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
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