Probably, this will ramble and meander.

*****WARNING***** THIS POST IS VERY LONG*****WARNING***** THIS POST IS VERY LONG


I haven't written a post since before Thanksgiving, and I apologize. The holiday was lovely, we spent it with Pete's family. They are really a very warm and accepting group of people. I love them. They always have people there that aren't exactly family, but who are close friends, and it makes me smile to know that I am a part of this cherishable (Google tells me this isn't a word. I don't care.) group. Of course, they are also a bit loud, and coarse. They yell a lot, they fling around the f-bomb the way Valley Girls use "like," and they're opinionated. Obviously, this is what attracted me to them in the first place. I like to argue, but I don't like to fight. I like to get into the heat of having strong different opinions, and having them dashed, and then turning around and dashing someone else's opinions. This is a big part of hanging out with them. Another big part of it, is that they LOVE my kids. They put in special movies for them on the big screen TV, they look forward to changing diapers, and they wrestle around on the floor with them. It gives Pete and I a much needed break from chasing our own kids around. Sometimes I wonder if the family thinks we always are so lax about the kids behaviour, but I rest assured knowing that if I was lax, my kids wouldn't be so lovable.

One highlight from Thanksgiving, and then I'll move on. Pete and I sat at the kids table with our kids, and Pete's cousins who are 16 and 19 years old. We didn't talk about what we were thankful for before the food came out, because it's hard to be thankful for anything when you're hungry. So once we were all quietly chowing down on turkey and stuffing, I began by asking the 19 year old what she was thankful for. After her, I asked her younger sister, who gave a straight answer and then went on and on with petty thanks (ex. my new phone, brown hair, that so-and-so is not here [this may not have been her actual petty thanks, but this type of thing). I moved on to Pete, who gave the appropriate "Daddy thanks" of being thankful for family, and having them so close even though we're so far away from where he was born and grew up. Next was Lucian's turn, and the 16 year old was still being silly, now accompanied by her big sister. Lucian didn't answer me at first, so I repeated the question, and he looked at me and said, "I want Chelsea to listen so I can tell her that I'm thankful for Chelsea!" I was touched. Chelsea was touched. Chelsea's big sister Samantha, was jealous. I had been expecting all week that he was going to say that he was thankful for Santa Claus because he would bring DACS Digital Arts and Crafts Studio this year. So that's my holiday update.

Playgroup update time. Remember when I said I needed a new playgroup because Lucian was too big for the little kids at the old one? Well, I didn't exactly start taking him to a new playgroup. I hadn't found one in time for this past Wednesday, so I took him back. This time, the other moms went too far. They didn't stop at just yelling at my kid. They put their hands on him. They waggled their fingers in his face. They pushed me. And as you're reading this I imagine you're saying to yourself, "Ohhhh, so she hasn't been writing because they don't have wireless internet in jail. Got it." But no, sadly, I didn't go to jail. I should have. Because that would have meant I did something other than shout in these women's faces. It would have meant that I taught my kids that NO ONE is allowed to touch them outside of our family. Instead, I taught my children (according to Pete) that there is a time and place for knocking a bitch out, and that playgroup, in front of other children, is not it. Which means that I'm hoping to teach them that Sweetbay, or Target is the time and place. Because if I ever see any of those bitches out in public away from playgroup, I'm totally going after them with all my South Jersey charm. I did, however, get banned from playgroup for two weeks. Apparently, the overseer of the group could tell, I was one teensy, tiny push away from killing some hoes.

My father in law says that the reason other moms don't like my kids is because I dress funny. I wear rainbow thigh-high socks with shorts, I wear two different color Chuck Taylor high tops, and I wear t-shirts with teenage girl pictures on them (neon skull and crossbones, rock'n'roll instruments, etc). I never leave the house with out a hat, usually a Jeff Cap, or a Pork Pie hat. And most grievously, I never wear make-up, or spend a minute on my hair. My nails are never filed, or painted, not even with clear top coat. In FIL's opinion, the fact that I'm a "free spirit" makes them hate me, and since they hate me, they hate my children.

