Submommy.com

How To Stop A Boy From Annoying You When You Are Hard Of Hearing

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Sat, 09 Mar 2013 00:02:00 +0000

Huh?

When I pick up Girl Child from school, we usually have a conversation about what kind of things went on during the day. Here's today's main event:

Girl: "So, (boy in class) was trying to annoy me today by saying my name over and over and over again."

Mom: "Yeah? What did you do?"

Girl: "I pretended to turn my hearing aid down. He stopped."

Me: "You're not wearing your hearing aid."

Girl: "I KNOW! HA!"

Got an annoying boy in your class? Turn down your imaginary hearing aid. Done.

Conversations With SubHub: Eggs

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Wed, 06 Mar 2013 23:53:00 +0000

Mmm. Embryo.

I'm eating eggs for breakfast:

SubHub: "I can only eat eggs if I don't think about what they really are."

Me: "What do you mean? Oh.Yeah."

SubHub: "Do you want me to tell you why?"

Me: "Not while I'm eating one, thank you."

Proposal Rules v. Marriage Rules

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Tue, 26 Feb 2013 20:23:00 +0000

Dry skin, dirty ring, hang nail, polish splotch=real life.

Browsing around the "Popular Pins" section on Pinterest last night, I saw a pin that said 6 Rules. It was a nice little pictorial of a young woman's "Rules" for a proposal from her boyfriend. Here's what it said:

1. Ask for my parent's blessing
2. Make it a complete surprise
3. Use my full name
4. Get down on one knee
5. Have someone catch it on camera
6. Make sure my nails are done

I laughed. I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself. SubHub and I are closing in on 14 years of marriage, with almost 17 years since we started dating. Here's what I've learned: you wake up the next morning after the wedding, and you have a marriage.

Here's my 6 Rules For Marriage:

1. Side with each other in front of your kids. You can discuss it later.
2. Talk about spending money before you spend it.
3. Quit fantasizing about the person you thought your spouse would be. They are who they are, farts and all. Love THAT person.
4. Be away from each other once in awhile. An evening, a weekend, etc. You'll like them again when you get home.
5. Have sex sometimes even when you *think* you don't feel like it.
6. Don't ever, ever, complain to your parents about your spouse. You're not married to them.

Marriage isn't all roses, diamonds, and manicures. It's negotiating each other, serving each other, guiding each other. Once you get real about that, your "rules" won't mean much. You won't care if he gets down on one knee, uses your full name, or if you have a hang nail in the picture. You'll be more excited about the life you're going to build than the wedding you're going to have.

That's how you know you're ready for it.

Happy Birthday To Me. I'll Still Never Lie About My Age

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Wed, 20 Feb 2013 18:31:00 +0000

I wrote this in the fall of 2011. I still feel this way. I'm 43 now. I'm proud of every little age spot. Change the ages and I'm still saying, "Head up high, but maybe put a hat on. And wear sunscreen."

This is what 43 looks like:

******************************************
I always hear about women fibbing about how old they are, as if being older is something to be ashamed of. We all know that we live in a culture where youth is valued, coveted and held up as an ideal.

Screw the ideal. If I lied about how old I was, I would be erasing all the good stuff. I would be pretending that all the stuff that has mattered to me in the last handful of years doesn't matter. I would render my tribulations - my strength builders - useless.

Why the HELL would I do that? I earned every single one of my years. I wear them with pride. And strange little skin discolorations on my face from fake-n-baking in the 80's, sure, but with PRIDE, dammit. I wouldn't trade those years in on a younger me. I might consider trading my feet in on younger me feet, because pinchy shoes have just done a number on my digits, but the overall package? No way. I like me. I like who I've become. Saggy boobs and all. I earned the saggy boobs from keeping two human beings alive.

Every line, every weird spot that screams, "Use sunscreen!" belongs to me. I hold my head up and wear it with a smile. And a little mascara. Also? Lip gloss. My lips get really dry.

When I'm old, which I hope is inevitable, I want stories. I want to be able to say, "this line on my face came from that time when __________." I want grandkids at my feet, rapt with attention, listening to my wrinkles. I don't want to say, "Honey, when you call me Grandma it makes me feel so OLD, call me something else." I want to say, "I'm GRANDMA. Yep. That's right. Grand-to-the-Ma."

And I'll make sure I tell them to wear some dang sunscreen.

My Family + Dinner = Chaos. 7 Rules For The Dinner Table

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Thu, 14 Feb 2013 00:51:00 +0000

I'd had it with the table tricks. Somebody complaining, somebody eating with their hands. Somebody making up new words to the blessing that God would consider frowning upon. Somebody having to get up and use the bathroom in the middle of the meal. Getting up and down during the meal for no apparent reason. Chewing with mouths open, talking when mouths full, interrupting with mouths full. Then, "I have to do the dishes AGAIN?"

