The Guilty Parent

At this point, I’m fairly sure that my house is a source of comedy and entertainment for my Amish neighbors. I mean, think about it, they have no television and unless it’s a battery powered radio, forget it. It’s not in their house. In fact, I’ve never seen them in the library or buying a Sunday newspaper… So entertainment?

Yeah. We are it.

On Friday the 13th (coincidence? I think not!) was as close to a livestock catastrophe as I want to come… unless you count the year that one of the pigs died while Brian was hunting and Bug and I had to drag it out of the pen and then cover it until Brian could come home and bury it in the frozen November ground. Yup. Friday is as close as I ever hope to go again.

Our cows escaped on Friday.

I’m not just talking, the grass is greener on the other side of the fence escaped, I’m talking… “HOLY SHIT. THE PASTURE IS EMPTY. WHERE ARE THE COWS?”

Have you seen us?

No, I’m not kidding and no, it’s not funny. Have you ever seen me panic? Usually it’s over a wayward kid, family, or car accidents. My face goes white (can I get more pale than I am now? Oh you bet), I get really nervous and not a lot of what I say makes sense.

I’m not even sure that had I been around, this would have been avoided. Yes, I would have seen Bessie hop the front of the fence and possibly even seen her sister Bertha (No, these are not the cows names. The names of the cows have been changed to protect their identity) follow suit and mosey (cause cows mosey most days) out of the yard, up the road and cross the stop sign.

But I wasn’t. I took Peanut and did some much needed grocery shopping and started our Christmas shopping (Special huge Thank You to Rachel for that. I am forever in your debt). I got home shortly before Bug but never noticed that the cows were missing. They often lay down in their barn or behind the shed where I can’t see.

Thought. Nothing. Of. It.

Until Bug came home and I walked out with him to check the cows like he does every afternoon. I don’t normally check the cows with him but we were engaged in a pointless conversation and I followed him out the back door.

Then I asked, “Bug, where are the cows?”

“Dunno. Probably behind the lean-to.” (If you don’t know what a lean to is, don’t ask, I don’t have time to explain it).

So he goes. And he checks. And he comes running back up to the fence.

“They’re not here.”

“What?! Are you sure? Walk the pasture!”

“MOM! I’m Sure! They. Are. Not. Here!”

Insert me panicking and pacing… and sentences that consist of “Oh shit. Holy shit.”

Long story short, I hop on the phone to call Brian who was at physical therapy and then was headed straight to work (oh yeah, I forgot to mention late call on Thursday confirmed that he can go back to work… again. More on that later). While I was making incoherent phone calls, Bug set out on his bike and then on foot to see if he could walk the neighboring fields and find them. Throughout all of that, I was convinced I heard “mooing” off in the distance like a kitten crying, trapped in a well.

See. Told you. PANIC.

It’s then that Bug comes running into the house, panting, gasping and red in the face.

“You found them?” Shorty, Bebe, Peanut, the dog and I are all waiting anxiously.

“NO! But almost as good! The UPS guy stopped me along the side of the road and asked if he could help me. I told him only if you’ve seen two cows. And he did!”

Turns out Bessie and Bertha were on a cross country / cross the road trip towards wherever their feet could plod them to. Around 10:30 that morning, after lying in wait for me to leave with Peanut, the escape artists hopped the front of the fence and set out on a journey of cars, overgrown green grass and adventure galore!

The Amish neighbors (because that’s the only neighbors I have), found them wandering along the side of the road, begging for food, water, and a place to escape the cars and semi trucks whizzing by them on our boring state route. The Amish obligingly took them in and put them up in their barn until they could find the owners.

Which as you know, takes longer because Amish do not have telephones.

We got the cows home, safe and angry, after a stern talking to, Brian decided to keep them penned up in the trailer overnight. But these girls… Oh these are not your average FAT HEIFERS. These cows have mystical powers and made themselves skinny enough to slip through the side window on the trailer and then proceeded to try and leave the confines of the pasture… AGAIN. After dark. After Brian had gone to work.

Because as you all know, they’re sneaky and dressed like ninjas.

WANTED: ALIVE... So that we may kill them later.

Once again, I dial the Cow Escape Help Line and convince Brian’s friend and one of mine to come over and help us get Bessie, aka “the instigator” back into the fence. We then work by car headlight (sorry Erin about the dead car battery) to fashion some additional barbed wire at the top of the fence.

