So in high school I took a lot of pride in being the "it" babysitter. I have always had a natural connection with kids, and mostly this is because I was forced to hang out with the little kids in my family. And all of their friends.
Then I realized I could make money doing what I already did.
So that really was my social life in middle school and high school.
I was (and still am) a good babysitter, but I am not infallible.
Everyone makes mistakes. I have made kids cry.
Sometimes I feel no guilt at all. If I take away a kid's fourth cookie and he/she cries, I say "Deal with it." Now. If you make a kid cry and it is totally your fault and they look at you feeling completely helpless, I dare you to not feel like a monster.
Here are some of my monster moments:
1. Meet Lily, age 5. Lily is the daughter of Scott and Annie, the directors of Camp Wojtyla. Lily and her brother Samuel spend all summer up on the mountain with crazy college kids (and middle/high schoolers). It is a secret goal of all counselors to get Lily and Sam to like you. Some are pretty explicit about it acually, and I'm like "Woah, calm down." I decided to take the cool approach, and simply let it happen. I was sure it naturally would.
Well one day Lily approached me and asked me if I wanted to play freeze tag with her.
Duh.
So I'm pretty good with the kid tag game. You give them a few victories but also make them work. Well I had let Lily tag me a few times, and it was time to show her I could hold my own. I went in to tag her and my foot slipped on the gravel/dirt and I completely body slammed her.
I'm not tiny, and she is a small 5 year old.
She slowly got up, looked at me like I was a monster and ran to her mom crying.
2. Still Lily, age 5. A few days later Lily asked me if I wanted to throw frisbee with her. Sweet, she must have forgotten that I just made her eat dirt. "Sure Lily!" Frisbee is easy enough. We were standing about 5 feet apart, good distance. I did the whole "Wow! That is an awesome throw!" That was fun for a bit. Then I threw it to her and said, "Lily its coming at ya!" Not soon enough. It hit her right in the mouth. She wasnt even close to catching it.
More tears.
More monster looks.
This time I hugged her and said, "Lily I hope you know I didnt mean to do that."
She looked at me so pitifully and said "I think you're just too rough with me."
Oh. my. gosh.
Thankfully we are friends now, I think.
You can usually count on kids to forget things. I hope.
3. Nicholas (Turtle), age 6? I am a huge fan of dance parties with anyone. But especially my little siblings because they are always down for them. Case and point: the event that happened in our kitchen just a few hours ago. Well when Turtle was about 6, I liked doing tricks with them. Because they were so light and scrawny, it was super easy to throw them all over the place. Well this one particular time, I held him by his right arm and his right foot and I was spinning him around. Right into a wooden chair. Yes, I was a 14 year old girl and I split my little brothers head open because I spun him straight into a chair.
He's never forgotten that one.
Maybe 5 is the perfect age to accidentally injure kids. Even thinking about these things now, I still feel bad.
Monday, March 30, 2015
Monday, March 16, 2015
Truths my mother showed me.
So my mom read my last post, because she wanted to.
Also I think the title "Lies my mother told me" motivated her.
Afterwards she asked me if I ever felt that she hurt me, or if she was cruel.
I was shocked.
"No! Is that what you got from that?"
"Well, yes. And you talked about how kind your father is, and that is why you love him."
Needless to say, I felt terrible.
That is not what I meant at all.
I am not writing this so my mom will read it and forgive me; we've talked it through.
But that conversation started me thinking on the reasons I love my mom; and just how NOT cruel she is.
I started making a list, and a common denominator in it was art.
This actually surprised me.
My mom is a very talented artist. She would never say that; but she is. Her entire life she dreamed of moving to a big city to be a graphic designer. Instead, she moved to Aiken SC and raised 6 very Catholic kids.
Now that I am trying to breach adulthood, I am starting to realize just how hard it would be to let go of a dream like that. Its not just a dream like having a job for a year, but a life dream. She wanted to use her artistic talents to show others just how beautiful our world is.
That does not always look like having 6 kids. At least from the outside.
My mom has contributed more beauty to this world than I could possibly say in this short post. But the more I think about it, the more hopelessly thankful I am for her dream, her passions, and her ability to say yes to a call higher than anything she had planned.
I am an artistic person as well. I am no Picasso, but I art has always been apart of who I am. It is also how I feel loved.
Maybe this is why my mom and I have such a special bond, because we love and feel loved in similar ways. Much of this is through creating things, and appreciating beauty.
Mom showed me the importance of creating things. And that a healthy soul requires losing yourself if something you enjoy.