"You ate off them, right? Then yes. Welcome to my world."

I started hating dinner. We really try to sit together and have a family meal, but holy cow, people. I would dread it.

Last week, after one particularly awful dinner experience, ("I hate this chicken!" "That's because it's beef.") I made new rules. Each kid gets a set of the rules next to their plate at meal time. Here they are:

1) Our electronics are turned off and are away from the table.
2) We pray respectfully.
3) We stay seated, facing our plates.
4) We use utensils.
5) We don't talk, interrupt, or chew with our mouths full.
6) We don't complain about the food.
7) We clean up after ourselves as assigned.

So far it's given me decent leverage for sanity at the table. Now I just have to get the dinner-time potty kid to remember to wash his hands before returning to the table, I might be back in control here.

Book Review: Here I Go Again by Jen Lancaster

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Fri, 01 Feb 2013 06:50:00 +0000

Image: BlogHer

This is a paid review for BlogHer Book Club but the opinions expressed are my own.

I'm writing this review, wallowing in my music. It features heavily in this book, and brought me back to a place and time where music was my narrative. I could find solace with a lyric from a favorite song and it gave me context. It would ground me. So while you read this, picture Peter Gabriel or Duran Duran as my soundtrack.

I'd heard of Jen Lancaster (the author) before, but had never read any of her books. So, when an opportunity arose for me to read and review her latest book, Here I Go Again, I jumped at the chance. I'm a sucker for funny, lighthearted-but-serious novels with a point. This one didn't fail me.

A note: when you first meet the heroine, Lissy Ryder, you hate her. She's a bitch. A really big one. Actually, that made it hard for me to continue with the book initially because I really couldn't stand her. Lissy is what I call a complete flake-a-zoid. But, in the course of one chapter, this Miss Bitchy-Go-Lately and her life falls to complete pieces. She gets kicked out of her swanky gym, she gets fired, her husband leaves her, and because she's been irresponsible financially, she ends up living in her parent's house in her childhood room, complete with posters of her favorite bands.

Lissy is younger than me, so her high school experience more closely mirrors my college experience in regards to music, but still a great background just the same.

For reasons I won't divulge, Lissy gets a chance to relive the years that brought karma down on her head and change them for her - and her friends, boyfriend, and parents - future. She gets the chance to go back and see her friends, and most importantly her parents, through a different lens - one that is not focused solely on her. Does it change change anything?

This book talks about change, what it means to embrace it, and really, what could happen if you don't. It's an exaggeration of the people whom we may have known whose lives appeared to peak in those short years between middle school and college. Imagine if the Queen Bee you knew in school could go back and act different, and how that could change her.

Read it. For real. Also.. join the conversation: BlogHer Book Club: http://www.blogher.com/bookclub/now-reading-here-i-go-again.

Emotional Rescue

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Wed, 30 Jan 2013 00:18:00 +0000

No, not the 80's-era (blech) Rolling Stones song. I'm talking about Boy Child.

A funny thing happens when you have one kid who needs medical management and one who doesn't. And when I say Boy Child doesn't need medical management, I mean the child never gets sick, never gets an all-expenses-paid-less-a-ridiculous-deductible trip to the ER, never misses a day of school. He just appears to roll just with it.

That funny thing, is, though, that I realize as we trudge along, that he is me as a child and his emotional well-being deserves attention, more than I've been giving him. It's dawning on me that maybe he *doesn't* roll with it as much as it seems.

Speaking from my own experience, I wanted my brother to be well. I also wanted my mom to see me. By the time she was able to, I had moved on to the next phase of distancing myself from her.

What we've been noticing with Boy is his emotional control, or lack thereof. And, in typical mommy fashion, I'm looking to myself to search out where, when, and if I have contributed to the conniption fits that happen when his reality fails to match his vision. It's in this gap that his control seeps away. He is growing into the boy version of me. Where I had a deeply quiet emotional life as a child - but nonetheless big and deep - he seems to have an equally as "out there" emotional life. Where my perceived slights went deep into my guts, feeling like a punch, his are more like a punch in the eye - right out where everyone can see. Which leaves me with a burning question: how do we teach him emotional control without teaching him to push his emotions too far down under the surface where he can't be reached?

I knew boys in school who seemed to be completely unaware of how to let the feelings up and out. There was always a distance there that held caring potential mates at bay. My dream for Boy Child is that he has a balanced emotional life - one where he can access the right words for the right feeling and express it at the right time in a way that doesn't explode all over the people he loves.

I have no earthly idea how to do this. I hug him when he's mad, sad, and then I try to reprogram his catastrophic thinking with gentle words and voice. Then, I hope and pray that if I say that and do that often enough, something will take hold and stay with him. I'm trying to raise a good man by helping him get through the bigness of boyhood, and the bigness of feeling small and voiceless, and even ignored.

