak in his directions is much better than him being overly forceful. But I hate to see him undermining our control, okay?

And I know, he constantly has his fingers in his mouth, but if I tell him to remove them he does. But it’s comforting to him. And what else do babies have for comfort at this point? It just seems a little cruel not to let them put their fingers in their mouths.

Anyway, I just had one of these encounters, and I couldn’t help but feel a little offended with her staring at Reed as she complained about kids sucking their thumbs. And I wanted to ask her what the problem is with it? It’s more likely he’ll stop by the time he’s in preschool, the germs he picks up may boost him immune system, I never had to get up in the middle of the night to reinsert a pacifier, and I’m not the one jamming it in to get him to shush. All I see is positives. But I’d love to hear from someone with a different point of view. What are the positives to a pacifier? Why would you be against thumb-sucking? And, if you have older kids, have you ever thought about it one way or the other after the habit stopped? It just seems like one of those things that wouldn’t matter at all in the end.