I speak to Brian at work and he decides to enact The Great Cow Watch of 2009 every hour until sun up.

Fast forward to today, Monday, a normal day by any other glance.

Except when you have Bessie and Bertha.

Around 11am this morning I look out the back door, because ever since Friday night’s excitement, I am convinced that the cows know they are not long for this world and will try to make a break again soon.

I was right.

Bessie is slowly working her way up the tree-lined path while her sister cranes her neck to grab whatever green, yummy goodness she can get before she has to give up her position as look out and join her sister on the other side of the fence.

I run to wake up Brian who worked Sunday night and informed him we have cows on the loose. (How many of you get to say that in your daily conversations?)

Brian chases herds the cow in the wrong direction, because she’s stubborn and won’t go in the direction he wants and because he is still limping (and she’s mocking him I’m sure with her four good legs to his one), while I gather up as much hay as I can hold to lure/coerce Bertha away from the fence.

After a long chase, an Amish boy, the age of Bug to help us later, we manage to get Bessie back in to the pasture. We dole out another stern talking to, loads of extra hay and swift promises of meeting their maker soon. The Great Cow Watch of 2009 has been reinstated until further notice (every hour on the hour, checking their whereabouts like delinquent teens skipping curfew) and begin the task of emailing every friend and family member we can think of to see who wants to buy some fabulously delish, fresh beef in about two months.

I’ve always suspected the Amish  thought we were entertaining. Bug told me that Brian and the Amish were laughing about it all while he was loading them into the trailer on Friday night.

“No Bug. They weren’t laughing with you. They were laughing at you.” I tell him as he begins to pout and sees the realism that now, whenever an Amish buggy strolls past the house really slow and they all stick out their arm to wave at us, like they’ve done every day for the six years we’ve lived here; what we don’t hear, what we can’t understand in their Pennsylvania Dutch language is..

“Wave at the stupid city people who think they are farmers”.

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If I had known when I was little, just how un-rich my parents were, I would have asked for a lot less and learned to value what I had a little bit more.

credit: Vale de Sousa

Unfortunately though, my parents didn’t concern the four of us with how much money we didn’t have. I guess to them it wasn’t something that we should have to worry about. Occasionally I would be upset that I didn’t wear the latest fashions but my clothes weren’t handmade (something that was considered a sign of NO MONEY when I grew up) and I wasn’t wearing anyone’s hand me downs or shopping in resale shops for back to school clothes.

It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I got a clue that not everyone was always able to buy whatever they wanted. Still some of that information was wasted on my bullheaded youth because I had two amazing grandmothers who always made sure that if we kids wanted something, it was there for us. Growing up, if my sister or I saw a Barbie in the store, and we drooled in front of it long enough, either my mom or my grandmother bought it for us. A couple of times I saw my mom try to put the Barbie back but my grandmother would get so beside herself that my mom would just give up and let her get it for me or my sister. I had no clue that none of them could afford the lifestyle they were trying to give us. By the time my brothers were born, there was no one getting beside themselves, the toy or item just went in the cart.

I’ve never gone into much explaining about money to our own kids. I guess it was my upbringing that led me to believe that money isn’t something that eight and nine year-olds don’t need to contend with. Brian grew up in a very different atmosphere, exactly the opposite from mine so he of course doesn’t seem to bat an eye at telling them that they can’t have something.

As of late though, we’re having to hold a lot of tough conversations about money with the kids.

It’s not like we’re “well off”. In fact, you could consider us a lower middle class family, or even lower class, depending on the part of the US you are in. My kids are used to not getting what they want whenever they want it; they got a Nintendo Game Cube just when people decided that it was the PS3 that was the game system to have (and now it’s a Wii). In the long run I guess I wouldn’t have it any different (I don’t like the idea of spoiled kids who are handed EVERYTHING they want) but it still pains me to tell them why they can’t do participate in something or that they can’t have something and then have to explain it to them in a way they’d understand and it’s even harder to explain all of that when no one ever explained it to you (somehow the phrase “we aren’t made of money” just doesn’t cut it).

Christmas and three birthdays are right around the corner here; I missed even getting Brian a birthday card last month because our more immediate concern was his car accident and helping him heal from his injuries. Right now I’m more frustrated than I could ever be because for all we try to do to keep our heads above the sand, we still feel like we’re sinking quickly.