Something HAS to take hold.

She's Not Me

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Wed, 23 Jan 2013 15:11:00 +0000

I suppose the start of her walking away passed by in a moment of celebration: her first steps. She stood up, her back to me, and waddled a few feet away. The underlying reality of that moment passed by almost imperceptibly. She would spend the rest of her childhood walking away. Learning, falling, getting up again, and looking back to make sure I was still there.

The newness of the world was equal parts exhilarating and frightening. But with every step, every lesson learned, she took ownership of her own mind and body. Now, we are careening toward a moment that will likely pass by without truly noticing:. the moment she fully realizes that she has her own mind. She's not me, and doesn't have to be. And the next moment will be when she truly realizes she doesn't want to be me.

Her thoughts, dreams, realizations, actions - belong to her. She won't be looking back to me to make sure I'm still there. At least, not in a way that I can see.

This tiny moment is one that so many parents fear. They fear it so much that they refuse to let it happen, or believe it has happened. They fear what it means for their own identity that they bundled so tightly around their infant. It happens regardless of whether you want it to or not. These are the years that can irreparably harm a parent-child bond, as a child struggles mightily to understand who they are without you, and you don't let them.

I pour my love all over her, trying to impart what I think is wisdom, but at the same time reminding myself daily to allow her to create a space between us. I try desperately not to fear it. If I can allow that space to exist, eventually our friendship will bloom in that exact spot.

I can't wait to see who you become.

Swim Anyway

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Tue, 15 Jan 2013 15:44:00 +0000

The Pool = Life

"Why? Why did you switch my lessons? I HATE this place! I don't want to go! Don't make me go!'

"Honey, we switched your lesson program because you weren't making progress at the last one. You hadn't moved a level in more than a year."

"But I liked it there!"

"We know, but you weren't learning. You stood at the side of the pool, waiting for your turn with the instructor, playing in the water, and not actually swimming. That's not swimming lessons. It's us paying for you to play in the pool."

(wailing, crying.....)

"How could you do this to me? "WHY? WHY? I HATE THAT PLACE!"

"You've only been there once. You can carry on all you want, Kel, you're going to swim lessons. No amount of protesting from you is going to change our minds."

*flash forward to the pool*

She gets in one last begging to be let out of it. No dice.

She gets in the pool, listens to the instructor, and she swims anyway.

When we are leaving, she's still on the verge of tears.

"Look me in the eyes, Kel. I know how much you didn't want to do this. But you got in the pool and swam anyway. That took guts. Good job."

As they get older, I want to make sure they learn to swim anyway. The pool is actually a whole lot like life.

*Originally published over at A Nervous Tic Motion. Cool folks - go hang over there.

Ten Things To Celebrate About Your Uniqueness: A Love Letter To Girl

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Fri, 11 Jan 2013 05:41:00 +0000

1. You hear the synopsis about a book that I think you might find interesting, and you don't care if the lead character is a girl or a boy: it's a book that sounds good to you. That's what you care about.

2. You can climb on just about anything, including walls.

3. "I don't care if I'm popular or not."

4. You have your own way, and don't get swayed by the crowd: "I don't get it. Everybody loves Minecraft. Why? It looks really boring." "So, you don't want to try it?" "Not if it's as boring as it looks."

5. You have a capacity to forgive and let go that is mind-blowingly beautiful.

6. You know more about origami than I ever will, and you bought your own glue gun.

7. "When I grow up, I want to be a chef and own my own restaurant. You guys can get a discount."

8. Your favorite vegetable is cauliflower.

9. You see a picture of a girl making the "fish lips" face and say, "that's so not cool."

10. You manage the hand you were dealt with grace and wisdom that most kids your age and some adults will never know.

Random Weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Mon, 07 Jan 2013 01:36:00 +0000

1. Submommy's Favorite Things: Fingerless mittens. We've all heard of "texting" gloves, fingerless gloves....I love my fingerless mittens. The brand is called 'Rising Tide' and they can be purchased online here: Wearable Darkness. I have a hard time believing that "texting gloves" will decrease the frequency with which autocorrect deploys on my phone. Fingerless mittens? Problem solved.

2. Kickass Download Of The Week: Heavy rotation on the Submommy playlist right now: Stubborn Love, by the Lumineers.

This song is starting to get a fair amount of airplay, but it absolutely should. Respect the musicians that sit around in their rooms until 3 am learning a guitar riff, scribble heartfelt lyrics on their spiral-bound notebooks while they're waiting for the bus, and play smoky bars until their eyes water. They're artists, not "entertainers."

