Little Tiny

My daughter is mostly mediocre.
Don't gasp in horror or immediately judge my parenting.  She has great moments, but most of them don't stand out from everyone else.  I don't expect her to play sports professionally or to go to college on a full-ride.
Does this mean I am not proud of my daughter? Not even a little bit.
Does this mean I am not in awe of her? No way!
What it means is that I am realistic.  I know that my kid is average in most ways.
I know that she has her glistening moments of amazement, but on the whole, she isn't earth-shattering.
Neither am I.
There is nothing wrong with mediocre.  It is actually okay to be average.

What isn't average and quite often stops me in my tracks is her heart.
There is no scale for the delicacy or purity of her love.
My little girl who has already been jaded by love and endured loss some people can't begin to understand has one of the kindest and sweetest souls I have ever seen.

Last week she called me on the phone with a break in her voice.
She had found a baby mouse in the driveway. He wasn't walking and couldn't open his eyes, but he appeared unharmed.  Little did she know I had found the sucker in the cats bed.  And thinking that he was dead I had drug the cat bed outside and put him on the grass.  A few hours later she found him, rescued him, and our little adventure began.

She woke up every two hours to hand feed this little baby.  He nuzzled under her fingertips and slept in the warmth of her hands.  He seemed to love his new mommy and I can't even begin to express the love in the eyes of my twelve year old.  She was beyond in love.  She was gentle and particular, and knew exactly what the baby needed to function.  She was the most attentive and loving mother I had ever seen.  And for a mouse.  A mouse that I was told "to flush" or "I'll bop it with a shovel" or "just stomp him with your shoe."  Horrific.  I cannot physically process doing something like that to the life of an animal.  Especially one so small, so helpless, and so sweet.

Needless to say, I knew we were in trouble with this one.  I knew the attachment would grow and that one day when we had to say goodbye to him (and once he was rehabilitated and his eyes were open that day would come) that I would have a very sad little girl.  My girl who has loved and lost two very important people in her life.  My girl who is so strong and brave.

I would come home from work and she would have spent a few hours researching how to raise baby mice and how to keep them warm.  She knew their life expectancy and how they like to sleep.  She knew what they would eat from infant to adulthood.  She kept her room shut up from the cats and the sweet baby locked away inside.

We got a good 6 days with our baby before the icy breath of death settled in.  In his last moments, his body went cold and his breathing began to slow.  All Alanna wanted to do was hold him a minute longer.  She was devastated that she couldn't see his little mousey face and whiskers looking up at her anymore.  And I felt sorrowful for the emptiness my daughter was feeling.
A mouse, the size of my thumb, brought me to full on tears.
All the while my girl wept in pain.

We cut a piece of his blanket, wrapped him inside, and buried him in the rock garden under our favorite tree. As we put the rocks back on top of the ground, we wept.  A tiny little life effected ours in such a monumental way.

I got to work today and emailed her before she woke up.  I told her I loved her and was proud of her. I told her that no 12-year old in their right mind would wake up every two hours to hand-feed a baby mouse - and on summer vacation!!  I told her that I was so proud of her selfless love.  I told her I was in awe that she could open up her soul wide enough to fill it with so much love.  Her mom doesn't have a heart like that anymore.  We practice kindness always, but love doesn't come easy for me.  I told her that I didn't know what I did to deserve her as my daughter.  I told her that her light made me want to be a better person. And it does.

My beautiful daughter who is mostly mediocre has an exceptional heart and for that, I am the luckiest mother.  She has given me everything I could ever ask for.

While I wish this could play as soon as this post was clicked, it cannot. So here is my little bit of my Universe. <-- this song may have been made for her.

Time: It's On Our Side

You know those people who are perpetually early?  Those people who aren't just 5 minutes early, but a half hour early, because 5 minutes would never suffice in getting themselves ready for the things they have to do BEFORE the things they have to do?  Yeah, I am that person. 


I usually will arrive so early that I will sit in my car and read or journal or even listen to an audiobook.  Or play online.  Or crochet a blanket.  Or drink a pot of coffee and play some video games.  If I get down to the 10 minute mark, I will usually call and let someone know I am going to be late. And by late, I mean on time - according to every other schedule.  Heaven forbid that I am actually "on-time" or I shudder to think: LATE, but I will probably just not show up all together or quit my job or be institutionalized.  Or all three at once.


Yesterday, I was very late.  And yesterday, I was very unhappy about it.


