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Tag Archives: motherhood

I think I’ve reached my capacity on kids movies

25 Sep

For some reason, Maura HAD to have a copy of “The Lion King” – a movie that, until now, I’ve never actually watched.

I mean, I’m sure my kids have watched it, I know my boys watched the spin-off show “Timon and Pumba”, Miriam’s choir did the full “Circle of Life” song last year – but somehow, I missed actually viewing the whole movie.

Thanks to Maura’s need to watch movies 3928 times in a row, I have now watched “The Lion King” – or as I’ve dubbed it, “Simba Doing Stupid Things”.

Really Simba, your father is James Earl Jones, you shouldn’t be this dumb. And really? You’re gonna follow Uncle Scar around? And watch him kill your father and slap your mother around, only to trust him enough to walk away? His name is Scar! He has a British accent! Come on already!

Again – I shouldn’t be left alone with kids movies. Especially ones where one of the main songs is “I Just Can’t Wait to be King” – a happy song about eagerly awaiting your father’s death so you can snatch up all the power. How very Shakespearean.

And then I discovered that Matthew Broderick was the voice of grown Simba.

Matthew Broderick.

Matthew.

Broderick.

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My friends were all “How did you not know this?” and I was all “I DON’T KNOW!”

Seriously, I don’t know how I got through the past 23 years of this movie’s existence not knowing Matthew Broderick played Adultish Simba.

Proving that no matter what your age, there’s always something new to learn.

Like “Hakuna Matata” – sure, it means “no worries” but it also seemed to be interpreted as “Yeah, so your father just died and you ran away because once again, you listened to Uncle Scar and you’ve not thought once that your mother might think you’re dead??? You made your mother worry this whole time!”

Seriously, Disney, what’s with you having characters run off? Snow White…Ariel…Simba…Elsa…okay, Rapunzel took off, but she was literally imprisoned so I support her choice. Disney is just a bad series of “People making poor choices”.

Again, maybe I just need to stop watching them all seventeen times a week. Oversaturation is a bad thing.

I just feel bad for “The Lion King” – it starts off so gloriously…the choir, the scenery, the uplifting song and tiny lion cub, James Earl Jones. “Before sunrise, he’s your son.” – what’s not to love?

Well, besides 30% of the movie being Scar going on about how he’s going to kill everyone.

Yeah, I definitely need less cartoons in my life.

 

 

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For the Members of the Public – you’re welcome

2 Sep

Wednesday we went to Target.

I know, shocking.

The girls and I had gone out, done a couple things, and I needed things like eye drops, Keurig cleaner, and maybe new shoes for Maura. Target was chosen for its ability to give us all those things, plus maybe a Starbuck’s if we were all good.

Starbuck’s never happened. Instead, by the end of the trip, I was opening a bottle of Coke I grabbed while in line for the register, and said to Miriam “Momma’s gonna pour some rum in this Coke when we get home.”

#keepingitreal

Maura had a meltdown coupled with a battle of wills. Hers vs Mine. Damn fecking back to school section, the one that caused a serious meltdown the first time we saw it, but that we had overcome and were able to navigate, struck one last time in its death throes. To sum up – she wanted a backpack, I said no, cue 20 minute power struggle.

Several minutes into this, I called Josh for help because Maura was now hugging the backpack to her chest and I was determined to stick to my “I said we’re not getting the backpack.” Sure, I could have backpeddled, but I’m trying to teach her – like I taught all my other kids – that we can’t get every thing every time, especially if we have at least five of those things in our bedroom at home. So every time she put it in the cart, I’d take it out, put it on the shelf, and say “I said no.”

When Josh got there, we were actually right by the doors. Josh gave her the “I hear you’re not listening to Mom” speech, and told her she had to leave the store. We left Miriam with the cart, and I escorted Josh escorting Maura to the car. All the way, I would say things like “We have to leave because you’re not listening.” and “I said I wasn’t buying that for you, and I’m not.” and basically calmly narrating what we were doing and why in a tone that carried.

Not for me.

Not for Maura.

No, I was doing that for you, the public. You, the group of four adults catching up by the doors who paused to look at the scene we were creating. You, the single guy who paused to let us go ahead of him through the doors (btw, thanks). You, the couple walking in. You, the store associates who looked our way.

“We’re going to the car because you won’t listen to Mom. Mom said no.”

I walked with my husband not because he’s incapable of handling Maura, but to give him the presence of another female as he escorted his daughter, who was digging her heels in literally, to the car. A man escorting a teenage girl screaming to a car looks bad. A man and woman escorting a teenage girl screaming looks more parental. I wasn’t walking with him to help, I was walking with him to make sure someone didn’t call security on my husband and daughter.

Because you are all watching, you people in public. You all stop and turn and watch for a moment or two or three, and you watch us. Why? I don’t know, because we’re making a scene. Because the scene she’s making isn’t socially acceptable at her age and height? Because you’re curious or just plain nosy. Because it’s something to tell someone later. Because you want to make sure she’s okay?

I think mostly it’s because you’re nosy. So here’s some facts –

It’s a meltdown. A meltdown isn’t behaving badly, it’s losing control. My job with my daughter is to help her regain control. In this case, as in many, removing her from the situation is the most helpful – she doesn’t have the reminder of what caused the meltdown in front of her.

