Crazy? Who me?

First, before I get started, I must make a public service announcement that right now, as I sit here, I have one of the worst migraines I have ever had. I have even had to close my right eye for a large portion of the evening...when I could hold up my headj, that is. Why am I sitting here writing, you ask? Well, that is a good question. But for a large portion of my life, much of my creative expression whether good or terrible, has occurred in the midst of a migraine. I think there have been some studies on this sort of thing, but you clearly didn't visit my blog to hear about all of that. Just letting you know beforehand, in case I don't make any sense.

Tonight I was reminded of a wonderful quote I heard that really resonated with me...or "marinated" with me, as I overheard a girl say at Starbucks while I was trying out my new Kindle. It was funny to hear her say that word, but over time it has grown on me. Marinated could work. We sit and mull something over, "marinate" in it, until we soak up the spices, the understanding of it. It could be a brilliant word.

Anyhow, I cannot to save my life remember where I read this quote, but it was something about how the best gift we can give our children is to discover who they TRULY are and then lead them in that direction.

In the amazing book, Wild Things by Stephen James and David Thomas, they say, "That is why we think 'nurturing' is a better mind-set. It first takes into account who a boy is created to be, and then looks secondarily at our role as influencers on that design. In the classic nature vs. nurture debate, we like to say, 'It's our job to nurture the nature.' Boys need us first to recognize who they are. Then they need the help of wise and committed adults in navigating their way from boyhood to manhood."  

This of course applies to girls as well. But for those who have boys, I cannot recommend this book enough.

But as my children grow and thrive, I seem to be reminded of these quotes more and more every single day, and the deep truth within them.

We all have dreams for our children, and at times, it's hard not to push those onto our children. Just go to any sporting event and watch some of the parents. Sometimes you would think you're at the Olympics, and you have to remind yourself that you are REALLY at a 5-year-old sporting event. Three years ago, I had no idea that coaches actually "scout" five-year-olds. I have so much to say about this, but that will be for another blog, another time.

I do believe that there are huge environmental factors at play with our children. I believe we can can take the characteristics and personalities they were inherently born with and help to mold those fascinating qualities in wonderful ways. But I also know that my children are each very much their own little people. I know that my oldest child was born logical, cautious, and has a very dry, laid back sense of humor. He is truly one of the wittiest children I have ever known. Not everyone knows that, but they do if they are around him long enough. He is amazing at chess and building things with Legos, and is really improving as a baseball player. I am pretty confident that he will never be an amazing tackler on the football team. Not because I don't believe that he couldn't do it if he set his mind to it, but because I know that he will probably never have any interest. He has no desire, and for me to push him in that direction would be ridiculous and not true to who he really is.

My second child, however, I believe was born knowing how to physically take people down. (I'm not into children playing tackle football at a young age, but I'm not going to get on a soapbox about that.) He is rough and tumble, and loves nothing more than making people laugh. But, on the flipside, he is one of the most sensitive children I know. Every time he sees an animal, he immediately wants to know where its mother is and wants to make sure it hasn't been abandoned. There is not a cautious bone in this child's body. He is all impulse. This became abundantly clear when at age two he purposefully rode his little riding car down a flight of stairs. As I helplessly watched his body tumble head over feet over plastic vehicle all the way down the stairs, I was ready to call 911. Without shedding a tear, he got up, put his Batman mask back on and asked me if I had any chocolate.

Just as I know that my older child will always be cautious, I also know that my youngest will always be a free spirit. I cannot change who they are. I do, however, feel it is my job as a parent to be sure that the "free spirit" in him knows that it's not okay to jump off the balcony into the swimming pool on a dare during his high school spring break.

We can help mold them, but we can't recreate them. And why would we want to? Every child is beautiful in his or her own way. It is just our job to help show them how to spin their traits in the positive direction.

And when I say my boys are complete and total opposites, I mean that in a physical sense as well. Physically, they don't look like brothers. Heck, they don't even look like cousins.

I remember one particular post-partum incident that is now hysterical, but at the time, not at ALL. It occurred after my first child was born. And let me tell you that it's a blessing that my first-born looks EXACTLY like me now, or I think this incident would possibly still be haunting me.

One night while I was still in the hospital after giving birth, I was all jacked up on morphine after my emergency C-section. It was dead in the middle of the night when a nurse flung the door open. Don't you love how they fling those doors open and turn on the lights in the middle of the night like you are a lazy teenager who has slept until noon on Saturday instead of mowing the lawn?HELLOOOOOOOOO, just a few hours ago my spleen was laying on my chest, could you give me a few more minutes please?

Anyhow, this nurse entered the room and was actuallly a little quieter than the others normally were. I heard hushed voices as she spoke to my husband. Apparently my new baby had lost his identification bracelet from his wrist in the middle of the night. As I faded in and out of semi-consciousness, I heard something about how some papers needed to be signed and a new bracelet needed to be given. And somewhere, in my hazy, foggy mind, I knew I had suddenly become a victim like every horrible Lifetime movie I had ever seen.

The next morning I was unstoppable. My baby had been switched. There was an evil nurse somewhere in the hospital and she had taken my baby. My hazy mind began collecting evidence. He did look a little different after they gave him a bath. My mind was racing. Then later, while walking down the hall, I saw a baby that resembled the way mine had looked before his bath. It was him. There was no doubt in my mind. Some other couple had my baby. My poor husband knew I was crazy, but probably figured it was easier to let me roll with it than it would be to stop my intense investigation. I got up, in all my abdomen-stapled glory, and was on a mission. I was hunched over and could barely walk. I threw a robe on and grabbed my husband's arm and began shuffling down the hallway. I was going to find my baby. I'm surprised we weren't arrested as I scoped out all the babies in the nursery. Finally I saw him. I identified the last name and cased the halls for his room. I had to get one more look. A close look. Finally, in my crazed state, I found the room. Ha! They weren't fooling me. I knew what had happened. I refused to be the subject of the next made-for-TV movie. Then I looked on the wall. My so called "stolen baby" was a twin.

Alrighty then.

And I calmly went back to my room to nurse my baby.