I'm not sure how I feel about this. First, I don't know if he's right. I wonder if I'm really a bad parent who has failed to teach my children how to behave properly. The thing is, as soon as I start thinking this way, I take my oldest to play miniature golf, and he remembers to say thank-you to the the lady that handed him the club - without being prompted. And when I took him to the local (private) park, his brother threw a tantrum because he wanted to ride in the power wheels jeep, Lucian came to me, and told me, "Val's crying. Maybe I should ask him if he wants to play with me." And then he promptly went over to his little brother, got in his face, invited him to play, then took his hand and coaxed him over to the jungle gym to climb and slide together. So, I believe I have come to the conclusion that I have good kids. I have been raising them well, and they are well behaved and thoughtful. Val has even been known to come over and hug his big brother while Lucian melts down. Pretty impressive for a boy who turns 16 months tomorrow.

Second, I wonder about what I should/can do about this. I have always been an outcast. I was never popular in high school... let's face it. I wasn't popular in grade school either. I always chalked this up to moving around a lot and having been raised in a cult. (Jehovah's Witness's) It's hard to make friends when the people you're told to respect consider the kids you go to school with heathens and mongrels. When you're taught that being a good Christian means that everybody in the world should hate you and ridicule you, it's hard to want to change how you present yourself to your schoolmates. I was fairly popular in K-2, but then we moved in the middle of the school year, and it never seemed quite as easy to make friends. Even after I decided that religion of any sort was not for me, that I would live by the Golden Rule without having God and Satan to fall back on, it was still difficult for me to find people who "got" me. Of course, it was never hard to find guys who wanted to sleep with me, and usually once I got them in bed, they realized that even though I was quirky, I was also smart, funny, and interesting. Then they introduce me to their friends, who also had to warm up to me, but eventually, I would have a circle of friends. The circle would remain loyal to my boyfriend when we broke up, but sometimes I was able to really connect with one or two of the circle and find friends of my own.

The point is, I never changed who I was in order to make friends, or be liked by my peers. I still dressed wacky at work, and when I went out on the town with my built in friends. Mostly, they learned to like my style. Some of them see it as being rebelious against society's conformist regime, some see it as my way of warning others that I am not a follower, and should not be recruited to go along with something mindlessly. For me, I see it as fun. I like to have fun with my clothes, my socks, my kids... there's a lot more to it than different color shoes. I think that more women would understand if they realized that their decision to wear make-up, or cute(matching) shoes fell into the same category. Sure there are some people who wear make-up and designer labels because they want to fit in, but mostly I think they do it because it's fun for them. And for me bright colors, rainbows, and clashing patterns are fun.

So what do I do? I want my kids to be able to have fun with the other kids at the park. I also want to feel happy when I pick out my outfit for the day. Should I change the way I look to appease the other moms at the playgroup? Do I stay the course and wait until my kids go to school where they can make friends without their mommy's around to tell them who they can and cannot play with on the playground? What if by not changing my look I ruin my children's chance at a normal childhood? Would it be worth it if they grow up learning that they can do or be anything they want and that true friends won't judge you based on what color shoes you have on? Or, is it better that they learn this lesson on their own, when they get older and want to dress funny themselves. I'm not big on conformity. I like to get stared at when I walk through the mall. I like that people look at me and wonder if I'm sane. But I also went through life on the outside of the cliques. I never had more than two friends at the same time. I was miserable about it, whenever I thought about it. I wanted to be popular, but I wanted to be popular on my own terms. My little brother is going through this right now. He's 15 years old, and he wants desperately to be popular. He also really likes the "goth" clothes, and even some "goth" music. So, the kids at school tell the teachers that he has a bomb strapped to his chest and that he's hiding a gun in his locker. They tease him mercilessly, and they knock him around a good bit, too. He's not prepared to dress differently, or to listen to Fallout Boy, but he does want to find a circle of people who have similar interests... and it's hard for anyone to look past his goofy black exterior.

So which is more important to me? That my kids be popular, which I really have no control over, or that my kids know that I'm not a conformist, and in the end, I'm happy with who I am, and who my friends are. If they are observant, though, they'll also see that I wish I had an easier time making friends, and that I want friends- but don't have them- here in my new neighborhood.

And now, a fluff piece.

Ok, I don't like to have stuff that's too heavy up for long. And I don't get to blog very often. So, I'm just going to tell a story or two that doesn't mean anything, but hopefully will be entertaining.

Story one: As you may know, Pete and I have entered a new living arrangement that doesn't really allow for financial freedom. What you may not know, is that Pete and I often role-play in the bedroom. When one or the other of us is having a bad day, Pete will often send me out to the local exotic clothing store to pick out an outfit or toy. Sometimes, he sees an outfit or toy on the Internet, and buys it, hoping I will be up for wearing it on the day it arrives. There are a few in my closet I still haven't worn.

