From Teen Mom to Mom of Teen

Tomorrow is a momentous day for the LeFam! LeScholar will be 13! Thirteen! I remember the beginning of this journey. I was a 17 year old girl. Wise beyond my years, madly in love, but a girl no less. I took my love of knowledge and directed it to every baby book I could find. (LeDaddy never complained while carrying my stacks of books in and out of the library) I always wanted to be a mom. By his due date, I was ready! Him? Not so much. Two weeks later I was 100% convinced that I would be the woman to stay pregnant FOREVER. I considered submitting my name to Guinesses. Then, the magic day came! July 22, 1997. And it was magic! His birth was quick and easy (which is amazing considering he was 8.9 and 21.5!). And I was in love! Not a single one of those books prepared me for the amount of love that swelled my heart! I vowed right then I would be the best mom I could and he would always be my first priority. I have done everything in my power to keep my promises. I am so very proud of the young man he is becoming. An honor student, a compassionate heart, a creative mind, a gentle soul. He’s already setting goals for his life. I can count on him. I can trust him. He “gets” me and vice versa. While 90% of my pride is in him, I reserve a little for me because being a teen mom is hard and scary and people judge you and have doubts about your ability to raise a child. All the best things in life are worth working for and let me tell you, my kids are the best!
Happy Birthday Jiovanni! I love you!

Posted with love by Mommylebron

Wordful Wednesday: Focus on Love

I was in my room dusting (I clean when, I’m anxious, you can read my last post to see why) when I cam across this lil guy. He’s one of those sand figurines. To me he’s much more. My mom moved out of state 2 weeks before LeScholar was born (Military Transfer) and this lil sand pup was one of the last things she gave me. During my pregnancy I read every pregnancy/birth book I could find (I was 17 and I really wanted to know what to expect when I was expecting). Many of these books mention having a focal item. Something to center your thoughts on to help block out some of the pain. (It really does work) Well, this lil doggy was my focal item. And Lescholar will be 13 in 9 days. (OMG I’ve gone from teen mom to mom of teen!)
*Kristi I’ll link up with ya’ll later, not sure how to do that part from my BB.

Where Am I Wednesday?

I wonder if I can find enough Blogger Friends to let me visit them on Wednesdays to make this a regular thing? It doesn’t hurt to try! I want to say thank you to the fabulous Chubby Cheeks Thinks for letting me be her first guest blogger! I was so nervous but she pulled it all together and presented it beautifully! To read my guest post click here: MissMom2U visits Chubby Cheeks Thinks!

Don’t Judge Me

Ok, let me set the scene for you: I’m in the grocery store checkout line with ds10 & ds12, and dd9. If you’re a mom, you probably already know where this is going. Did I mention my dd9 has bipolar disorder, ADHD, and ODD? If you’re a mom raising a child with emotional disabilities, you feel my pain already. I have to watch dd9 like a hawk. At 9 years old she is a runner. At 30, I am not.

And then I see it. The look. The “I-just-spotted-the-one-thing-in-the-checkout-line-I-can’t-live-without” look. It doesn’t matter that we’ve already had the “I’m not buying anything extra. /Yes, mommy, I understand.” talk. There’s a storm brewing and I have knots in my stomach.

            “Mo-om?” Crap.” Can I, please get (Insert any item here, because, who are we kidding? It doesn’t matter what it is.)? Please, I asked nicely.”

            “No.” I answer nicely, like that’s really going to matter, and then I wait. Next comes the begging, to which I calmly reply ‘No’. Then comes negotiating. (I don’t know about you, but I do not negotiate after ‘no’.) I proceed to remind her that we are not buying anything extra, and explain why, if applicable (like, moms broke). And then? The dreaded meltdown. Only for us, this is a daily occurrence.

I’m going to pause in my POV here, because as we speak, Supermom two lanes over, is giving me that look.  You know the one. The “can’t-you-control-your-kid-some-people-shouldn’t-be-allowed-to-procreate” look. I have a few choice words in mind for her, but I stop and think. Ok, from her point of view, how does this look? What is she really seeing? A (not so little) girl throwing a (pretty loud and heartbreaking) tantrum. A (obviously way too young (o; ) mom, barely paying attention, giving said child seemingly vague responses, at irregular intervals. Two bored looking siblings, tagging along and apparently oblivious to their little sister’s fit.

Ok, back to my POV (because truly Supermom can bite me). I know that, by following this routine (that we do almost daily) she will be sniffling as we leave the line (and will ask for a hug or other tactile affection) and she will be calm by the time we reach the car. Our ride home will be peaceful and she won’t even remember what she asked for. (Yes, this last part totally confounds me, but, whatever)

Now, if I decided that appeasing Supermom with my totally awesome mood adjusting powers was my first priority, all hell would break lose. Think I’m kidding? She has to work through her desires and emotions just like the above scenario. If I were to try and intervene in any other way, or heaven forbid, use my “I’m The Boss Of You”  voice, she would, at the very least, run away from me (I sooo do not enjoy that game). Worst case scenario? Let’s just say “You break it, you buy it”. And then, the ride home? Yeah, there’s goes my daily ration of sanity (and did I just hear cracking??).

So, Supermom, while I can totally see things from your point of view, mine just makes more sense. And, until you’ve been in my shoes, Don’t Judge Me.

Dear Cappuccino,

Image via Wikipedia

Dear Cappuccino,

It is 6:30pm and I can barely keep my eyes open! I didn’t get much sleep last night, (thank you, God for nocturnal teenagers and forgive my sarcasm as I am exhausted). I have dinner partially cooked, laundry folded on my bed, and 5 kids competing for my quickly waning attention. My husband is griping because apparently it is not acceptable to dry clothes in the oven and bake bread in the dryer.

That being said, I’m sure throwing the dinner dishes in the washing machine would not go over well. *sigh* It is with a great measure of desperation that I implore you! Please bring my brain back to a semi (if temporary) functional mode so that I can fold my children, feed my clothes, have a brief adult conversation with the plants and water my husband.

Sincerely,

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