I have Ruined Her

While most of these posts will be about my adventures in my craft room, the adventure of motherhood is one that I like to hit head on. While I consider Big B a very level headed person, this mama tends to error on the side of " Oh No I'VE COMPLETELY RUINED THEM!!" Isn't mommy guilt a glorious thing? I am a stay at home mommy now and feel the guilt just like I did when I worked. Only it's over different things. When I worked, the guilt was about time and how I could maximize the quality in my limited time with my oldest. Since she was our one and only for so long, I got the unique privilege of feeling mommy guilt plus only child mommy guilt. It was awesome! (insert sarcasm here) There were days where I would get off late from work, pick her up, make dinner, go to an after hours meeting, and get home long after she had gone to bed. Total hours spent with Miss A? maybe 1.... maybe. But this post isn't going to be a debate on staying home versus working mothers. I say, if it works for your family, if your happy doing whichever, than I celebrate you! I support all mommies, no matter how they choose to bring up their kids. We are all in the trenches with our kids, fighting the daily fight, dirty, tired and worn. Sometimes they win, sometimes we win, but most of the time we meet somewhere in the middle. NO this isn't about that awful unnecessary debate over working versus staying at home. Comments can hurt, cut you deep. "Sticks and stone could brake my bones, but words will never hurt me".... we've all heard that little rhyme but it is so wrong. At any age, words have the power to cut through you and the power to lift you up. The problem, when most people start arguing isn't the argument, it's the words you can't unsay. Each and every Wednesday, we get in the car and make our way across town to our church for mid week service. Between the bustle of getting the kids dressed, ready and cleaned, while getting dinner on the table, daddy comes home. We eat fast, load Miss A and Little B into the car and away we go. Personally, I think it's a great personal triumph if we are there at 7:10pm.... church starts at 7pm. We are perpetually late, it's a gift really, to still be late when we start getting everyone ready at 4pm. "And the award goes to the best at being late for no good reason is......" Ta-Da! This is usually the first time Big B has a moment to ask his in depth question "How was today?" On this particular day, we are running really behind, and are barely piled into the car, car seats fastened, seat belts on, when Big B says "How was today?' "Miss A got in trouble at co-op today" (here I should probably mention, we are labeled those "crazy homeschoolers") "Oh? What for" As I proceed to tell him how she really wasn't "in" trouble so much as not listening to the teacher due to waiting to keep the whole class together. Another little boy wasn't wanting to line up, and Miss A was afraid he would be left behind and so she stood still, wouldn't move until he came with the class, therefore getting herself in trouble for not listening. I'm telling Big B this when her little voice from the back seat pipes up "Jordan is my only friend mom. My only one, I couldn't leave him behind." I tell her that she could have played with the three girls in class, that he isn't her "ONLY" friend. She proceeds to sigh and says "Yes he is, I'm not allowed to play with the other girls. They don't like me." I ask her to clarify. "Mom, (she names the ring leaders name) she told them that I can't be their friend. I'm not allowed to play with them. She hates me, so they have to hate me too." Now to me hate is a very strong word. To hate is such a harsh and total emotion, it is not light or something to say but rather a strong word..... at least to me. "What do you mean she hates you?" " Mom, I can't be their friends. When I try to play in the girls center, I'm not allowed to. I just want to play restaurant, but they don't want to play with me. Once Jordan came, I had a friend, but before he came, I only played by myself. No one likes me at school mom." The words are hanging in the air, thick and heavy like a soured cream "No one likes me". My inner mom voice starts to scream: How could they? She is so sweet!! Amazing!! What is wrong with these girls? Yes, she is a bit of a drama queen, but they have to like her....... right? THEY ARE ONLY 4 and 5!!!!!!!!!! I hadn't realized at this point that tears were streaming down my cheeks. My breath was ragged as I fought the urge to bawl or just have Big B stop the car, get out on the freeway and hug my little girl, while telling her how amazing and beautiful she is. I'm gripping