Nobody Cares

I copied this from someone who copied it from someone who copied it from someone. I have no idea where it originated. The point is, I didn't write it but I wish I did. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did.

Cheers ~ Nicole


Nobody cares. That's right. I said it. Nobody cares. Nobody cares whether my 5 year old was breastfed or bottlefed as an infant. What really matters was that he was fed well and often.

Nobody cares whether he wore disposable or cloth diapers. What really matters is that he was kept clean and more importantly, that he is not wearing any kind of diaper anymore.

Nobody cares whether he slept in a crib or a playpen or a bassinet or in bed with me or some combination of all of those. What really matters is that he had a safe place to sleep and was tended to at night when needed.

Nobody cares whether we used redirection, time outs or a swat on the bum when he threw a tantrum or engaged in some other behavior requiring some form of discipline. What really matters is that we disciplined him in a way that was loving, consistent and maintained respect for him as a "tiny human" (as Arizona would say on Grey's).

Nobody cares when he started walking. Really. Nobody. I know it seems like THE biggest thing ever when the kid is taking those first steps, but honestly, when that kid is 5 years old nobody is going to care. At all. Especially if they walked early. Then nobody wants to hear it. Or they don't believe you.
Nobody really cares when he started to talk either. Well, the school kind of cares, in that if the kid is still having issues with speech they do need to know about it so they can help accordingly. But in general, other parents and most definitely the other kids...ya, they totally do not care.

Nobody cares about his bowel movements either. Not the color, consistency or frequency. I never would have believed it myself until my babies stopped being babies and nobody cared anymore about their poop. Mindblowing. I know. Kind of makes me wonder if anyone EVER cared about their poop...
Nobody cares how many colds he had in his first year. Or second year. Or beyond. Kids are germy. They get sick, especially when they play with other kids. Nobody is really worried about it.

Nobody cares if he is circumcised or not. And if they did, I'd wonder if they had some kind of sick, perverted tendancy to be so concerned with the state of my son's penis.

Nobody cares if he did baby sign language. I swear on my dead mother-in-law's grave. I know by now some of you must think I'm a heretic but I promise it's true. The only thing that matters about what he's doing with his hands is that they aren't being used to hit or otherwise harm people. Sign language? Please. Nobody cares.

Nobody really cares if he's vaccinated or on what schedule those vaccinations happened. I mean, yah, the school prefers it but nobody asks. Nobody cares. It was our choice and we made it in confidence rather than fear. Nobody cares if he watched tv before the age of 2. Or 3. Or 4. Seriously. What really matters is that watching tv was only one of a very many things he did and that however much he watched, it didn't interfere with his development in any way. (It didn't). The adults may care about this one, but the kids don't care if he is a super-genius or dumb as a post. They care if he's kind, helpful, plays nicely and shares. What a freaking concept.

Nobody cares whether his mom worked or stayed home. What mattered most was that he was in an atmosphere of love and respect every day, and that he was provided for adequately. When I make choices for Olivier now, or simply as I watch him progress naturally and in his own way, through the various milestones, I am not nearly as pre-occupied with the things I was with Raymond. It's a nice feeling not to second guess all the time. So mommies of babies and toddlers, here is what I have to say to you.

Is your child well fed, kept clean and given a safe place to sleep? Is he loved and respected? Is she growing and learning new things every day? Is he read to, played with and taken outside regularly, even if he does watch a little tv sometimes? Is he learning to share, be kind and given a chance to socialize with other kids in a positive way? Is your child healthy? Do you take care of him or her when they do happen to get sick? Do you make the best choices you can for your individual child regardless of what the peanut gallery has to say? Do you take care of your babies, and provide them with a safe, loving, consistent, stable and nurturing home? Do you love your baby boys and baby girls? Yes? Well then, I say good job. You are an excellent mother. You are worth your weight in gold. Don't listen to the critics or the negative people who will never have anything good to say about anyone's parenting choices except their own. Stand tall and be proud of your kids every day.

On the flipside of that. Do you occupy yourself with how other people raise their kids? Do you feel the need to tell them or others what they are doing wrong or why your own choices (or intended choices) are so much more superior? Get a life. Find a hobby. Clean your dirty, nasty house - because if you have small children there is a good chance that something is dirty or nasty in your house. Take a class. Have another baby and keep yourself busy with him/her, rather than the babies of your friends, family or strangers. Shut your mouth or back away from the keyboard when the urge to judge choices you don't understand overwhelms you. That kid throwing a fit in the restaurant? You know, the one you think needs a swift kick in the you know where? That kid has autism, or sensory issues, or ADHD or some other sensitive issue that you don't understand. Her mom? The one you think isn't doing anything or enough about it? She is tired, she deals with this every day. Every. Day. Your judgement isn't helping.