3. What I Wrote This Week: Ten Minutes To Company and Tough Conversations With Girl. My two posts this week perfect embody the tagline of this blog. Messy house. Messy life.

4. What Someone Else Wrote This Week That Kicks Ass: She's my favorite blogger. This post is raw, honest, and her truth is so compelling that it makes me want to share mine - whatever that looks like. All You Need Is Love.

5. Pin of the week: "Real" women. There are thin people in America. They're every bit as "real" as the not-thin people. For every person you get mad at because of "fat-bias" think about the thin person who gets dirty looks, snide remarks, and general nastiness aimed in their direction. Hint: both are wrong.

6. Tween Read Of The Week: Moon Over Manifest

Girl and I both loved this book. It touches on so many stories in 20th century American History: the immigrant experience, World War 1, the Depression....it drew both of us in completely.

Here's the blurb: Abilene Tucker feels abandoned. Her father has put her on a train, sending her off to live with an old friend for the summer while he works a railroad job. Armed only with a few possessions and her list of universals, Abilene jumps off the train in Manifest, Kansas, aiming to learn about the boy her father once was.
Having heard stories about Manifest, Abilene is disappointed to find that it’s just a dried-up, worn-out old town. But her disappointment quickly turns to excitement when she discovers a hidden cigar box full of mementos, including some old letters that mention a spy known as the Rattler. These mysterious letters send Abilene and her new friends, Lettie and Ruthanne, on an honest-to-goodness spy hunt, even though they are warned to “Leave Well Enough Alone.”
Abilene throws all caution aside when she heads down the mysterious Path to Perdition to pay a debt to the reclusive Miss Sadie, a diviner who only tells stories from the past. It seems that Manifest’s history is full of colorful and shadowy characters—and long-held secrets. The more Abilene hears, the more determined she is to learn just what role her father played in that history. And as Manifest’s secrets are laid bare one by one, Abilene begins to weave her own story into the fabric of the town.

READ IT. I'm serious.

7. My Favorite Picture of the Week: I'm not really sure what I'm doing here.

8. Cool Free App O' the Week: Camera Awesome. Camera apps just keep getting better and better. This one connects to all your social stuff, too, like Instagram AND Flickr. It's free, but there are in-app purchases for extra filters and such. Totally optional.

9. Happy New Year. Friends don't let friends resolute.

Conversations With Girl Child: A Really Tough One

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Fri, 04 Jan 2013 06:02:00 +0000

Girl: Why? Why are there so many things wrong with me? My body doesn't work right!

Us: It works fine. There is nothing "wrong" with you.

Girl: But why do I have to do all this? Why me? Why? (cue whine & tears.)

SubHub: You do not get to play victim here. You are not a victim. If you walk around trying to act like one, people will treat you like one, and you won't like it. If you want people to treat you like the strong person you are, act like it. You are not weak. Don't act like you are. Everyone has stuff wrong with them, and I mean EVERYONE. Not just you.

SubMom: We're being tough on you right now because we love you and believe in you so much that we won't let you not believe in yourself.

Ten Minutes To Company

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Wed, 02 Jan 2013 00:58:00 +0000

My tagline on this blog is "Life is messy. So is my house." Life, if you're actually living it, will always be messy. The house doesn't have to be. Unless, of course, you're me.

No matter what I say or do, it's always a disaster in here. We have so much stuff, it overwhelms me. I realize that having anxiety about the sheer volume of things that we own is a First World Problem. It also seems like every time I turn around, something I just put away has been taken back out again. Sometimes I just yearn to ignore it and hope it picks itself up. It doesn't. You know we have a clutter problem when the housekeeper we hired to come help us clean once a month has to clean around the stuff.

Since I hate saying, "I have a New Year's Resolution!" I'm just going to call it like it is: something's gotta change, and this is the time to change it.

I'm going to get my house organized. And I don't simply mean picked up enough and things shoved inside closets and drawers so we can pretend it's presentable long enough to host people for a few hours. I mean decluttered, organized, and ready to rise up and greet us when we walk in the door.

Surely sharing it on the internet will hold me accountable, right?

Ten Minutes To Company is what I'm calling it. If someone calls us and says, "Hey! I'm in the neighborhood! Would love to see you!" we should not have to completely panic. We should be able to have the house looking presentable in ten minutes or less, without getting winded and sweaty. So that's my goal: to have the house and it's contents ready to roll at the drop of a hat.

I'll be honest. I have no idea how I'm going to do this. Stay tuned.

Family Pictures Weren't A Total Bomb

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Sun, 23 Dec 2012 15:10:00 +0000

We had a lovely photographer named Christy Rimrodt pull a few smiles out of SubHub (a nearly impossible feat) which allowed us to have the entire SubFam represented in our Christmas cards this year. We usually just have the kids in the picture, with the occasional SubHub photo bomb that stretches the limits of my Photoshop abilities.