the seat as she describes where they pulled down her skirt in front of the class and opened the door on her while she went to the bathroom. I'm fighting the urge to march up to the closed school and camp out on the walkway leading to the directors office. "What does the teacher say?" I asked, trying desperately to control my voice so she won't know how upset I am. "She only says to stop it. But they don't mom. They sing a song about my coloring. I don't like to color with them." Knowing I'm going to hate the answer, I ask "What is the song?" She sings it, and I truly hear my heartbreak into a million pieces. We chose to homeschool because it was easier for us, because she is so smart that public school won't take her, because it was cheaper than paying the fancy prices. We choose to homeschool to give her a one on one education and personalized attention. We only chose to send her to the PK 2 days a week for socialization. We liked that they used ABEKA and we use it, right along side. We didn't choose to send her to a place to be bullied buy brat 4 year olds. Her hair isn't the right color, she never wears pants, she is weird. I listen as she tells me these things, not crying, not upset, just like they were math facts. A complete black or white thing, you either fit in or you don't. "Mom, I can't make it to church, I have to potty." As we pull off to the HEB, Big B turns to me "can you take her in?" he whispers. I just shake my head no. As soon as they are gone, I call my mom, she answers on the first ring "Hell.." she doesn't even get the word out before I am bawling, sobbing. "I HAVE RUINED MISS A!!!" I shriek between sobs. "What?!" She asks "I have ruined her. It's all my fault. We homeschooled her and now she is too sheltered and my biggest fear has come true. It's all my fault!" I'm sobbing at my mom. Calmly, like only she can do, she says " Tell me what happened." And I do, the whole thing. The whole ugly, horrible thing. By this time Miss A and daddy are coming out of the store and I say I'll call her back after church. At service, my heart is heavy. I can't pay attention. I can't focus. Little B is making google eyes at Pastor's wife, who comes and takes him, slobbering and all, all over her nice suit jacket. His little round blue eyes stare at me while he chews on his chubby fist. "They hate me mom" I hear her sweet little voice. Like it's a fact, Like it's the truth.  She's in bed and I go to my only place I feel completely alone, my craft room. I kneel down and start praying, talking to God like I always do, like he is my best friend. "Where did I go wrong?  What can I do? This is me all over again. This is going to happen to her always." It's just like Junior High and High School where I was teased and made fun of, laughed at for being different. It was a whole ton of moments where I was the target of cruelty, of hatred. I'm crying out to God now "Please help me be better. Please help me be a better mom. I have failed her." The guilt in all mothers is deep, no matter the side of the fence your on. We all feel like we have failed at one point or another. As I'm crying out, I'm listening to my IPod, I'm a modern day Christian. I'm Listening to Gateway College of Evangelism Choir and crying for my hurt little girl. But something moves in me and the anger comes. I'm mad! Mad about these little girls, mad about what they are saying and doing. I'm mad enough to possibly harm the mother of the "ring leader" in the parking lot at school the next day. But I am reminded that violence won't solve this problem, so I make a plan. I make a date to talk with the director one on one. I tell her what Miss A said and how I feel about it. I'm calm, collected, smart. I truly believe God helped me with that, since on the way in I saw the mom coming from the classroom and it took all I had not harm her. It was my mother's instinct to protect my child, but I must rise above. We talk, the director and I, and we come up with a plan. I feel better and once we talk it over with her teacher, I feel even better about it. Miss A and I go eat Jamba Juice to celebrate. That night in the bath, after her brother is out and cleaned, she hugs me. She is soaking wet and I protest. She looks at my face and says "I love you mom. You stick up for me. You care about me" I am reminded how hard it is to be a Proverbs 31 women, how this world can be so cruel to others for their own gain. "I heard you praying. You said my name and I heard you. I like it when you pray for me." She is saying this as she is yawning. I tuck her in, kiss her forehead. As I walk out I ask "How old are you?" She giggles "I'm 5." I know that. Just 5. Mama Jelly