We have no money trees in our backyard and though we are prepared for an emergency (I credit hubs with planning for that stuff) we aren’t prepared for daily life and the little things that come along with it (like groceries, school pictures, and toilet paper). Even Brian at this point is having a hard time telling Bebe why Karate classes are going to have to wait or why mom doesn’t have the extra money to reward for good report cards. I know that sounds petty money concerns but to me, it sounds like failing. It actually runs much deeper than that but I don’t have the energy to go into it.

Of course the important bills are getting paid (like electric and mortgage) but looking at the checkbook, I am frantically adding up how much extra work I need to take on in order to put presents under a tree for all four kids and a husband too (though he swears he won’t care if I don’t get him anything, I know better) and make sure three boys aren’t disappointed on their birthdays. I’m also praying that Brian doesn’t re-injure his knee a second time. It’s not like I’m trying to completely fill the space underneath our tree and have gifts bursting from every angle (I purposely buy a small tree every year so it looks like there are more gifts than what there might really be), but I don’t want them to feel disappointed. That’s the worst kind of parent guilt of all; disappointing your kids.

We try not to dwell on the fact that we’re currently going through some rough financial days right now but on the days when the kids really lay on the “can I haves” it’s all I can see and it leaves me worn out, angry, and feeling like a very bad mother.

As of yet the kids have never complained and I credit that to us focusing on other things like spending time with family and friends.

It’s taken me three days to sit down and get this all out but today after a disheartening email from a client that said “the check isn’t in the mail… yet”, and having to beg/yell at the boys to stop fighting and stop running into my room as a you-can’t-hurt-me-now safe zone (while I’m working), that I finally reached my breaking point. I considered not even publishing this because who wants to read me complain but then I remembered;

This is my blog. I created it so I could complain whenever and however I want.

This is life and right now it’s ugly and messy and poor.

It feels like I’m holding the day to day security of my family on top of my head. I shudder to think if anyone gets sick. I can get them to the doctor but I can’t pay for the copay or buy the medicine.

Just so you know, I failed the part of gym where you had to walk the balance beam.

What’s more frustrating is the amount of money I have coming in unremitted invoices but that won’t stop our phone from being shut off (my cell phone currently is shut off because I chose basic necessities over my cell phone) or not being able to take the kids to school if they miss the bus because I can’t put gas in our van.

This sucks. This sucks any way you slice it. I know there will be people who will say “just dip into the savings”.

People, we have and it’s what is paying the mortgage and the electric right now. It’s what’s keeping the lights on. I hate feeling like I’m failing and I hate whining.

So tonight, I will go to some crappy content site and claim a bunch of articles that will pay a decent rate and every night this week I’ll sit and write them because I know they won’t take 3 weeks to deposit money.

I know that other people have it far worse than this and maybe just by getting this off my chest I’ll feel better. But I might not and until I see some checks come in, I won’t be able to see past my own worries and sometimes shitty stuff happens to us and I just need to work through it, vent it out and then move on.

This post is probably riddled with grammar, spelling and sentence structure errors.

Piss off.

I’m waiting for my turn to move on.

Normally my house is overcome with Halloween candy. I can find wrappers sticking out from every space, corner, and garbage can.

This year though, there isn’t as much candy to be had. Most of the stuff the kids really wanted got eaten right away and then the dad and I got into the candy which is always fun for us.

credit: Ryan LeBaron via photoexpress.com

Still, there is a bucket on top of my fridge that is halfway full with candy that will probably never get eaten or would probably take us to Easter to get through.

That’s just too long for candy to sit in my house if you ask my opinion.

Ordinarily if Brian was working, he’d grab a handful each night to take to work with him and set out for the guys he works with (nothing like a little sugar rush motivation to keep the crew working!) Unfortunately, he’s at home (I know I mentioned on Twitter that he had gone back to work. More about that another time), so I’m stuck with candy to rot my teeth and get fat on.

This mama will not have that!

Plus, it’s a crime to waste candy.

I came up with a very simple solution to the mass sugar rush going on in my house, that I KNOW  a lot of people are already doing but when I came up with it all on my own, I was just damn proud of myself.

My brother is currently serving in Afghanistan and he missed Halloween this year. I love him and miss his presence here at home every day. I’ve decided that there’s nothing better than sending him and his unit our candy. Now of course I don’t think that there’s enough there for EVERYONE, so I’m going to pad the package of sweetness a little more by picking up an extra bag of candy (or two) to send.

Feel free to copy off of me and send your leftover Halloween candy to a soldier you know but keep in mind a few things:

chocolate is going to melt. It’s going to AFGHANISTAN (or Iraq) after all. It’s not exactly the North Pole there.

