That Time I Tried to Pay Off My Professor

It went like this.

My junior year of college we had to train rats for a psychology class.  We were each assigned a rat to care for, and train, throughout the semester (I may have named mine...).  They remained on campus in the science building, in their cold little cages.  We were warned in advance:  At the end of this course, the rats will be donated to a local wildlife refuge to be used for food.  Do not get attached to your rat.  Do not attempt to remove your rat from the science wing, or from campus (AMY), as that is theft, and will not only result in having you removed from the college, but will also be reported to the police.  For some reason, my professor felt the need to make sure that I especially understood the repercussions of attempting a rat rescue.  The rats were school property, and test subjects only, not pets.

This was so devastating for me, an animal lover.  I know owls and snakes need to eat just like the rest of us, but did they have to eat MY rat?   And of course I got attached to my rat. Handing down that mandate was positively ridiculous. Would you tell a flower not to bloom?  Okay, then don't tell me to not get attached to an animal!  I was reprimanded for putting a soft blanket in my rat's cage, for visiting more than was necessary for his feeding and pellet training, and for handling (i.e., snuggling, talking to, singing to....) him. I may have also taken my studying and homework to the science building and plopped him in my lap while I worked, on more than one occasion.  When we did the water tank experiment, I used a few more towels to dry him, held him a little longer, and let him stay under the warmer just a tad longer than our professor allowed, just to make sure he didn't catch cold.

At the end of the semester, with a grade of a B, and a few snide remarks from my professor that I may not be cut out for experimental psychology, or experimental anything, for that matter, I cried, I begged and I pleaded with my professor.  Please don't send my beloved rat to the refuge.  Just let me have him.  I know you have to turn in the same amount of rats the school paid for, but you can just tell them one ran away when you were boxing them up.  He escaped!  It can be our secret!  I promise I won't tell!  He can live a happy little life all snuggly in my apartment!

My professor was impervious to my pleas. He reminded me of the warnings at the beginning of the semester, and shook his head.

So, I did what any (un)reasonable person would do.  I offered to pay my professor, cash, name his price, for the rat.  For some reason, that seemed more practical and less offensive than just stealing the rat--or, you know, just walking away, like a normal, reasonable person would.

I wish I could say it all worked out and I left with a happy little rat.  Instead, my professor asked me to leave his office, my rat became owl food, I was not reported to the school for attempted bribery, and we went on with our lives.

And now, my husband lovingly puts up with my endless donations to various rescues, and rescues of our own.

And, every now and then one of us will say, "Hey, remember that time I/you tried to pay off the professor" and one of our children will gasp in shock. "MOM?"

Yeah, I was a bad*** once after all.  Sort of.

Advice of the Two Cent Variety

Have you ever been given advice that maybe didn't feel quite right to you, but it was given to you by someone with more knowledge, or even an expert in that field, so you thought for certain you should just take it?

What happened? 

Perhaps you took the advice and it turned out well.  Perhaps you consulted others around you first.  Perhaps, it just really did not sit well with you after all, so you threw caution to the wind, and went with your heart, and your gut, instead.

The child rearing arena has a lot of those experts, and wanna-be experts. 

As first time parents, many of us cling to those how-to books like life rafts. We hang on every word our pediatricians say, and sign up for every message board we can find.  Oh, and how we obsessively research Every.  Little.  Thing.  And later, as more experienced parents, we fly by the seat of our pants, and wing it like everyone else!  Do not tell my children this.  They do not know we are not experts (Why are you laughing like that?). 

So, when I was in Target with Ezra the other day, and the cashier wanted my honest advice/opinion on 'cry it out,' which her doctor had just recommended for her seven month old, telling her he "should be able to self soothe and get himself to sleep by now," I reared back, told the customer in line behind me that it would be another minute or two, then I let that precious mama in on my little secret: Go with your gut. Go with your heart.  If it doesn't feel right, chances are good, it's not.  She seemed to sag with relief, telling me they'd let him cry for an hour the night before, then rocked him because they couldn't take it anymore.  If we'd had the time, I would have sat her down with coffee, held her hand, and talked with her more, listened more, mama to mama.  