Christy's website: Studio Christy

I can't show you any more from the session because of copyright. We purchased this one.

Enjoy this time with your families - the ones you choose or were chosen for you. Love truly is all around.

To Sleep, Perchance To....well, sleep.

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Fri, 21 Dec 2012 23:31:00 +0000

For years now, we have noticed that Girl doesn't seem to be a "good" sleeper. She would often wake up in the middle of the night, she would have trouble falling asleep, and then have trouble waking in the morning. I would joke that it was as though we already had a teenager in the house.

We noticed an inability to concentrate with her, and some hyperactivity: talking a thousand words a minute, fidgeting, forgetfulness, but we always attributed it to hearing-related causes, or, we became increasingly convinced, ADHD. It was with ADHD in mind that we tiptoed into the realm of trying medication. As a fifth grader, the demands being placed on her at school are increasing, and I simply cannot be her brain any longer. Our reasoning was, at least we have a shot at teaching her how to organize herself when she's slowed down enough to stay on task.

Three medication fails later, and with a noticeable uptick in sleeplessness, likely due to the stimulant meds we tried, her pediatrician referred her for a sleep study. Apparently, sleep deprivation in children can present with ADHD-like symptoms. The studies he shared with us indicate that as many as 20% of children in the United States are sleep deprived. Of course, after the doctor went through family history with us, I'm convinced that we all have sleep disorders. *Note to self: Lay off the search engine results.

The diagnosis? Delayed Sleep Phase Disorder AND Obstructive Sleep Apnea. A two-fer.

Delayed Sleep Phase Disorder is a Circadian Rhythm issue. Your waking/sleeping internal clock gets "off." As the doctor put it, "If you're a French painter, and you paint between midnight and four, then go to sleep and get up at noon...no problem. But, you're a fifth grader. Hence the problem." The solution for this particular conundrum is light therapy with a 10,000 lux light box. They are surprisingly inexpensive.

Problem number two is more complicated. Obstructive Sleep Apnea means that she's relaxing her throat so much when she sleeps that it's obstructing her airway, and her brain wakes up to tell her to breathe. She does not audibly snore, so this came a a total surprise. According to the study, the average person gets approximately 25% of their sleep from REM, or Rapid Eye Movement Sleep. Girl gets approximately 3.4% The recommendation for this is a tonsilectomy/adenoidectomy or a CPAP machine. We're also exploring the idea of a dental implement.

Not surprisingly, once she heard that option number one meant surgery this is what she said: "No way. I'm not having a SIXTH surgery. I'm sick of them." I can't say I blame her. She's had more surgery in ten years than I've had my whole life.

As her mom, I feel a strange mix of relief and frustration. Relief that this isn't a psychiatric issue - I was becoming concerned that there was something else going on that was far harder to treat, e.g., anxiety, bipolar, etc. Frustration that once again, the universe is kinda hard on my kid.

When she went to bed last night she was feeling down, on the verge of tears. I could tell it was that hopeless feeling you get when it seems like you just can't get a break. I told her, "There's one thing that I know about you. I can't explain it, I have no proof obviously, but I can feel it in my heart and soul - by the time you are an adult, you will be the strongest person imaginable; able to smell baloney from people with a single whiff. You'll know yourself and what you're made of. And as we figure all this stuff out with you, it's making me stronger, so thank you for teaching me."

Stay tuned for sleeping updates.

There Is No Such Thing As Absolute

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Sat, 15 Dec 2012 16:58:00 +0000

Children, who were essentially the same age as my children, were gunned down in school yesterday. We scream and cry, "how could this happen?" As parents, our greatest fear bubbled violently to the surface of our consciousness on Friday, and we are left fumbling in the dark for answers.

I don't think there are any.

How could there be? It defies logic to any person whose brain is working the way it's supposed to. And there's the divide: brains working the way they're supposed to.

I've seen so many say, "Gun control is the answer!" I've seen others say, "Evil reigned yesterday because we have become a Godless society!"

But the raw, ugly truth is that there is no absolute solution. You can't force a person to believe in God. You can't legislate sanity or courtesy. People are messy. We are all different.

At the same time, though, here's what we CAN do: Love one another. Think before we speak. Teach civility, live civilly, and act on the impulse to reach out to others who are hurting. The people we reach out to may not reciprocate. Reach anyway. It's worth the effort. People, no matter what their circumstance, are worth the effort, regardless of whether or not your efforts are appreciated. Try. Teach our children to try.

Peace in all of our hearts and minds will come when we truly understand that the essential nature of human beings is connection. Love combined with action drives out darkness. The person you avoid because they are so very different than you, could be the person who needs you the most.

"The good you do today,
people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway."