Oh, oh - that mom in the mall? The one bottle-feeding her infant while you look in disgust because surely she must not have tried hard enough to breastfeed. That mom has post-partum depression. She's in the mall because it's the only hour out of her day she gets to be around grown ups. Her baby cries a lot. She is tired and maybe her husband isn't able or willing to help out much at night. And yah, she's not breastfeeding. Switching to formula *literally* saved her sanity so wipe that smug look off your face and tell her how cute her baby is and how great she looks for just having given birth.

 I have crazy love for my kids. I'd bury you and nobody would ever find your body if you hurt one of my kids. But I will lose respect for you if you think you know better than I do about what's good for my kids. You don't. That's why you're not their mother. There are so many things we drive ourselves mental over when our kids are babies. All the grief mothers give each other, both silently and not so silently, over who made the best choice, is such a tremendous waste of time. I'm guilty of it too. Not sure why we are so pushy and judgemental sometimes - maybe we are just insecure. Only someone who is not truly secure in their own choices would waste their time judging someone else's. At least I think that's how it works.

Brown Skin

I am struggling with whether or not to make this post. After 35 minutes of staring at a blank screen (And after nearly a week's worth of internal analysis) I figure if I'm still considering writing it then perhaps it really is neccessary.

I'm not a bigot. I don't see color, sexual orientation, gender, religion, or economic position when I look at someone's face. I feel lucky in that regard because I know there are people who DO see those things. I personally know people who waste days (weeks?! months?!) of their lives being upset by issues that involve these types of things.  I've never struggled to see beyond a person's "packaging" --- being blind to these things has always just come naturally. I've never realized what a blessing that 'blindness' was ... until last Monday night.

Isaac is 8. He is in the 2nd grade in small rural school. He sits everyday in a combined 2nd-3rd-4th grade classroom with a total of 12 kids in it. For most of his life he has been surrounded your typical-for-this-area-white-population. And for his entire life I have always classified him as part of your typical-for-this-area-white-population.

Or, at least, I think I have. I've never sat down and made a decision of whether Isaac was white or not. It never crossed my mind. It never mattered to me.

If you look back through his bio-dad's lineage and my lineage you will find traces of English, Irish, Dutch, Norwegian, French, Native American, Greek, Australian (honestly, I don't even know what that would be called...), and probably a few others. But the bottom line is, when I look in the mirror I see a white girl. And when I look at Ike's dad I have always thought "white guy".

Now, set that thought aside for a minute. I'll come back to it.

Last Monday night Isaac came home and did his homework like normal. Halfway through his social studies worksheet he looked up & said, "Mom. So-and-so doesn't like me." At first I thought, 'Oh great -another kid dispute to settle.' But what he said next blew me away.

"So-and-so said they didn't like me because of the color of my skin."

I investigated the story a little more thinking that he possibly misunderstood the little boy's words. After hearing the "whole story" it seemed that no, in fact, Isaac did NOT misunderstand the boys words.

Josh and I spent last week discussing the situation and talking to the parents of other kids who were witnesses to the comments/mis-behaviors.

It turns out it wasn't just one comment. It has been a series of comments and incidents spanning over several weeks. The comments & the actions of the child in question were really terrible & my first instinct was to post all of the gory details for the world to read. But, I stifled my 'mama-bear instinct' long enough to see things a bit more rationally. And I'm glad I did.

You see, since the whole thing unfolded a week ago we have spoken with the child's parents & it appears they handled it the right way. They were just as devastated that their child would say/do such things as we were that our child had to have them said/done to him. The child who was responsible has since called Isaac and apologized. He also displayed what seemed to be genuine remorse. As long as it never happens again, I am willing to chalk it up to a kid making a judgment that he really didn't understand. The parents are good people & I trust that they have handled it the way it needed to be handled. I have high hopes that we won't see this type of thing between these two kids again.

Had this been an instance of "So-and-so doesn't like me because I wear Sponge Bob underoos." Or "So-and-so doesn't like me because I sleep with a night light." Or some other ridiculous reason that kids come up with to 'not like' one another, we wouldn't have made such a big deal out of it. However, when it comes to things like treating someone differently because of the color of their skin, I feel it is important to make a stand.

We've had several family members comment to us, "I don't get it... Isaac has the same color skin as the kid who said it, doesn't he?"

That's exactly my point. It doesn't matter WHAT color a person's skin is. I have a beautiful, popular neice who spends time everyday feeling bad about herself because people tease her for being too white. An albino. Pastey. You name it, they say it. They say it in a friendly, joking way --- but it still gets to her. Should it? Probably not ... but it does.  The words of our peers can have a tremendous impact on us --- positively or negatively.

Earlier I made a point to discuss Isaac's background. I mentioned several nationalities that make up our little boy's heritage. During the summer Isaac does get dark. And this time of year, he is pastey like his mama. However, when the other kid looks at Isaac he sees "brown skin".

