Little Girl Drama
Filed under: Things that get my gi all in a bunch, Uncategorized
I never know what I’m going to hear when I ask my daughter “how was school?” Most days, I hear about the daily drama. Girls who tell her “I hate you.” Girls who tell her “You’re mean.” She is supposed to write something on the board that she did over the weekend. This week, she wrote that she broke a swimming record after working really hard for it, and that is apparently “mean.” The day after she got another Junior Olympic qualifying time, she didn’t even mention it, opting instead to talk about how much fun she had at a sleepover. She’s not the type of kid to brag and rub things in. When you tell her she did a good job with a race, most times she smiles and then stares at the floor. She rarely takes credit for all of her hard work, and she does work hard. After working so hard for months to break that record, she was excited to share it with her class. And what did she get? “You’re mean!” whispered to her across the classroom, then screamed in her face at lunch in front of a table full of girls, and then told via one of her friends through the grapevine too, because the other two methods weren’t enough. Why is the other girl mad? Because she used to beat Swim Girl in that stroke. Not anymore, not even close. I always tell Swim Girl that jealousy and nastiness weigh you down and cause drag, in life and especially in the pool. How right I am.
It’s not just the mean and nasty stuff that bothers me either. Yesterday, my daughter showed me the “status” of some of her friends on Skype. Two of her friends have something that says they are “in a (sic) relashinship.” My question is “how can you be in one if you can’t even spell it?”
I happen to be friends with my daughter on Skype. I don’t allow her to have a cell phone at the very young age of 10. However, she does have an iPod Touch that she saved up for and bought herself. She has Skype on it and uses it primarily to communicate with her grandmother and grandfather who live hours away. I like being able to text her at swim meets and when she’s at a friend’s house. I am constantly monitoring her communication on Skype, and I often don’t like what I see from some of her “friends.”
Yesterday, she had a friend telling her to change her status to reflect that she is also in a “relashinship.” She happens to have a boy who is a friend that she hangs out with a lot at school. Sometimes he calls her. I monitor those calls too. Mostly, they talk about cannibalism, funny movies they’ve seen and other random, harmless stuff. They don’t talk about their feelings. There’s no “I love you” or not drama. They are just two kids who get along really well and have a lot in common. They remind me a lot of me and my best guy friend in school.They frequently sit together at lunch or talk at recess. They are friends and it is a completely innocent friendship. I see quite the opposite with some other girls who are her age.
The truth of the matter is that many girls her age like boys; my daughter likes to swim. Swim Girl spends at least five days a week in the pool which amounts to about eight hours minimum each week (not including meets). She practices “up” with the older age groups and she more than holds her own. A couple weeks ago, she heard a couple girls talking about her in the locker room after practice. They were talking about how hard she works and how much she deserves the successes she has had. She has found a really great group of girls at her swim club, a group that supports her accomplishments. At this past weekend’s meet, one of the 13 year old girls came up to her after her 50 free race and gave her a high five. This 13-year old then turned to me and said, “She had an amazing race! She is only like two seconds off of my time and I’m 13! That was awesome!” I only wish she had more girls like that at school.
There are a few of them. One girl swims with her at her club and is quite good herself. The two times in recent weeks when Swim Girl has been attacked by the very jealous “You’re mean” girl, this friend has stuck up for her. They do exist; I have to keep telling myself that, because otherwise I would want to rip her out of school and just home-school her. I know you can’t protect your kid from nasty people. The truth is they exist and they’re everywhere. At some point, she’s going to have to learn how to deal with them; she actually did a pretty good job of it yesterday. I just wish she had a little more time to be a kid before her dad and I had to start having “insult class” with her at home, to teach her how to hold her own when girls are nasty. I wish I had a little more time before I had to be lying in bed at night thinking about how to insulate her from this crap.
While many parents dread the day when their daughter moves on to middle school, I can’t wait. Diluting the nastiness is exactly what needs to happen; and I’m hoping that she will expand on the few good friends she has at school now and form a solid group that insulates her from all the drama. When my daughter hears about someone else doing well with swimming, she congratulates them and she truly means it. She shakes hands with the girls who beat her at swim meets and the ones she beats too. I have raised a good little athlete, but I have also raised a good sport. Shame on the parents who haven’t.
Why I Won’t Be Watching “Are You There, Chelsea?”
Last night, I decided I would check out the new show “Are you there, Chelsea?” It comes on right after “Whitney,” one of my new favorites. As I watched it, I was thinking that the humor was really dull and the subject matter not all that great either. However, I’ve thought this about other new comedies and then fell in love with them. Take “Whitney” for example. I didn’t really care for the first episode; but if you haven’t watched the episode where she goes all “Uh-huh, you know what it is. . . ” on her boyfriend on the basketball court, you haven’t lived.
I decided I would keep “Are You There, Chelsea?” on and keep an open mind. Then, one of the characters began talking about how her mother got diabetes after eating some cupcakes. She then made a joke about how she ran off with her diabetes doctor and it all worked out ok because he was able to catch it early, before she “lost her feet.”
This isn’t the first time I’ve heard comedies make “jokes” like this about diabetes. But it’s been a while since I’ve heard one this blatant and stupid. When you have a Type 1 Diabetic mother who has had the disease for over 30 years, it’s no laughing matter. In fact, I can’t think of a single person on the planet who thinks that having to get your feet amputated is funny. It’s not.
What also drives me insane is that these so-called witty comedies perpetuate the myth that sugar causes diabetes. It doesn’t. Diabetes is an aut0-immune disease that attacks the t-cells that make insulin. Sugar has nothing to do with it.