Other candies, such as Starburst, may not travel well either. What you send has to stand up to the heat.

If you decide not to send candy but still want to send them some FLAVAH from home, my brother swears by Gatorade and the individual G2 packets are Teh Awesome.  I received some of them from BlogHer this year and they are perfect for travel and for the soldiers’ bottles of water.

Do you have any suggestions for what candy we should send my brother?

If you’d like, please contact me nichole{AT}theguiltyparent{DOT}com and I will share his address so you can send candy to his troop as well!

On the surface, this Halloween looked like any other in the Smith family record books. We showed up at my mom’s house to meet with my sister, her kids and wrangle kids into costumes, pass out candy collecting bags (in Peanut’s case, a Frankenstein head/bucket), count heads to make sure everyone was present and accounted for and then begin the long journey that was an hour and 30 minutes of “trick or treat”, “thank you”, “wait for your mother!” and “will you carry me/my bag please?”

It was a great night.

Now, underneath the surface, a handful of people know that this Halloween was much different than last year. It was full of careful optimism, silently said prayers, glances exchanged that said everything and nothing at all.

It was, one year from the day that Zoe went to the hospital where she stayed until her new heart came and she was well enough to come back home. Of course we look on the day that she got her new heart as her actual anniversary. However,  to me, yesterday marked a milestone as well because we wondered, hoped, and prayed that she would be here, be well enough and healthy enough to continue a tradition that started when Bug was a baby; our family had always trick or treated together. I don’t know of a year where my sister and I didn’t take the kids together to trick or treat.

Even before Chrissy had children of her own, she has come with me to take my own kids trick or treating and when my brothers were still young enough to trick or treat, they went with us.

It’s a tradition that started in part because hubby would stay behind at our house and pass out candy and I would travel to my mom’s house to trick or treat and have someone to walk with. Once hubby started working nights, it just continued as I definitely wanted someone to walk with me and by that time my nephew was born. Kid after kid, year after year, we have trick or treated together.

Last year was the first time we ever faced or even let it enter our heads that future years would be different.

As my dad would say, we are a Motley Crew but at least we are Motley together.

I know the rest of this year is going to be full of celebrations, excitement and joy. I hope you are all experiencing the same.

Lately my RSS feeds have been filled with the latest studies and findings on everything from working moms, stay at home moms, child obesity, violence and everything else in between. It seems for every parenting problem there is a “study” on it and the news on the findings is NEVER good. At least not if you’re the parent of the group being studied.

Here’s my thoughts on all of the latest research.

STICK IT.

Stick it right where the sun don’t shine.

That’s right. You read that correctly, I’m suggesting that every scientist, expert and and university who has spent thousands upon thousands of dollars trying to get to the root of our parenting problems to just SHOVE IT. And also, BUTT OUT.

Seriously.

Parents don’t need another reason to feel lousy or rotten or… Gawd forbid… GUILTY over their inept ability to keep their children from getting fat, getting pregnant, not as smart as the other kids, or hiding the Halloween goodies in the hopes their child won’t be a criminal later in life.

Some of the time wasted on these studies could have, in my opinion, been better spent on more productive things… like, finding cures for diseases, saving our environment (even my future criminals will need an earth in which to reside on), and building stronger schools (you know, for the children I’ve made stupid by spanking).

After a week’s worth of reading, I sadly discovered that my southern friends have a higher teenage pregnancy rate and that part of that might have something to do with the fact that dad isn’t at home. So what are we saying? Southern men who can’t stick around to raise their kids are more likely have teenage parents as offspring? That’s what the two studies (if put together) would have you believe. So then if that’s true, what is Sarah and Todd Palin’s excuse?

I don’t think I can honestly believe or buy stock in any of the studies I’ve read about recently. It seems that there is a lack of common sense in nearly every one of them.

My warning to parents when you read through the news and the studies and findings on kids and parenting?

Use your head.

Don’t buy into some the scare news that’s being reported to you. If you’re confident that you’re doing a good job as a mom and dad, then let the latest studies go in one ear and out the other. There should be no reason that studies meant to help parents (or solve parenting problems) should scare us into thinking that slipping junior a Jolly Rancher or a Hershey Bar is going to land him on America’s Most Wanted.

Oh and working moms? You just keep working those 40 hours a week, because my kids are going to be healthier than yours are.

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