So the other day when he told me that he bought me a present, I was surprised. I couldn't imagine what he thought we could afford, or when he thought I would be able to put it to any use since we now live with his parents. I don't usually try to guess about surprises or gifts. You'll never find me under the Christmas tree shaking boxes. I do, however like to what day it will arrive. So I said,

"How soon will it arrive?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure we'll even get it. The website seemed a little shady."

"Well, yeah..."

"It's not what you think. It's just that I can't imagine that this product would have a whole website dedicated to just it."

"Is it toe socks*? Because I could totally imagine a whole website dedicated to toe socks. different lengths, colors, themes, specialties like having a name or phrase embroidered on..."

"What would make you say toe socks?"

"I don't know, I was just thinking of things that might be silly to dedicate a website to."

"..."

"Why? Is it..."

"It's freaking TOE SOCKS! How could you guess toe socks? Did you read my email?"

That was when he started to get mad. I'm thrilled. I know that winter in Florida is kind of mild, but toe socks would be just the thing to keep me warm. I still don't know how I guessed, and neither does he. I don't check his email, I don't remember the password to our bank account, and he didn't tell anyone that he had bought them. I guess we're just actually perfect for each other, reading each other's minds and all.

*toe socks are socks that fit like gloves encasing each toe.

Story Two: So, I spent my life from the age of 12 to 27 living in South Jersey. For those of you not familiar with that area, it's in New Jersey, and it starts when you think of Philadelphia as the closest City, rather than New York. I moved around a lot, but the culture doesn't change too drastically from town to town. We're all trying to be Philly folk. A lot of boisterous attitude, a desire to "take care of our own, first," and no problems making our opinions known.

The other day, I was at a park with my two kids. Valentino, my 1 year old, mostly stays near me at the toddler jungle gym, climbing the steps, and falling down the slide. Lucian, the 3 year old, on the other hand, runs all over the park making friends, begging for food, and trying to join in everybody's fun. Often the other mom's at the park remember me from the week before as the mom standing atop the jungle gym yelling across the park at Lucian. It often sounds like this,

"LUCIAN! NO YOU CANNOT RIDE THAT BOYS BIKE! PLAY ON THE SLIDES!"

"LUCIAN! LEAVE THOSE PEOPLE ALONE! I HAVE SNACKS FOR YOU IN THE STROLLER!"

"LUCIAN! TAKE TURNS!"

I'm not proud. I'm not ashamed, either. It's just who I am.

So this time, I'm doing my normal routine, and in runs a little brown curly haired boy. He's cute, and out of breath, and I can't help but talk to the other kids on the playground. I also encourage Lucian to do the same. So I say something or other to the boy, when Lucian cuts in; "Excuse me boy, but my name's Lucian. What's yours?"

The boy says nothing, makes his hands like Spiderman about to sling some web, and makes a "FSSSSTT" sound, and runs away. I smile at Lucian, and said, "He must be Spiderman, why don't you go tell him you're Superman." And off my child runs.

Now, I had brought cups of water for the boys, and since Val's been sick, I was careful of his cup and whose little hands it might be in. In walks Spiderman, who grabs Val's cup, and his mother is... elsewhere.

Me: "Oh, no,no,no we don't share cups."

Spiderman: *Throws sippy cup at me* "Fucking Bitch!" *runs away*

Spiderman's Mom: *walks over* "No, no. We don't throw things." "..." "Oh, we don't say those things, either." *walks away*


I was flabbergasted! I was speechless! I was unable to comprehend what had happened, or my role in it. I went back to playing with Val.

The longer I played, the more I was getting angrier and angrier. How dare this punk kid say something like that to me! What kind of mother would just calmly wave that behaviour off? Why didn't she at least apologize to me that her kid just cussed me out?

Eventually, the boy was on the swings. These swings are the Special Needs swings. They're made for kids who have CP or some other condition that would make it difficult for them to ride the regular swings. But when there are no special needs children about, they are the kids' favorite swings, because they're different, you understand? Lucian sees the boy and asks if he can ride the swings with Spiderman.

