BulgingButtons

Not bad for a fat girl


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Where Do I Even Begin?

8C9532816-2417481-halloween-letter.blocks_desktop_mediumNo doubt many of you have already seen this little gem by now and have formed your own opinions about it. My first reaction? You have got to be kidding me. My next reaction involved some choice words that I prefer to keep out of print for now.

I think the story goes something like this: a woman in the midwest wants to do her civic duty by proclaiming her neighbors’ children obese and giving them notes to that effect instead of candy on Halloween night. The notes not only explain what a wonderful service she is doing them, but go on to suggest that the parents ration the candy the children happen to accumulate from the disappointing neighbors who might stoop to give them any.

Jeez, talk about fat shaming. This is fat shaming and parent shaming and just plain old nastiness all rolled into one self-serving holier-than-thou pile of crap. Let’s face it, this note is just plain mean.

Here’s the deal, I’m usually a pretty open minded individual. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt, and I generally try to convince myself that people have others’ best interests at heart. In this case I just don’t see it.

If you think giving candy to some kids and mean spirited notes to others is somehow going to improve their health, you’re out of your mind. You’re worried about childhood obesity? Don’t give out candy. Better yet, don’t give out anything. Turn off your light and stay away from the windows. Your neighbors will probably thank you. Especially those with the chubby children who you will target with your ill conceived notes.

Notes which, by the way, you apparently spent considerable time on, including a cute graphic.  Which makes me wonder if this is even real. Who shared this with the world? Halloween hasn’t happened yet. Is someone pulling the wool over our eyes? Are we being pranked?

I hope so , because you don’t know every child’s story. You don’t know every family’s story. Neither do I. If they’re letting their kids trick-or-treat that’s their business. If you don’t want to participate,  don’t. You don’t get to pick and choose which kids get a treat and which kids don’t. If you don’t have something nice to say, say nothing. Sit this one out and admit that maybe you’re not the expert on everything. You want to help kids? Help your community? Fantastic. This is not the way to do it.

 


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You’re Not My Friend (the Sometimes Sting of Motherhood)

I need you, Mom. I know that since I’ve become a teenager I act like I don’t, but really I do. I need you to take me to school and sign my permission slips and pay for sports. I need you to clean up after me and buy me clothes and make sure I get to the orthodontist. laundry-1024x808I need you to take me to the doctor if I’m sick, and make sure I take my medicine. I need you to make sure I have a comfortable bed and tasty food and the latest video games and cable television. I need you to go grocery shopping so I can have snacks I like and I need you to pack my lunch, whether or not I feel like eating it.  I can’t possibly be expected to do all those things for myself.

Sometimes I have projects; then I need you to drop everything and take me to the office supply store to get poster-board or chart paper or a glue stick. Sometimes I have clubs after school, then I need you to pick me up at a different time, and oh, by the way, can you drop off my friend at his house too? imagesSometimes I forget my book at school or at Dad’s or somewhere else so I need you to take me there, unless it’s too late. Then I need you to listen to how I didn’t know I needed it but I really do need it and I need you to believe that it’s not my fault that I have an impossible problem.

But you know what I need most of all? I need you to be my Mom. I need you to understand that sometimes I’m going to be a jerk, but I still love you. I need you to understand that you’re not the same age as me, and it’s embarrassing when you try to act like you are.  I need you to be nosy and know where I am and what I’m doing, even when I hate you for it. I need you to say no, and I need you to protect me from my own stupidity. I need you to know that just because I keep my distance from you, I still know I’m your kid, and I still know that you love me. I need you, Mom, more than I will ever admit.


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Daily Prompt: Ebb and Flow

Our blogs morph over time, as interests shift and life happens. Write a post for your blog — but three years in the future. *

It’s hard to believe that senior year has begun for my son. Things were a little rocky at times earlier in his high school career, but he managed to get it together. He’s put himself in a great position as far as college choices go, and I couldn’t be prouder. We have some campus visits lined up, and he has some ideas about where he might want to go, but it’s all still up in the air. It’s an exciting time for him, but for me it’s definitely a mixed blessing.

headless teen with backpackOf course I want him to move on to the next stage of his life, but I worry that he won’t be ready. Will he be mature and independent enough to manage on his own? Will he use his time wisely? Will he surround himself with positive people making good choices? Did I, at that age? I know he’s very different than I am in a lot of ways, but we have plenty of similarities too. Those are what worry me. I give up too easily on things that matter and hang on too long to things that don’t. I’ve seen this trait in him, especially the giving up.

He and I can both succumb to “all or nothing” thinking, which isn’t a good thing. You can usually be a little wrong, a little off, or a little late and still not have disaster befall you. In college I would skip a lecture rather than walk in two minutes late. What a waste. Has he learned these lessons yet? Have I had enough time to teach him? Or will he have to learn them on his own, as I did?

This feels like my last shot at being his mom. Once he leaves for college everything will change. Change is good, but change is difficult. He and I have been through a lot together, and I don’t feel quite ready to let him go. Fortunately I don’t have to, at least not quite yet.

*Clearly I am in denial, because after writing this I realized that he will be a senior in TWO years, not three. I am NOT ready.