Alanna had tryouts for her softball team.  Against my better judgment, I let her go to a friends afternoon birthday party. Knowing quite well that the birthday party was from 1:00 to 3:00, I assumed that she would be dropped off by 3:30, home and ready by 4:00, and out the door to tryouts by 4:30.   They went to an adventure park where you climb trees and zip-line and do obstacle courses 20' in the air.  Pretty cool, sure. 
Maybe I live in a fantasy world of sorts. 
Maybe I am a lunatic to think other people run on a clock that is 5 minutes ahead of the actual time too, just so I can be not just 30, but 35 minutes early.
Well boy was I wrong.


At 4:00, after not hearing from my kid ALL DAY, I called her and got no answer. 
My heart began to race a little.
I immediately called the mother,
"Hi Melissa. Is Alanna home?"
"No, she is up a tree at the course?  Isn't her thing at 6?"
"No, its at 5 and it is currently 4."
"Well she is on the course right now so I'll send her down as soon as she is done.  Can she be picked up?"
"I guess she will have to be.  I'll leave work now.  I thought the party was from 1:00 til 3:00?"
"It was, but they didn't kick us out, so we didn't leave. So we figured we would stay until they figured it out. hahaha."
*No laughter or cheer* "Okay, well please tell her to meet me out front as soon as you can. I'll be there as soon as I can."


I got the park within 12 minutes; it really wasn't far from my work.
Then I sat in the parking lot for another 45 minutes. 45 MINUTES?!?!?!?!?!
I texted this mom another 12 times saying 'Does it really take this long to do an obstacle course?" and "Can you tell her to sprint to me, please?"
I lost it. I was crying. I grrrr'ed a little (or a lot), I hyperventilated, and I punched some things within my car (e.g.: the steering wheel, the dashboard, my legs, etc...) 
I even got out of my car to pace.  All while texting feverishly, wanting to throw up, and wishing I could just pull away and leave my child there to suffer the consequences. 


Finally, when I walked into the park to drag her out by her harness, she came walking up the path.


"You are soooooo done."
"Why, Mom?"


Needless to say, I had a mother's meltdown. 
I did not win the Parent of the Year Award and I will definitely not be considered a role model of any kind. 
All because someone else's lack of expedience - and general regard for other people's lives.


Yeah....I lost my cool.  Absolutely lost my shit, because someone made me a near hour late for something that was pretty important. 
Even if it wasn't important I would have felt the same way, because being on time is important to me.  If you are going to make me late, then don't bother including me.  I would rather call in sick than be late. I would rather sit in the theatre lobby and go to the next show two hours later than miss the first five minutes.  There are so many "I would rather..." moments here.
But please don't make me late.


I lost my mind over time yesterday and I am sure I will do it again in the future.
I didn't learn from this. I couldn't control the situation and that wasn't okay for me.
I am not sure how to resolve this for myself in the future other than to take a Xanex when I know I am going to be late.  Ooooo, Xanex!  Why didn't I think of that yesterday?

Close-Mind, Open Heart

Lately, I have been thinking about way too many things:

• Why are people generalized?
• Am I close-minded?
• Can you be categorized if you truly do not think like the people in your "category?"

These questions have been haunting me since last week Thursday when a co-worker decided to tell me I was close-minded.  Part of me believes he said it to get a rise out of me and the other part of me believes he meant it.  Asking him now, he gives no definitive answer... and it is bugging the heck out of me!

I say it often, and will continue to do so, I can hear what everyone has to say.  My best friend is the same.  The difference between us is she usually keeps her mouth shut on her own views.  She doesn't think it is worth the breath to start an argument.  I cannot do the same. I do not open my mouth and spew my beliefs out so I can convince you to think just like I do, but more so you can have more facts or be more educated. Maybe to give your belief some weight or some variety. I don't know everything and I very easily could be proven wrong, but I will always try.  I will always give my two cents.

Coming from an abnormally large family, where you cannot always get a word in edge-wise, I think it is engrained for me to say what I think. 
Structurally, it is a part of the Theriault DNA. 
When everyone in the room knows everything there is to know on the face of the planet, then there isn't always very much to say.  So listening became a pastime.  A hobby, almost.  And if the TV is off, then you have my full attention (I do not do well with distraction).  My childhood was spent with little-to-no opinion. I remember one of my old Greek aunts yelling at me that "children should learn to keep their mouths shut."  Maybe these things are the root of why I now have a hard time doing so.


To say the least, I love knowledge.  I take classes I do not necessarily need for my major and imagine going to school for the rest of my life, because the endless knowledge sounds wonderful.  I love to share the things I have learned, too.  I often come into work and tell my co-workers little snippets that I learned in class the night before.  What a nerd, right?