No, I can’t predict these things. That instance – just happened. She had been golden and responsive to my redirections just moments before. I think the feeding frenzy in the school section set her off. So really, public, this was your fault, not hers.

It’s part of Maura’s learning curve, so we roll with it. Yes, that means sometimes, it happens in public. No, that doesn’t mean I’ll stop taking her out because how the heck is she supposed to learn if she’s a recluse? Not to mention…

No one helped us.

Not one offer of help, or a kind word. There were a couple moms who told their kids to keep moving, nothing to see here, but there was also one mom who didn’t notice her child laughing and pointing at my daughter (she got a stern look and a head shake of “No” from me though.) There were a lot of you going around us, giving us a quick glance or three, and then you went into the backpack section to buy backpacks, thanks a fecking lot for that. Okay, you didn’t know, but inadvertently, you didn’t make it easier.

No one made it easier on us, so why do we have to make it easier on you?

I told my therapist about this incident. She asked how I felt during it all.

“Well, I had to remain calm.” I said.

“Yes, that’s a given. But how did you feel, knowing all those people around you were watching?”

“Honestly? I ignore them. I’ve learned to put on blinders.”

My therapist was impressed.

But I have. I’ve put on blinders to most of the looks, the stares, the whispers and glances. I’ve had to, because none of you matter in that moment. This time was harder because we were in a main aisle, and people had to walk around us. I caught more than I usually do.

Besides, I don’t need to see you there to know that you are there, watching, judging. Everything I do in public to help my daughter is tinted with the personae I put on for your sake. The loving mother not showing frustration – that’s for you, the public. The wife walking with her husband and daughter – for you all. The calm mother stating firmly but never ever angrily how we have to leave the store because we can’t scream in the store – all for you, Members of the Public.

If I had my way, I’d probably be more “OMG kid, really? Get up off that floor now, move!” But I’m not allowed to do that. I’m also not allowed to sit on the floor and cry with her. Just like I’m not allowed to open up a bottle of wine and drink it through the store, even though the store sells wine. I have to embrace the role of saint in public when my daughter’s having a meltdown because my daughter is disabled, and parents of disabled kids are either saints or monsters.

So I’m a friggen saint.

And most of you don’t even appreciate it.

 

 

 

“Is this the hill you want to die on?”

9 Aug

Earlier in this year, I got into an argument with a friend of a friend on Facebook. As you do.

Mind you, I try not to do such things. I’ve even gone as far as to take the subject at hand, and post about it on my own page so not to start a fight on a friend’s page.

But this day, I didn’t.

Why?

The friend of my friend started making up a new “tard” word. As in “this person’s so retarded that we have to come up with a new “tard” word to show just how stupid they are.” (please note – all conversation is paraphrased from memory)

I was all “Yeah, “tard” words aren’t cool, stop it.”

Friend of friend. “I can say anything I want.”

Me – “Well, as someone who has a daughter who is, to use the more outdated medical terminology, mentally retarded, I am telling you that “tard” words aren’t cool.”

Friend of friend – “OMG, I can’t believe you used the phrase “mentally retarded”, I am a teacher and we don’t use such language. I have never used the phrase “mentally retarded” in all my years of teaching!”

Me – “Da fuq?”

Yes, dudebro called me out for using “mentally retarded” after defending his use of his made up “tard” word, trying to paint me as the insensitive one. So I said something snippy and brilliant and kinda mean that I don’t recall because it’s been months. But I’ll own that I was being snippy and rude at that point.

Our friend steps in…my friend who has proclaimed their love of my daughter, who has always been super supportive, who has always shared what I written…and my friend told us to cut it out, and me basically to shut up.

My friend told me to shut up.

I may have seen a wall of white hot fire. I don’t take well to being told to shut up like that.

I was all “You have got to be kidding me.”

My friend was all “It’s my wall, people can say what they want, I won’t censor them.”

I was all “Seriously, are you kidding me?”

My friend said “Is this the hill you want our friendship to die on?”

Hmmm…let’s contemplate that hill. That hill that’s built on a slur for people with my daughter’s disability? The slur that I have been vocal about not using? That’s sort of been my platform? That I’ve written blog posts about and you have shared? Is this the hill I want to die on? Want to sacrifice our friendship on?

My first thought was “Do you not know me?”

My second thought was “No. Honestly, I will not unfriend you over this. You are my friend.” And I said this.

One or both of us may be having a bad day. I was definitely now viewing the post through a red haze of anger. The friend of a friend was at that point, offering to not use “tard” words on our friend’s page.

But as it turns out, the damage was done.

I steered clear of commenting on my friend’s social media, partially because I was angry and obviously posting in anger wasn’t working out. Then it looked like my friend took a break from social media. Summer came along and I got busy with things.

But last week, my friend posted something on Instagram. And I commented with a long-standing running joke between us.

Today, I realized that my friend has blocked me on Instagram. We are also no longer friends on Facebook.

So here I am, alone on this hill that one of us was apparently willing to let our friendship die on. I stood my ground. They walked away.

If I could go back to that day with that post, would I choose to stay silent?

No.

Who would I be, as a mother, to allow people to use slurs based on my daughter’s disability? How is using a disability slur any different than using a racial slur or slurs against LGBTQ+? In my world there is no difference.

So yes, I guess in the long run, it’s a hill I’d die on.

 

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Photo – me with my kids. on a hill. in Ireland. 2011

 

 

 

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