~Mother Theresa

Toys From Hell

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Tue, 11 Dec 2012 23:48:00 +0000

The kids have a toy that was from some kind of grab-bag thing some where.

I hate it with the fire of a thousand suns.

So, let's just dissect this little *gem* for a moment:

a semi-hard rubber ball attached to an elastic string that's attached to a velcro wrist holder. I'd like to have a chat with the inventor of this one. Here's why:

*Fling! It loops around and whacks Girl Child smack in the eye. How she managed that, I'm not sure.

*Fling! Whomp! Knocked over a picture propped up on the end table.

*Fling! Dangling over the balcony, I get plowed in the head with it.

*Fling! There goes a speaker.

*Fling! Crash! Christmas decorations bite the dust.

So, this is a plea, from one parent to another: If you are the one in charge of the "grab bag" toys, two words for you: PAPER CRAFTS. Stop contributing to the mass destruction of my home. I'm begging you.

By the way - that toy had a fatal accident yesterday.

Truth And Consequences

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Fri, 07 Dec 2012 03:55:00 +0000

"I'm a horrible person!"

"No, you screwed up. That makes you a person."

Our first experience with the Homework Dodge And Weave occurred last week. Girl had a creative writing story due, and she was supposed to be working on it at home AND at school. She was drawing pictures on Google Draw instead. She was making up excuses at school as to why she couldn't work on it at home, and then telling us that she was working on it at school.

Her teacher contacted us, and the gig was up. (Side note: we love her teacher this year. She's fantastic.)

It's so fun when you go to chat with the teacher and she tells you that your kid has been a big giant fibber. So awesome.

Once SubHub got home we sat down and had the talk. We explained that trust has been freely given to her, and she abused it, not only with us, but with her teacher. And, what was she going to do about it?

Learning what to do about it, and stepping up even when you're embarrassed and want to hide, that's what decides "horrible" from "honorable" in a person. She stepped up and admitted fault, apologized to her teacher, and did the work, but not without some serious avoidance on the outset. It was as if she didn't take it seriously at first, which made us angrier. I'm not sure what we said that finally made it sink in that she was hurting herself by trying to pull this one over, but something clicked. She buckled down and did what she was supposed to do.

This parenting stuff keeps getting more and more complicated. The lessons are getting harder to teach, just as the consequences for NOT teaching them are steep. The hardest part is that we don't know how steep they will end up being.

I See You

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Tue, 27 Nov 2012 21:04:00 +0000

I see you, when I'm at Target, or the grocery store. The tired look in your eyes, the kids screaming or carrying on in your cart, and the barely successful effort at smiling. Or, at least not bursting into tears or snapping at the nearest person in your vicinity.

I see you, weighed down by your mind, sometimes your body, and the relentlessness of being a mom. And it IS relentless. It's day, it's night, around the clock. You're wondering where you went. You're wondering when you disappeared, as you navigate the aisles of the store, fending off your child's case of "I-want-itis."

You love them, of course. But sometimes, you just don't know what to do or how.

I've also looked into the chasm between what you thought it would be like and what it is.

I see you, because sometimes, I AM you. Sometimes I'm so physically exhausted I can't see straight Sometimes I'm so mentally exhausted I can't feel straight. And sometimes I'm angry. Sometimes, I'm angry at them for their inability to control themselves: their hands, voices, emotions. Sometimes I'm angry at myself for thinking, "I just want to be away from them for a little while." I see that in you, too. I know that question you keep asking yourself over and over again, "wasn't I supposed to love this all the time? What's wrong with me that I don't?"

There's nothing wrong with you. You get up everyday, you kiss them and love on them, even when it's hard on you. Eventually, they do love you back.

But please know: I see you. And if I see you, you're not alone, and that means neither am I.

Random Weekend Complete with Flameless Candles, No GMO's, and Music!

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Fri, 16 Nov 2012 15:00:00 +0000

Has everybody chilled out now that the election is over? Ok, let's get on with the Random.

1. Please to explain: Flameless candles. I understand the gist of why the world might want flameless candles, but really? Ugly. Also? Obvious. Allow me to illustrate. Yeah, I know. They're safer, blah blah blah. Ugly. Obvious.

2. Best Blog Post on the Presidential Election: "Sad And Tragic Day." Again - let's all just relax a little. The tide eventually turns. Throughout U.S. history there have been times when conservatism is in favor and times when liberalism is in favor. The ship has a tendency to right itself. LET IT.

3. Submommy's Kickass Free App Of The Week: Really bummed that California's Prop 37 - the GMO labeling initiative - didn't pass. $45 million-ish dollars and subterfuge can buy you out of printing a label. Who knew? So, to help you take matters into your own hands I present to you: the ShopNoGMO app. It helps you navigate things to buy that don't have stomach-exploding DNA toxins spliced into them. Win.