Here's the thing, mamas: We know our babies better than anyone else.  Our pediatricians have textbook knowledge, which certainly has it’s time and place.  But we know our children. You know your 30 year old, who, when he moves back home, head hung in shame, needs a hug, a home cooked meal, and his bed made up for him—not a shaming lecture.  You know your 13 year old needs a gentle push out of the nest (or maybe a swift kick, depending on your child) to explore friendships.  And sometimes, just sometimes, your infant needs the comfort and reassurance of being rocked to sleep in your arms.  I hereby resist the temptation to get into breastfeeding vs. bottle feeding, co-sleeping, bedsharing, homeschooling vs. public schooling vs. private schooling vs. unschooling, cloth-diapering, pacifiers, medication and ADHD diagnoses, organic vs. GMO, vaccinations, thumb-sucking and other mommy war and pediatrician battles.  All of these are okay.  It's okay if you do motherhood differently than your friend.  It's okay if you do it differently than the latest expert, or your pediatrician, recommends.  Ask yourself: Are your children happy, safe and loved?  Good, then what you’re doing is just fine.  You are okay, and so are your children. 

In child-rearing, as with anything in life, there are times to go with the book, and times to throw the book in the trash can.  Hold tight mamas, you're doing a wonderful job.  

The New Normal

This month is Autism Awareness Month. 

We’ve overcome so much together as a family.  Noah’s overcome so much on his own.  I'm so proud of him, there are times I could burst.  

I find so much joy in this, but still, as his mom, there are times I still struggle too.  I really don’t even know why—maybe for the other moms who still struggle?  For the other families who still have so much to overcome?  For the other children who are more severe than Noah?  Thinking about everything we’ve come through, and everything Noah has been through in his 16 years just makes me emotional.

Our pastor was talking about expectations yesterday, and one thing he discussed in his message was the new normal. 

For so many, the new normal has such a wonderful meaning—a new path in life!  A new journey, a new school, a new home, a new career, a marriage, a baby.

For me, even hearing the words the new normal yesterday was a punch in the gut and a sob stuck in my throat. I literally doubled over in my seat.

“Your son has Asperger’s Syndrome.”

Seven years later, with so much behind us, and an incredibly bright future ahead of Noah, it still has this affect on me.

Our new normal.

It had been our normal for years, but now our normal had a name.  Finally?  Finally.  Was I relieved?  Confused?  Angry?  All of the above, and more. 

We had a name for it.  We could finally get proper help for our son.

So, yes.  This month is a special month, for special kiddos and their families.  It helps highlight the need for awareness and acceptance.  There is still so much work to be done. I’m one of the few parents who advocates research (in terms of education for those on the spectrum), acceptance and education for the public over cure.  

Noah is, and always has been exactly who God has created him to be.  The new normal, and all.

________________________

*If you are interested in learning more about autism, you can click on the below links.*

https://www.autismspeaks.org

http://nationalautismassociation.org

Greed

I've let you in on my guilty pleasure before... No, not that one. 😉  The one about reading advice columns.

The letters are like little soap operas.  Some of them have me reaching for tissues, offering up sympathy and empathy for the letter writers.  Others have me yelling, "OH FOR PETE'S SAKE!"  Most of the time, I side with the advice the columnist offers.  Sometimes, I'm not sure she's harsh enough, though.  I think most of the letter writers already know the answers to their questions, they just need that extra little push to finish drawing their conclusions.

Still, others appear completely clueless.

One of the things that really draws my ire in these columns are the selfish, self-righteous, entitled greedy letter writers ("Tell us how you really feel, Amy....").  These are the people who want validation to feel slighted for not receiving wedding gifts from guests, for being written out of the family will, or not receiving as much as Family Member A did for graduation.  They want justification for their anger at the friend who didn't attend their child's birthday party, but came over for coffee a few days later, and *gasp*,  showed up without a gift for the child.