These are some of the ways my mom helped me feel loved in my childhood:
-When I was four I asked to have my room painted purple. So my mom painted it purple. She also painted this really cool carousel zebra on my dresser. A few months later I wanted my room painted green/blue. So I picked out this lovely toothpaste color and my mom repainted my room for her spoiled brat. Then she painted these cool white squiggles on my wall. It stayed like that for awhile, until I decided to move rooms entirely.
- When I was three I scribbled all over our rental home wall because I was angry, and she made me erase the entire thing myself. I was 3, so I doubt I did a good job. But she said, "You have to deal with the consequences of your actions, so you are going to erase the whole thing." I was mad as mess, but I never did it again.
- My mom refused to buy polyester Halloween costumes (though I begged), and I always had home made and creative costumes. One time she painted my entire face to look like a tiger. It looked legit and awesome, and I hated it.
- My parents never bought cable, so I had to spend my time learning needlepoint, writing creative stories, and drawing really unimpressive pictures. Also creating a secret clubhouse in our attic that stunk because summer temps average around 100 degrees.
- About once a week she would pack all the little kids into the car and come to my school to drop off a forgotten text book or lunch.
- She never once made us feel like we were not worth giving up a dream.
-Any time my mom was redecorating a room or house (which was a lot), I was always invited to join on hobby lobby runs and internet searches. We would pour over swatches and paint samples, and sights for good deals on anything. My mom never needed an 8 year old's help with any of that, I'm sure of it. In fact, I bet she would have loved the alone time. But she knew that it made me feel important.
- I thought it was normal for moms to paint realistic murals of palm trees and plants on walls. And to make all the curtains, bedspreads, and quilts in the house. And to mosaic table tops, and to paint whatever you wanted on command, and to crochet hats and halloween costumes, and to illustrate books as a hobby.
- I loved being able to give people a tour of my house and say "My mom did this, and that, and that." I would feel such pride with every "Ohhh!" "Really?"
- I loved that my mom would get excited for my school projects, but not in a controlling way.
- My mom always makes me feel like I can do anything. And not in an unrealistic "My child is the best" sort of way.
When my mom tells me that I have more artistic potential than she ever did, I know that she means it. When she tells me that we are her ultimate masterpiece I say "that is cheesy, but one of the most authentically loving thing a mother can say." Its authentic because she means it.
Also I think the title "Lies my mother told me" motivated her.
Afterwards she asked me if I ever felt that she hurt me, or if she was cruel.
I was shocked.
"No! Is that what you got from that?"
"Well, yes. And you talked about how kind your father is, and that is why you love him."
Needless to say, I felt terrible.
That is not what I meant at all.
I am not writing this so my mom will read it and forgive me; we've talked it through.
But that conversation started me thinking on the reasons I love my mom; and just how NOT cruel she is.
I started making a list, and a common denominator in it was art.
This actually surprised me.
My mom is a very talented artist. She would never say that; but she is. Her entire life she dreamed of moving to a big city to be a graphic designer. Instead, she moved to Aiken SC and raised 6 very Catholic kids.
Now that I am trying to breach adulthood, I am starting to realize just how hard it would be to let go of a dream like that. Its not just a dream like having a job for a year, but a life dream. She wanted to use her artistic talents to show others just how beautiful our world is.
That does not always look like having 6 kids. At least from the outside.
My mom has contributed more beauty to this world than I could possibly say in this short post. But the more I think about it, the more hopelessly thankful I am for her dream, her passions, and her ability to say yes to a call higher than anything she had planned.
I am an artistic person as well. I am no Picasso, but I art has always been apart of who I am. It is also how I feel loved.
Maybe this is why my mom and I have such a special bond, because we love and feel loved in similar ways. Much of this is through creating things, and appreciating beauty.
Mom showed me the importance of creating things. And that a healthy soul requires losing yourself if something you enjoy.
These are some of the ways my mom helped me feel loved in my childhood:
-When I was four I asked to have my room painted purple. So my mom painted it purple. She also painted this really cool carousel zebra on my dresser. A few months later I wanted my room painted green/blue. So I picked out this lovely toothpaste color and my mom repainted my room for her spoiled brat. Then she painted these cool white squiggles on my wall. It stayed like that for awhile, until I decided to move rooms entirely.
- When I was three I scribbled all over our rental home wall because I was angry, and she made me erase the entire thing myself. I was 3, so I doubt I did a good job. But she said, "You have to deal with the consequences of your actions, so you are going to erase the whole thing." I was mad as mess, but I never did it again.
- My mom refused to buy polyester Halloween costumes (though I begged), and I always had home made and creative costumes. One time she painted my entire face to look like a tiger. It looked legit and awesome, and I hated it.
- My parents never bought cable, so I had to spend my time learning needlepoint, writing creative stories, and drawing really unimpressive pictures. Also creating a secret clubhouse in our attic that stunk because summer temps average around 100 degrees.