4. WTF Moment Of The Week: I found out that Playboy has a wine club. I'm sorry, what?

5. Submommy's Kickass Download of the Week: Jets Overhead, Boredom and Joy

And, for your viewing pleasure: (Look! More people who can actually play their own instruments!)

6. Iphone Pics! You know you want them. (Good news! I got a collage app. I catch on eventually)

1) Birthday boy! 2) Apparently we're raising a libertarian 3) Turkey with a bee trying to sting it's butt. (His story. Not mine) and 4) Birthday boy with sundae.

1) A tensely negotiated bat girl costume. We made her wear leggings and a shirt underneath it. 2) Texts from Girl Child. I'm rethinking the free text app I got her for her Fire. 3) Cheap yarn and an idea to write a play called, "Red Headed Rapunzel." She braided that entire thing. It took her two days. 4) Emails from Girl Child. I think perhaps waiting to introduce free-range technology might be a good idea.

Have a great weekend everyone.

Happy Birthday, Boy Child.

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Fri, 09 Nov 2012 06:33:00 +0000

I love you. You make us smile, laugh, yell, cheer, and dream for you.

Your tender sweetness takes my breath away sometimes.

When you offer your sister a piece of your Halloween candy because you can tell that she's feeling sad, my heart bursts with joy. You know how to love, and show how to love.

All the feelings that you have come bursting to the surface in your infectious laugh, your charming smile, your frustrated tears, and your warm hugs.

Now that you're six, I can see my sweet baby ebbing away, and the little man you are becoming is working it's way to the surface. When I think of you as a grown man, my fondest wish is that you keep that sense of joy, that loud laugh, and those feelings right at the surface, so the people in your life can see what love looks like. What joy looks like.

What being full of life looks like.

Label GMO's....Yes On Prop 37 Is the Right Thing To Do.

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Tue, 30 Oct 2012 20:31:00 +0000

Has anyone ever been in high school chemistry class, followed what you believed was the procedure exactly, only to have something go horribly awry? To have the experiment produce a completely unintended result?

Experiments go sideways when you don't have all the information you need to control the outcome.

What if you and your children were the specimens being experimented on?

Every time you eat processed food in this country, you're being experimented on. How do you feel about that?

Prop 37 in California is a labeling law. That's it. It will simply alert a consumer to the fact that what they are about to eat contains genetically-modified ingredients, which in this country are primarily corn, soy, and sugar beets. Look at the label, then decide if you want to buy it and eat it. That's it.

Monsanto, Bayer, BASF, Dow, Dupont, and Syngenta are pouring money into the No on 37 Campaign to flood Californians with the fear that a label will make their grocery bill skyrocket. Other companies that are injecting money into a massive No campaign are Coca-Cola, Pepsi, Nestle, Kellogg, General Mills, Smuckers, Hormel, ConAgra, and Hershey, among others. Their reasoning? "Consumers just don't understand."

They think you're stupid. They think that you are too stupid to know what's in your food.

They think that you won't "understand" that they are in the business of changing the essential nature of a food (DNA) so that they can patent seeds and sell herbicides and pesticides en masse.

The first products with GMO's were introduced to the market in 1996. In the 16 years since, food allergies and sensitivities have been on the rise. The use of sprayed pesticides and herbicides have increased exponentially. The genes of weeds and insects have fundamentally changed to resist biotechnology's efforts to kill them and have actually grown stronger - super weeds and super bugs.

These are the companies that brought you Agent Orange and DDT, and told you they were "perfectly safe."
Watch this:
:

If you were handed a corn cob and told, "This corn cob's DNA has been spliced with DNA from another organism to release a poison that made the insect's stomach explode from the inside, OH, but it's perfectly safe for you!" Would you eat it? Would you believe the people trying to sell you that corn?

It's said that, "knowledge is power." If you aren't provided with knowledge, you are kept from exerting your power - choosing what to eat. Labeling GMO's will restore the power of your food choices back to you, where it belongs.

Please vote Yes on Prop 37. You have the power to set a precedent that the whole country can follow. We need you.

The Girl Child Independence Project

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Tue, 23 Oct 2012 13:30:00 +0000

We're at a new crossroads on our parenting journey with her: how much do we intervene? When do we step back, even if we know there will be a fall?

When your children are born you do everything for them. As they transition into childhood you do less physically and more mentally. As Girl has reached the the ripe old age of ten, I've come to a realization:

I'm tired. Somewhere along the line of my motherhood path, I morphed into She Who Must Remember Everything, Everywhere, Every Time. It's not possible, nor should it be.