I told him no. I told him in front of the boy's mother that because he used words that in our family only grown-ups use, I didn't think it was appropriate for him to play with him. (Yes, I use big words with my son. He seems to understand them) I told him he could take a turn on the swings when the boy was done. When it finally was his turn on the swings, Valentino joined us and as I pushed both of my boys on swings, I told Lucian to not play with Spiderman, and that if Spiderman said or did anything that made him feel uncomfortable, he should hit him as hard as he can. I don't know if you agree with what I told my child. But the fact of the matter is, my boy is kinda... um... weak. He melts down if a kid doesn't want to play with him, or says something mean to him. And I don't want him to be that way. I also don't want him to grow up to be a bully, but he should feel he has a right to defend himself if someone makes him feel uncomfortable.

Of course, I would rather it didn't come to that at all, so I steered my children over to play with a set of twins that we sort of know from play groups and playgrounds. I was enjoying the type of conversation you have with a stranger you have only one thing in common with. Polite, with some humor, and some comiserating. I look up to check on the kids, and Spiderman has filled his mouth with water from the drinking fountain and is spitting on the twins. The twins start to melt down because they were told to play carefully as they were going to Grandma's afterwards, and Mommy didn't want them to be a mess.

And Spiderman's mom?

Is sitting quietly off to one side, and practically whispering, "...that's not nice..."

I had had it. I don't have a long fuse. I marched over to that woman and told her that I felt it was time she take her kid elsewhere. At this point I think I should tell you, this woman, and her son were brown. I don't know what shade of brown. I wouldn't be able to guess at whether hispanic, or middle-eastern, or some other cukture I'm unaware of. I hadn't spent a lot of time trying to figure it out, and it was irrelevant to me until the next thing she said to me*:

"No. No. This is a free country, and my people have been discriminated against long enough. I have a right to be here, and so does my son."

"What? Yes it's a free country, yes you have a right to be here, but I have a right to have a place where my kids can play without fear of being bullied by other kids! I think, after seeing his behaviour that yor kid maybe needs a time out. Tell him that if he can't play nice, he isn't going to be able to find kids to play with!"

"Well, he needs time to run it out and get his energy out."

"Maybe. But not at the expense of my kids' safety. You should know that I told my son that if your son makes him uncomfortable, he should hit him as hard as he can."

"Good. I hope he does. He needs to learn he cannot treat people that way. Hopefully your son straightens him out. (I just gave her a blank look of surprise) You can hit him too. He deserves it. He needs it."

"What?! I would never hit someone else's child! I'll tell you what, though. Your kid does anything to me or my kids, I'll march over here and punch you in the eye! I can't even believe that you would suggest to someone that they should hit your child! Maybe, instead of hitting, a simple time out. Something more than a weak 'No, no,' is in order here. Surely you see that?"

*These are not verbatim, it has been too many days for me to remember the actual words said, and in fact somewhere in here I did say something about it not being right that her kid be allowed to "terrorize the other children at the park."

While I was doing all this, her kid was sneaking up on my one year old. Just as I was about to give her discipline tactics from my parenting classes, he pushed Val off a ledge and into the mulch. I can't say how high the ledge is, but it's marginally higher than a curb on the street. I ran to pick up my crying baby, and contimplated how well I'd do in a fight with a baby in my arms, but decided it was time to leave.

As I walked out of the park, calmly telling Lucian that no, we were not leaving because of the "bad Spiderman," but because Valentino needed a nap, the other mom's in the park were saying, "Shame on you, calling that woman a terrorist."

Spiderman and his mother hurt my sense of decency, because I could never imagine letting my kids get away with that kind of poor behaviour, nor would I feel comfortable in public if they did. The other mom's who assumed I was upset at the mom because she was brown hurt my pride. I know that as a Republican, many people view me as a close-minded, puritan, conformist who wants to rid the world of the not-white people. But it's not true. On most, if not all, social issues, I fall pretty far left. And I have never been labeled a racist or a biggot (well, one time when I was 12, but it was a misunderstanding). Honestly, I think those other moms were the biggots to assume that it was her skin color that was the problem. Or that simply because of her skin color she was incapable of raising her son to be a decent person. I'm still distressed about that. It bothers me when I run into people like that. I feel like I'm living in times before Civil Rights, when people thought, and said aloud that they felt sorry for the blacks because they were too stupid to find real jobs.

It's just crazy. And, as always, feel free to tell me I'm dead wrong. Tell me I shouldn't yell at other moms about how their children behave, or that by using the word "terrorize" I'm making this world worse, or whatever. I never said I'm perfect.

P.S. I wrote this post for like 3 days, so if it sucks, I blame my famdamnily for asking me to eat meals, sleep, and go play.