The close-minded thing has been weighing heavy.  I try so hard not to be someone who is quick to judge (we all have our moments), and try my best to see both sides of the coin (even if I don't agree).  Maybe the issue is that I speak up when I don't agree.  I don't nod and smile. I don't let you spout your views and sit back and chew on mine; you will hear mine. And maybe that is something not everyone is used to. 


I have a filter... most of the time.  People who claim they "have no filter" are looking for an excuse to be total assholes.  There is no need to be mean or hateful. There is no need to be nasty.  Bite your tongue when the time calls for it.  I do not, however, feel like offering your opinion is offensive.  Another reason our ability to freely think is beautiful.  I am glad for diversity.  I am glad for stirring conversation.

A work in progress.

Lately it is as if being tested has integrated itself into every waking moment of life.
And as I try and lead a more somber, peaceful, and enlightened life in my thirties, I have found that the universe is loving the challenge it dishing out.  I welcome the defiance, and I find the trial exhilarating.

I have found that no matter how hard I try to bring small rays of sunshine to my life and the life of those around me, people are always going to be there to cover my sun with their grey clouds.  I'm okay with it - most of the time.  Balance is necessary in all things. I remind myself that maybe not everyone is as blessed as I am to have a wonderful upbringing, a desire for never-ending education, and the ability to have an open-mind.  I feel much more grateful than I do conceited.

I didn't have the perfect childhood. Those who know me best know this quite well.  I didn't have wonderful teen years either. I made super poor choices and I was really bad at being... bad.
The difference with me is that I took everything from the two different worlds I was living out of and blended them into one amazing one.  It didn't happen over night. Hell, it is still "happening," but I am glad to be a work in progress!

But when I am tested, I am most gratified.  I am reminded of how simple things can become very major ones.  How one small breeze can become a monsoon.  How one tiny little grain of sand can turn the tide.  I am grateful for these moments every day.  When I can get so mad at what just happened and come right back to the place I was meant to be: one of calm.  Where anger doesn't matter anymore. Where nothing matters but what I have learned.

I deal with my biggest instigator every single day.  Via text or just inside my mind, I am at a constant turmoil with what my heart says over what my head tells me.  It's always challenging; however, I will say that I have tried so painstakingly hard to always let go of my past transgressions, my past irritations, my past bias, and start anew (and with love).

It doesn't matter that I was called an idiot this week or that my new book was ruined in a rainstorm.
It doesn't matter that my pond was eaten by a deer... or a beaver.
It doesn't matter that some people love to voice their opinions as loud as possible to get a rise out of others.
It doesn't matter my daughter disregarded my request and did her own thing.
It doesn't matter that I was eye-rolled by a mother at softball for the third week in a row.
None of it matters at the end of my day.

I am glad the annoying things happen because it makes the things I love so much sweeter.
So thank you for calling me an idiot. I know I am not stupid. My 3.8 proves that as much as my desire to continue learning.
Thank you for raining. I don't have to water my lawn or flowers, and I had already read the book anyway.
I am not glad my pond was half-eaten, but I am glad the deer/beaver isn't hungry.
Thank you to Alanna for always dancing to the beat of your own drummer.  Your free-spirited self is inspiring. Don't let it happen again! ;)
Thank you for eye-rolling me on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  You are exactly who I strive NOT to be.

The Bliss of Ignorance

Ignorance is bliss...
But only for the ignorant.
For every body else it is like the obligatory nails on a chalk board or chewing on tin foil.


For me it is a retracted jaw, questioning eyebrows, a suddenly sour taste in my mouth, fingertips rising to my temples, and my brain reminding my breath to slow down and cleanse the bad vibes.


It is almost as if I cannot even process what is happening.  My eyelids will usually shut and I will shake my head ever so slightly as the information attempts to seep into my brain; It only gets so far before it is rejected and the questioning look appears on my face again.


Conviction is wonderful.  Passion makes the sun a little brighter and the sky a little more blue; however, spewing daft remarks without regard for your surroundings or without knowledge of the company you keep, is disturbingly wrong.


Today I was approached with this super-awesome bombshell:
"Don't feel bad for the people in Nepal. They had it coming.  All those Eastern countries with their beliefs in many gods.  God said believe in none but me. God is jealous and God has punished them accordingly."