The list goes on, and truly, I am just as baffled by their behavior as they seem to be by the ones they write in about.  I do not understand their indignation, and I'm embarrassed, and terribly sad, for them.   I don't know what happens to people in this world to cause them to keep score and count gifts and inheritances and attendances--and to feel so righteous in doing so.  In getting so caught up in these things, they are missing out on the best parts of life! They miss the joy in the wedding or the birthday or milestone.  They also miss out on the point to the life lost, and the purpose to grief.  They will lose friends, and alienate family members, and in the end, live lonely, superficial lives.  They are so busy being angry that their piece of cake is always smaller than everyone else's that they are not capable of happiness.  That is no way to live!  Oh my gosh, cake is cake!  Especially if it's chocolate.

If I were to read one of those letters written by one of my children, I would be embarrassed, angry with myself, and deeply ashamed of my failure as his mom.  Shawn and I are doing our best to raise our children as servants of Christ; we try to do our best to do for others in love, not expecting anything in return.  No one in this world owes us anything, nor are we entitled to anything.  My hope for my children is they will treat others with compassion and empathy, not superficiality and expectation.  I do not want my children to miss out on the best parts of life because they are too busy keeping score, and I want my children to be happy!  To be blunt, we don't want to raise doormats, but we also do not want to raise selfish brats either.  As a reformed selfish brat, I will tell you--I will not raise selfish brats.  There is a healthy balance. We are battling worldly ways, as well as naturally childish ways, so our task is not always an easy one, but it is a worthy one.

The "Difficult" Child

I'm sorry, are those COLLEGE forms
you're filling out?

It was apparent from the start that Noah was going to be our difficult child.  Colic, reflux, nursing issues, he cried constantly, no clue how to newborn--oh yeah, and he had a new mom who didn't know how to mom, either.  Poor kid was just downright doomed from the beginning.  

Over the years, as you know--and I will keep it simple here, as you've been reading my blogs forever and a day, right?--we've, no, HE'S battled autism, ADHD, bullying, OCD, depression, low self esteem, anxiety and a myriad of other things that would fell even the toughest of us in most cases.  Not to mention all those times I thought for sure I've messed him up beyond recovery.

He's come out stronger for it, amazing for it--and, he's become the easy child.  I will deny that statement if ever questioned by my younger two children.  Yep, in his teenage years, Noah has become the easy child.  I get a lot of compliments about him, and honestly, he really does make teenage child rearing look super easy.  I tease him that he can't break my track record; he has 1 1/2 years until he's out of the house (because, as he likes to constantly remind me, he's 16 now), then 4 years of college (or, God help me, basic training, then wherever the military sends us, I mean, him)--keep it together, man, don't ruin this for your mom!  With all the worrying I used to do, all the begging I used to do with God, all the tears shed over this young man child of mine--I really don't have to worry about him.  For the record though, I still do.  Just not as much.  And it's entirely possible I cry more now about him than I did back then.  I mean--he's LEAVING MY NEST.

Last weekend Noah went on a youth retreat with his/our church youth group. The next morning on the way to church, we tried to talk to him about it. Getting details was like pulling teeth.  He finally told us the message was about personal identity, but he didn't feel it really applied to him.  Then our eldest broke the news:  We've done a good job of not just raising him, but of raising him up.

I may have white-knuckled the car door at this point.

"I know who I am, I'm comfortable with who I am.  I'm God's son, I'm your son.  You love me no matter what, just like God does.  I'm good with all of that.  I don't need a big speech about my personal identity because I guess you guys have done a good job with that for me."

Noah elaborated, telling us that not a day goes by I don't tell him and his brothers how grateful I am for them ("Even on the days you yell, Mom."), that he knows how much he means to us, and he knows he can do anything he wants to in life ("Even on the days you guys remind me that I can be lazy.").  He's comfortable in his own skin, comfortable with having Aspergers and know that's part of God's plan for him--because of how we've raised him.