We have an extra complication: teaching her that she has to work with the world and not use her hearing deficit as an excuse to make or force the world to work with her; that she has to be strong and use her voice and speak up for herself. I'm frequently "on point," cutting down the jungle in front of her and making a path, trying to show her how to do it along the way. I've never known what I'm doing, either. It's a role I took on because I'm her mother, and one that I've grown completely accustomed to, much like an old coat that you wear every day. I've felt lately that my load is too heavy - that my mother-trailblazer-pack mule role for many things is one I need to start to relinquish. It's time.

We've spent ten years learning as we go, and then trying to teach her. Sometimes she's not ready for the task, so we help. Sometimes she's not a willing student, so we step in. It has to get done. Doesn't it? Doesn't it?

The question is: by whom?

And so it starts. She makes her own breakfast. Burns her own toast. Forgets her homework and has to face the teacher and explain. Dawdles when it's time to leave so she's late. Makes excuses why she messed up and we don't fall for it. Tries and fails. She attempts to draw me into her fear and frustration at not knowing the answer immediately and has meltdowns to try to make my proverbial helicopter leave the airport. It takes all of my strength to stand by band watch my baby struggle, but it stays grounded.

"Why won't you HELP me?" She asks. "No one will come to rescue you, except you," we tell her.

And yet, at the same time, she's pushing me away. "I KNOW!" She says. I never know which one I'm going to get, when. I have to guess which hat I have to wear for any given situation: mother, trusted adviser, friend, oppressor.

My baby became a child. My child is turning her face down the road to becoming an adult. No matter how much it hurts or how painful some of it will be to watch, I have to let her, because I know that I'm not simply parenting a child, I'm actually raising an adult. So everyday I both swell with pride and shrink with worry.

We're riding on the same roller coaster.

Conversations with SubHub - The Sandwich

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Tue, 16 Oct 2012 14:00:00 +0000

SM: I can't remember your *specific* instructions for the sandwich you asked me to make, so if it's not what you want, you're going to have just suck it up.

SH: Well, I'll just call and complain to you about it if it's wrong.

SM: Well, I'll hang up on you, so it'll all work out.

He's pretty cute, though, so I'll keep him.

Self-Esteem As You've Been Sold It Is A Load Of Crap

noreply@blogger.com (Submommy) — Thu, 11 Oct 2012 23:07:00 +0000

It's a garbage term used to sell you cosmetic surgery and makeup.

I was listening to the radio during our usual morning routine the other day, and an ad came on for a medi-surgi-spa. "Gain back your self-esteem" they said.

The irony of the fact that I was putting on mascara during this commercial was not lost on me.

"Gain back your self esteem." By having my butt lifted? Botox injected some where on my face?

Oh, if it were that simple. If only we could buy self-esteem at the mall medi-spa.

As I begin my approach what society half-jokingly calls The Invisible Years, I am more acutely aware as I've ever been that self-esteem can't be injected into my face, or excised, or stuffed, or lifted into my psyche. It is borne of my actions. It is a product of what I do and who I am, how I reach others, love them, and act. It is not in my lipstick tube or anti-wrinkle cream, and it certainly can't be regained by cutting myself open someplace.

Women and girls are repeatedly sold this lie.

"If I had bigger breasts, I would feel good about myself. I would get my self-esteem back."

No you won't. You'll have bigger breasts. If the measure of your self identity is intertwined with your bra size, you've bought the lie, hook, line and scalpel.

Self-esteem doesn't just fall on you because you are pretty enough. You have to work for it. I am what I DO, not what I look like.

Listen, trying to look your best is fine. Deciding that you want to make a few refinements to your outside appearance isn't a big deal - even surgically. Taking a look at yourself and saying, I'm good, except *this feature* is keeping me from (jogging comfortably, not having to have all my clothes altered....) that's change based on reality. Trying to look like what someone else thinks you should look like: THAT'S the problem. THAT'S the big deal. Walking into a surgeon's office and saying, "Jennifer Aniston's nose will FINALLY make me happy and complete...." wrong. Cutting yourself up because you think it will magically make you the Person You've Always Wanted To Be? Think about it....once the wounds heal, your real wounds will still be there, waiting for you. Those wounds are the ones that people can't see, but they're the deepest.

Self-esteem springs from within. New breasts won't give that to you. Puffy lips won't make you love yourself.

The person you've always wanted to be is inside, screaming to come out. I'm here to tell you, that person's value will not be measured by her bust size. Are you ignoring her amidst the noise? Think about what you could accomplish, and teach the girls in your life to accomplish, if we stopped seeking validation outside of ourselves?

I am exactly who I am. I am exactly who I'm supposed to be. I haven't achieved perfection, and I never will. Living with that comfortably has set me free. So now, when the commercial comes on the radio about getting my self-esteem back, I can laugh. The mall medi-spa never had my self-esteem in the first place. It's never belonged to a surgeon. It's always belonged to me.