I was wishing it was April 1st instead of May 5th and the man would have winked and with two finger-guns said "April Fools." Even though that would have been a disgusting joke.  Instead, this man was dead set that I shouldn't feel any remorse for the several thousands people whose lives were lost when an earthquake destroyed a country.  Never mind that while many of those who were killed may have been Nepalese, many were also American, English, Thai, French, Indian, and any other number of ethnicities, races, and religions.
I immediately wished I was somewhere else. 
I immediately wished this conversation wasn't happening.


Instead of defending those of no belief or a different belief than this man before me, I sighed heavily and wished him farewell.  I could have fought back.  I could have let him know what my beliefs were - he was quite adamantly telling me about his.  I could have done a great number of things.  I could have become enraged and told him how angry I was with his ignorance, but I didn't.  I chose the high road and let him go.


I don't fault him for his belief - we were all a product of our upbringing.  Clearly his wasn't very broad.


All too often it doesn't work out the way I handled it, and believe me, I am still whining about how awful his comments were 5 hours later, but I am glad I handled it the way I did.


We are often tried with times of keeping our mouths shut when people around us say any number of things we disagree with.  With social media, we seem to get a clear view of exactly how people feel on any given topic, as well as their faith, which current events they are most passionate about, on top of what they may have eaten for dinner.  More often than not, people just retort. They have to let you know their two cents, they have to tell you exactly how they feel as if it matters to anyone except themselves.
I am known for speaking my mind, but never, have I ever, been glad people died because they thought differently or believed differently than me.
I am sickened that a person like that lives in the same society I do.


People like that guy don't even deserve for me to fight back.
They deserve for me to walk away, just like I did.
And next time I see him, a month from now, I will definitely not have the same smile on my face.

#baltimore

"I am so tired of hearing about it."
"I'm over it."
"Ugh! Quit giving attention to destructive morons."
"They probably didn't even know Freddie Gray."


Any combination of the above quotes has been said over the course of the last two days.  My overly privileged place of employment has made any number of comments about how stupid the rioting in Baltimore really is.


Some have even said "Why would you loot a CVS for toilet paper?" as if that was why it was done.


"The struggle," as it is so aptly named, isn't something most people understand. 
Living paycheck to paycheck isn't the struggle.
Having an iPhone 4 isn't the struggle.
Eating too much over the weekend at a friend's barbeque is not the struggle.
Wearing the same two pairs of pants to your work every week is not the struggle. 


Not knowing whether you will be able to feed your family dinner is the struggle.
Wondering if your kids will safely make it home from school is the struggle.
Living in a country where your fellow citizens rate you lower than the gum they just stepped in is the struggle.
Your voice not being heard for nearly all of civilization is the struggle.


People tend to make up a wide arrangement of excuses to make their situation worse than it really is.  I suppose knowing that it really isn't "that bad" does make you feel better when you go to sleep at night.
But it is really that bad. For a lot of people.


And as a country we are responsible (well, we should be responsible) for supporting every single aspect of our community. 


We weren't given the ability to speak so we could sit back and say nothing at all.
We were given a gift of voice; a gift of higher intelligence.  Yet we choose to tell people that think differently than us to shut up or to stop whining.
People were meant to be heard.


Do I agree that destroying a city is the way to be heard? A way to be seen? Absolutely not.  There are much better ways to get your point across.  Much more logical ways.  Usually those ways are harder and most of the time you get ignored.
But I will say this, you just destroyed a city because you were tired of being oppressed.  This will all get cleaned up and life will resume as it always does, and all of this will be forgotten.


If you want change to happen, you must be willing to make your own changes.
Hurting law enforcement isn't going to make that change.
Damaging public property isn't going to make that change.
Setting things on fire isn't going to make a change.


Your voice is what is heard.  Your actions are all for naught.

Brain

My brain doesn't work like yours.
It whirrs, and sputters, and smoke billows out.
My brain doesn't work like yours.
I find the words can't come out when I need them too.
I rationalize to the point of no longer having a valid reason.
I discover constantly that my initial thoughts are never my final ones.
I put myself in scenarios I will most likely never have to live in.
I make myself suffer at the hands of my thoughts and what it could do to someone else.
I am strong enough to suffer.
I can handle anything.

Every day of this life I live with a brain that doesn't work like every other human brain.

Maybe it explains my inability to love or my clearly defective relationship skills. 
I get to love from afar. I get to love and never truly be loved, or touched, or caressed in the ways I need every day.  Instead I climb inside my brain and pretend it is all there waiting for me; the kisses, the love, the home.

It's not.
It's not real.
It's not really there.