- About once a week she would pack all the little kids into the car and come to my school to drop off a forgotten text book or lunch.
- She never once made us feel like we were not worth giving up a dream.
-Any time my mom was redecorating a room or house (which was a lot), I was always invited to join on hobby lobby runs and internet searches. We would pour over swatches and paint samples, and sights for good deals on anything. My mom never needed an 8 year old's help with any of that, I'm sure of it. In fact, I bet she would have loved the alone time. But she knew that it made me feel important.
- I thought it was normal for moms to paint realistic murals of palm trees and plants on walls. And to make all the curtains, bedspreads, and quilts in the house. And to mosaic table tops, and to paint whatever you wanted on command, and to crochet hats and halloween costumes, and to illustrate books as a hobby.
- I loved being able to give people a tour of my house and say "My mom did this, and that, and that." I would feel such pride with every "Ohhh!" "Really?"
- I loved that my mom would get excited for my school projects, but not in a controlling way.
- My mom always makes me feel like I can do anything. And not in an unrealistic "My child is the best" sort of way.
When my mom tells me that I have more artistic potential than she ever did, I know that she means it. When she tells me that we are her ultimate masterpiece I say "that is cheesy, but one of the most authentically loving thing a mother can say." Its authentic because she means it.
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
Lies my mother told me.
I have always struggled to maintain friendships with very gullible people. Not because I don't like them. I actually love these kind hearted trusting type with all of my heart.
The struggle happens because I always take full advantage of this trust.
Its not something I'm proud of.
I'm actually quite ashamed.
I blame my mom, really. Everyone loves a good scape goat, right?
See a reality in life is that kids are pretty stupid and they believe everything.
Then you learn stuff as you get older, but this takes time.
My mom comes from a family of sharp witted loud Irish folk; which means almost all of my extended family members have very dry senses of humor. This makes family gatherings hilarious. But it also comes with a lot of anxiety.
See if you miss ONE beat, someone is all over you.
It really is exhausting to keep up with the humor and conversation, but when you do...When you do: It is all glory.
Here is an example:
"How was mass today?"
"It was good, the homily was mostly about sin."
"Oh nice. What did Fr. talk about?"
"I think he was pretty against it."
You know it is good if Uncle Jim the professor laughs. That is just how things work.
I have honestly walked away from family "discussions" feeling this weird rush and mentally fist pumping myself for a job well done.
Some would call that sort pressure sick.
I call it: all I know.
Back to my mom and kids being stupid.
So my mom is super sarcastic. My dad is not (one of the many reasons I love him.)
When we were kids, my mom thought it was funny to lie to us all the time.
That sounds mean.
Really she just told ridiculous things; because kids believe it and that is always hilarious.
But really who can blame her? She was stuck in the house all day with snotty kids, and sometimes the only person she would see all day was my kind hearted father. That dry sarcasm had to come out somewhere, I suppose.
So the result of this was my totally skewed sense of humor.
See I thought lying to people was supposed to be funny.
Because it seemed every time adults admitted to lying to me, they would laugh like it was the greatest joke ever.
And I. hate. not. knowing. jokes.
So I played along.
I developed a habit of walking up to people and lying; but not in a funny way. This was not intentional, I honestly thought I was funny.
But I wasn't.
See all of my lies had a little bit of truth to them. For example:
"That shirt is the ugliest thing I've ever seen." Totally serious face.
"What?" Totally hurt face.
"Just kidding!!" "Isn't that funny?"
"No Emmy, its not."
"Whatever, you just don't get my humor."
In 7th grade I specifically remember being told at a birthday party that
A) My hair made me look like a skunk.
See the summer before 7th grade I wanted hair highlights because of Jennifer Anniston, but my mom wouldn't pay for me to get them done. And she wouldn't pay for a do it yourself kit.
So I bought one (this she let me do.)
I couldn't afford the nice kind with a comb to help you out; I could only afford the paste you make yourself and apply with your hands.
So I was 11, lets remember that.
I ended up putting way too much on the two pieces in the front that framed my face. And I left it on wayyyyy too long. So when I pulled my hair into a pony tail, it did, indeed, look like a skunk.
The second thing I was told at this party was
b) "Emmy you lie to people all the time, and its not funny. It makes people not want to be your friend."
^These all really happened. What can I say? Middle school sucks.
This was good for me to hear though. I firmly believe that everyone would be a lot better off if we were better about telling each other when our words hurt.
I have come a long way since that day. At least I've tried.
I still have a knack for saying ridiculous things and keeping a straight face, though.
I didn't realize how often I was doing this in my classroom until some kid called me out.