My Mom has adult-onset Juvenile diabetes. She got gestational diabetes when she was pregnant with my sister. It never went away. She is constantly attached to an insulin pump and a sensor that beeps when her blood sugar starts to drop or rise. She hasn’t slept through the night in years because of her sensor. She has had blood sugars so low that she has woken up to find herself in the hospital, or unaware of what she was doing. One time I came home from school to find my Mom unconscious due to a low blood sugar. It is a serious disease and is no laughing matter.
I had just a small taste of what my Mom’s everyday life is like when I was pregnant with Sassy and had gestational diabetes. I have never been more miserable. It gave me a whole new respect for my Mom and what she deals with every day. It gave me an entirely new appreciation for how much diabetes is a constant part of your life when you have it. Your fingers start to hurt from all the pricks. You have to think about everything you eat and drink all the time. There is no escaping it, not even for a minute; which makes me wonder even more why comedic writers find diabetes so very funny. It’s not funny at all, and perhaps they should find better writers for these shows if all they can come up with is tired “humor” about maladies that affect people’s everyday lives.
This is one show I won’t be giving a second chance.
On Not Creating Resolutions
Have you created your resolutions for 2012? I haven’t. I’m not doing any this year. I’ve decided that resolutions are just one more thing that women create in order to make themselves feel guilty. I have enough guilt in my life. Scene cuts to Christmas morning with Swim Girl counting presents. I’ll give you one guess who had less.
I actually thought about creating work-out resolutions for this year. Last year, I was on my way to being super in shape. I was working out with my trainer and feeling strong and awesome. Then I got pregnant and started feeling nauseated 24/7 and all that working out business slowed until it stopped.
My trainer also moved to California. He’s now a celebrity trainer. Wayne Brady is one of his clients. Have you seen Wayne Brady lately? Clearly, I was getting him at a steal. And man, do I miss him. I’m thinking about asking him to record a work-out for me. (My sister never did cash in her gift certificate I bought her with him, and I didn’t get to use up my last two sessions since I was too nauseated to make it to the gym). Somehow though, without his physical presence pushing me to hold that plank for 10 more seconds, I picture myself watching the work-out with a handful of chocolates in my lap.
I still remember a lot of the exercises he taught me. The other day I was doing some boxer crunches and decided to follow that with a plank. Since there are no nursing shirts that property conceal “the girls” (or long arms-what is up with that?), and since I was trying to distract myself from the agony of the first plank in many months, I looked down and saw my stomach. . . hanging there.
I won’t go into details. It will suffice it to say that it’s going to take a lot more than crunches and planks to help this stomach. After three kids and the third who decided to stay 15 days beyond what he should have, it’s going to take a plastic surgeon to firm that sucker up. What makes me frustrated is that the muscles are returning. You can feel that they are tight. Standing up straight and tall with a slight arch in my back produces abs that look amazing, especially considering I’m just 10 weeks post-delivery. However, it’s not going to be possible to spend my whole summer standing straight up. When I bend, the illusion is gone. You won’t be seeing me do a plank without a long t-shirt on either. I’ve decided that no one’s skin goes back the way it’s supposed to without surgery; and if you’re one of those people whose stomach skin went back after having three kids without surgical intervention, then please do share how you made that happen. Otherwise, enter ruched swimsuit this summer.
I have to keep it in perspective though. I may not have perfect abs anymore, but I have three amazing kids. Baby Belated is sleeping through the night (and has been for weeks). Swim Girl has qualified for the Junior Olympics in five events already, with many more meets left to qualify in even more. Sassy is currently where she’s supposed to be at the end of the Kindergarten year when it comes to reading and writing. I have much to be thankful for and that stretch-marked skin is certainly worth it. It would just be nice if the reward for bringing such amazing little beings into the world would be a free pass on stretch marks. A little elasticity perhaps?
It would also be nice if I wasn’t feeling like such a total hermit. Having a baby in October turns me into a crazy person. I don’t want visitors who have runny noses. Little kids and their grabby hands around my baby scare me half to death. Why does every stranger who approaches a baby always grab for their hands??? When Baby Belated was just a few weeks old, his sisters both had a terrible stomach virus. I almost locked the two of us in my room until the barfing stopped. It’s also hard to be social when you’re a nursing Mom. Let’s face it, not everyone is comfortable with my revealing method of feeding my son. Although I have a “Hooter Hider” (does just what it says it does), Baby Belated gets irritated with being under wraps while trying to eat his food. Imagine if someone covered you with a blanket when you were trying to eat your dinner! And as comfortable as I am with nursing my baby, it’s not comfortable being in a room with someone who is trying so damn hard to avert their eyes.
My Dad practically has a heart attack whenever I decide to nurse in front of him. Little kids stare at you like you’re a dirty magazine or get way too curious. Some people just get really uncomfortable to the point that they make me uncomfortable. Not everyone is as cool as the lady I sat beside at a swim meet a couple weeks ago. She carried on a conversation with me the whole time and never acted weird for a minute. I wish she could give others lessons. And let’s face it, how many nursing moms want to feel even MORE isolated by taking the baby into a different room. I spent half of our family Christmas party at my aunt’s house, hiding my hooters in her upstairs office. That’s not isolating at all.
I’m also in the new Mom wardrobe slump. Sweatpants with Uggs, a nursing shirt and a zip up sweatshirt is pretty much how I roll these days. The other day, I almost left the house in slippers. I was in the garage until I realized I needed actual shoes. I might soon find myself on “What Not To Wear.” Perhaps that would be a challenge for Stacey and Clinton. Dress a nursing Mom in nursing clothes that doesn’t reveal the girls unless they’re supposed to be revealed during feedings AND camo a set of abs that is less than up to par.
Until I can figure out a way to fix it, I might as well just eat more. If my stomach is full it might just stretch out those marks. Because eating more won’t cause me guilt at all, right?
See, it’s never-ending.
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