So we left it with Isaac like this:

"Son, there are a million things about you that are different from everyone else in the world. You're going to meet people who love those things about you & you're going to meet people who don't like those things about you. You don't get to choose who likes what. The only thing you get to choose is to be happy with who you are --- no matter what anyone else says. It's your job to surround yourself (whenever you can) with people who build you up & when you have to be around people who are cruel -- be kind to them anyway."

(Oh ... and I might have thrown something in there about how ridiculous it would be to 'not like someone with brown skin'. After all, there are 32 women in Red Lodge alone who pay Isaac's mama on a weekly basis to spray their skin brown. Heh.)

As far as the interaction with the other little boy, I think this story is over. There is another element to this story that has not quite unfolded all the way yet. Since that part of the story isn't completely finished at this point, I'm just not comfortable writing about it yet. But, rest assured, I will. Feel free to check back in a few weeks time to see what the heck I'm talking about. :)

For now, Happy Sunday all.

A Birthday Letter To My Sweet Boy

Happy 8th birthday, little man.

How has so much time passed? It seems like yesterday that I first laid eyes on your perfect little face. I can still smell the scent of your soft skin when you nursed for the first time. Even though its been forever, my heart still skips a beat when I remember the way your tiny little hands would rub the skin on my chest as I rocked you to sleep each night.

I remember the moment it hit me. The very instant I realized that I was a mother & I was going to be one forever. You were 4 days old & it was the first time we had been alone since you were born. You were sleeping so peacefully in the bassinette in the NICU. I sighed & realized that you did too at the exact same moment. It took my breath away then & still does today. We were a team. It scared the hell out of me. Even so, I can't help but smile. Scary or not - being a mommy to you is amazing. It gives me a feeling of fulfillment beyond words. Although I'm not sure I am always the greatest mother I take comfort in the fact that you think I am.  

Every milestone of yours has been a personal victory for me. Your first smile, your first word, your first step. And in later years -- your first day of kindergarten, your first bike ride without training wheels, your first tee ball game. Each one of them a miracle to me.

In a card I received for your baby shower there was some advice written by your Grandma Pam. As the years have unfolded,  I've  realize the meaning behind her words:  "Parenting is the hardest job you'll ever have."   I have struggled with the messes you made, the tantrums you threw, and the other millions of naughty/mischievious things you did. I have agonized over many of the decisions I had to make when it came to discipline. I have had many disagreements/arguments with your dad on how to handle situations. But in time we learned to parent as a team. We still have our differences of opinion but we've learned to listen to each other. And now that we've mastered that balancing act, I relish in the other half of your Grandma Pam's advice: "But it is also the most rewarding job you'll ever have."  She was right. You are my greatest accomplishment.

I became a hypochondriac the day you were born. We spent countless hours in Dr. Sauer's office, only for him to send us home because "everything was fine". In your first year I spent more time on the phone with the Ask-A-Nurse than any othe person in my life. I lost count of ER visits somewhere around 6 months. A nasty cough, ear infections, thrush. Is he breathing right? Why's he making that sound? But, more often than not, it was nothing to fret over at all.

Time has passed & I have learned to take things in stride.  I know you're resillient and healthy & in the event that something serious does happen, I know our little family can handle it. I understand that as long as I love you and provide for you --- it is unlikely that I will break you. I've conquered the midnight fear of fevers and stomach bugs. These things aren't scary to me anymore. Rather, I spend my time worrying about new scary things. Things like, "Will today be the day he tries to walk home instead of climbing on the bus?"  "Will he handle a confrontation with a school friend in a way that is appropriate?"  "Is he happy & does he feel like his life is GREAT?" "Will he be bullied on the playground or (worse yet) BE the bully on the playground?"   I know I have a lifetime full of 'new worries' ahead of me. But these worries come paired with joyous celebrations too ... for that reason alone, I welcome the worry!  And, at the end of the day, in the tender moments when I don't know when enough worry is enough ...  your 1000 watt smile has a way of  helping me to remember that in the end, it's all going to be ok.

You've made my life. I have learned so much from you ... How to forgive, how to love unconditionally & not expecting anything in return, how to be innocent, how to enjoy the small things in life, how to be carefree. I hope, in the end, you'll be able to look back and say you learned from me too.

I wish you a life full of wonderful things. I wish your heart to be happy, your dreams to be reached, your goals achieved, and most importantly, all the love you give to be returned to you tenfold. We live our life in phases, son.  When one ends, another begins. Change is constant and life is short. So seize the moment and live life to the fullest --- have no regrets.
You are my angel.

All my love - now & always.
Mom  

8 Years Ago

Through the years ...

And now ...

8 Years Old

To say we love you is an understatement. There simply are no words to describe how we feel accurately.  We will never leave your side. We will always stand up for you. Your wants & desires become our wants & desires. No one will ever take your place in our lives or become more important than you. Sweet boy, we love you. Happy 8th birthday, Isaac Ryan.