He said, "You say the opposite of what you mean a lot don't you?"
...guilty.
This could have happened because of conversations like this:
"Ms. Judd, is this worksheet going to be graded?"
"Yeah its actually 90% of your total grade for this class."
"Really?!"
"No..."
One time I showed them a video of the national championship swing dance competition. I said, "I wonder how they got such good footage of my dancing!"
"Ms. Judd, is that really you?!"
"No."
"Here is a clip of a summit of Mt. Everest. I was up all night filming it for you guys."
"Really?!"
"No..."
There have been way more, I just can't remember them.
This whole problem (or gift, who can say?) really all comes down to insecurity, trying to be funny, and attempting to live up to my matriarch's twisted gift.
Maybe one day I'll figure it out.
The struggle happens because I always take full advantage of this trust.
Its not something I'm proud of.
I'm actually quite ashamed.
I blame my mom, really. Everyone loves a good scape goat, right?
See a reality in life is that kids are pretty stupid and they believe everything.
Then you learn stuff as you get older, but this takes time.
My mom comes from a family of sharp witted loud Irish folk; which means almost all of my extended family members have very dry senses of humor. This makes family gatherings hilarious. But it also comes with a lot of anxiety.
See if you miss ONE beat, someone is all over you.
It really is exhausting to keep up with the humor and conversation, but when you do...When you do: It is all glory.
Here is an example:
"How was mass today?"
"It was good, the homily was mostly about sin."
"Oh nice. What did Fr. talk about?"
"I think he was pretty against it."
You know it is good if Uncle Jim the professor laughs. That is just how things work.
I have honestly walked away from family "discussions" feeling this weird rush and mentally fist pumping myself for a job well done.
Some would call that sort pressure sick.
I call it: all I know.
Back to my mom and kids being stupid.
So my mom is super sarcastic. My dad is not (one of the many reasons I love him.)
When we were kids, my mom thought it was funny to lie to us all the time.
That sounds mean.
Really she just told ridiculous things; because kids believe it and that is always hilarious.
But really who can blame her? She was stuck in the house all day with snotty kids, and sometimes the only person she would see all day was my kind hearted father. That dry sarcasm had to come out somewhere, I suppose.
So the result of this was my totally skewed sense of humor.
See I thought lying to people was supposed to be funny.
Because it seemed every time adults admitted to lying to me, they would laugh like it was the greatest joke ever.
And I. hate. not. knowing. jokes.
So I played along.
I developed a habit of walking up to people and lying; but not in a funny way. This was not intentional, I honestly thought I was funny.
But I wasn't.
See all of my lies had a little bit of truth to them. For example:
"That shirt is the ugliest thing I've ever seen." Totally serious face.
"What?" Totally hurt face.
"Just kidding!!" "Isn't that funny?"
"No Emmy, its not."
"Whatever, you just don't get my humor."
In 7th grade I specifically remember being told at a birthday party that
A) My hair made me look like a skunk.
See the summer before 7th grade I wanted hair highlights because of Jennifer Anniston, but my mom wouldn't pay for me to get them done. And she wouldn't pay for a do it yourself kit.
So I bought one (this she let me do.)
I couldn't afford the nice kind with a comb to help you out; I could only afford the paste you make yourself and apply with your hands.
So I was 11, lets remember that.
I ended up putting way too much on the two pieces in the front that framed my face. And I left it on wayyyyy too long. So when I pulled my hair into a pony tail, it did, indeed, look like a skunk.
The second thing I was told at this party was
b) "Emmy you lie to people all the time, and its not funny. It makes people not want to be your friend."
^These all really happened. What can I say? Middle school sucks.
This was good for me to hear though. I firmly believe that everyone would be a lot better off if we were better about telling each other when our words hurt.
I have come a long way since that day. At least I've tried.
I still have a knack for saying ridiculous things and keeping a straight face, though.
I didn't realize how often I was doing this in my classroom until some kid called me out.
He said, "You say the opposite of what you mean a lot don't you?"
...guilty.
This could have happened because of conversations like this:
"Ms. Judd, is this worksheet going to be graded?"
"Yeah its actually 90% of your total grade for this class."
"Really?!"
"No..."
One time I showed them a video of the national championship swing dance competition. I said, "I wonder how they got such good footage of my dancing!"
"Ms. Judd, is that really you?!"
"No."
"Here is a clip of a summit of Mt. Everest. I was up all night filming it for you guys."
"Really?!"
"No..."
There have been way more, I just can't remember them.
This whole problem (or gift, who can say?) really all comes down to insecurity, trying to be funny, and attempting to live up to my matriarch's twisted gift.
Maybe one day I'll figure it out.
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