Of course, all of this was said in true Noah fashion, completely nonchalant and "Oh yeah, by the way."

Never have I been so grateful my child couldn't see me!  Sitting up front in the car, I covered my face with one hand, choking back silent sobs, while Shawn grabbed my other hand.  Did we really do it?  Are we okay?  We've done well with this child!  Could it be?  What I've known all along, what I should have had faith enough to move mountains--Noah is going to be okay.  Noah IS okay.  

Furniture Shopping

We kind of loathe furniture shopping.  The result of that is a major lack of furniture in a home we've lived in for almost two years.  So, we've decided it's time to get serious about it; we've dedicated our home to God, and if we're going to use it for His purposes, people are going to need places to sit!

We bought furniture for our family room when we moved in--we were actually sitting on our camp stools and the patio furniture the previous owners left behind.  I wish I was kidding.  We didn't really want to bring any of our old furniture with us--kind of a new beginning, out with the old, in with the new thing.  So, for the first two months here, we put it off, knew we needed to make the trek to the furniture stores, and finally did it.

I want to walk into a store, see the whole room set up and buy it. I will admit to very little imagination and even worse decorating skill, so that's kind of how it has to be (and really, a lack of patience and interest, too...).  I don't want to be followed by a salesperson, I don't want to look at swatches (I actually may have laughed at the one salesman who handed them, and a bottle of water, to me, telling me to get comfortable, take my time and enjoy myself as Shawn tried to desperately corral our three overstimulated and tired children.... Maybe when Shawn and I buy grown up furniture I will...  Nope, probably not then either) and I don't want to listen to jokes or be sold on scams.  I just want to see the furniture, like the furniture and buy the furniture.

We kind of did that with the family room furniture.  Sort of.  At the eighth store of the day.  Yeah.

Now it's time to start on the rest of the rooms.  Sigh.  The first room is the formal dining room.  I've started looking online first this time, hoping to kind of reduce our time in the stores even further.  Problem is, I know what I want, and I'm not likely to find it in a traditional store.  But I started looking anyway.  I found something different, something I kind of really liked and was getting used to the more I looked at other pieces.  It was kind of an antique-ish looking off white wood with fabric chairs, and it would brighten the room right up against our wood floors.  It's totally out of the box for me (Shawn is very sweet--if I like it, he likes it, so I really did need a second opinion!), so I sent the link to my best friend for her opinion, "What do you think?"

She shot me down with three words:  "You have boys."

Ugh.  She's right.  Handprints.  Footprints.  Boy dirt.  Virginia red clay.  Sharpies and crayons.

Maybe I'll have more luck at a scratch and dent sale???

Marveling at Motherhood

My cousin posed a question on social media the other night, under a picture of her littlest one, wondering if she's the only parent who looks at her children in complete adoration, just thrilled by them, and amazed that she made them.

Her post made me smile so much, and my heart just swelled right up.  It feels as though we--society, parents--are often inundated by media displays portraying parenthood as some sort of burden to be carried.  Kids are a hassle, man.  I love seeing the good I-love-my-kids posts like hers that are genuine and meaningful.

Yes, parenthood is difficult.  Good grief, if I had a penny for every time I said that, I could probably put my boys through college debt-free!

But when I look at my kids, I look at them with complete adoration.  I am thrilled with them, and by them, even on the tough days.  And I am amazed that God, Shawn and I were able to make them.

When Shawn and I have to take shifts to sleep because one, or all of them, are sick, I'm amazed they are mine.  When we have to take turns eating at a restaurant, one of us standing to eat, or chasing the smallest one while the other one eats--I'm amazed I get to be their mom.  When one cries out, needing snuggles in bed, and another one wants rocking before bed, and my oldest clings to my shirt tail while stepping one foot out the door--I am so very incredibly grateful I get to be their mom.  When they just want to sit with me, when my youngest is singing his favorite words, when my kids are just happy and we're all laughing, and even through through the tough times, I'm thrilled.  I'm ecstatic.

This is what I wanted.

And I'm grateful.