Every child is unique

My mom told me how much character her grandchildren have. And then she said, “I don’t remember you guys having such unique personalities.”

But I have a feeling we did. The sad part is that sometimes as adults we get so caught up in the stress of life that we don’t appreciate the truly unique individuals growing up before our eyes.

To this day, my brother, sister and I are very distinct. You would never confuse our personalities. From the day each of my children were conceived, I noticed their individuality. My type A daughter was the one who bruised my organs, kicking vigorously in the womb. She arrived on a Saturday when all her people could be there to greet her. The drama continues to this day…

Because my son was so lethargic in the womb, I worried something was terribly wrong with him. He was born healthy, but not happy. He seemed bugged by the whole event. He has a temper and can hold a grudge, but is still not in a hurry to do anything. My youngest came on her due date and has been consistent ever since. She is spirited and opinionated, and I wouldn’t have her any other way. They all came from the same parents, but that is just about all they have in common.

There are little people all around us, waiting to shine. Every one of them has the potential to be magnificent. It’s easy to think that children are too young to have feelings and thoughts. We don’t acknowledge them or take them into consideration. This can break a child’s spirit. They need to be valued. They need to learn to be themselves. So each day that I am allowed to be a mother I hope that I will treasure my children, encourage their creativity, and smile when they show their amazing, never duplicated, uniqueness.

Memories are not always accurate

Do our memories ever put on rose-colored glasses? Maybe an event that seemed unpleasant at the time is recalled with fondness and sentimentality. Even to the point that we would consider doing it again, only to realize it wasn’t actually fun the first time. Our brain loves to play tricks on us. It loves to let emotion cloud over better judgment. When you have children, you experience this regularly. You recall the amazing family trip you just had, telling everyone what fun it was, and plan for the next one. You block out the tantrums, the meltdowns, the incessant asking of “Are we there yet?” You conveniently forget the large amounts of money that you just hemorrhaged, all for the sake of “fun.”

Before our third child was born, we planned a trip to Sea World. As with most families, this practically required the selling of our firstborn. After driving ten hours with two children under five, we decided to go to dinner. We knew this would be risky. Two children, who have been cooped up in a Toyota Camry for ten hours don’t mix well with Olive Garden. But we were determined!

So as expected our kids were whiny, impatient and ill-mannered. We were prepared for that. The surprise came when our children were the best behaved. Every single child (and we’re talking dozens) in the restaurant was frazzled, exhausted, over-stimulated and miserably unhappy. All this after their parents had spent thousands of dollars on a dream vacation. At the time I am sure most of those parents were thinking, like us, “Whose idea was this?” Then we got home, back to reality and those memories were pushed to the dark recesses of our mind, and the pinkish, flowery memories emerged.

It is much like childbirth. If all you could remember was the pain, all maternal desires would cease instantly. Instead, our brain pulls a rabbit out of the hat and we seem to block out the nine months of misery and hours of agony. Our brain replaces the difficulties with warm, affectionate memories of holding our little creations for the first time.

The brain is a slightly deceitful genius, so the next time you reflect with fondness on a past event, be careful before you repeat the process, because our memories are not always accurate.

Divorce damages

I recently tried to explain, to my youngest daughter, what getting a divorce meant. I said, “It’s when a mom and dad can’t get along and they decide not to be married anymore, so they don’t live together.” I thought it was a simple explanation for a five-year-old, so I was caught off guard when her eyes suddenly filled with tears and she started sobbing. She then said, “Are you and dad going to get divorced?” I tried to reassure her that we hoped never to get divorced, and she soon calmed down.

This brief, innocent conversation made me realize something I had kept buried for many years: divorce damages! I remember the day my mom told us she was getting divorced from my father. She did all the right things: she sat us down and talked to us about it, telling us she loved us and that it was not our fault. Lastly, she said, “It’s going to be really hard for the next few years.”

I appreciate her telling us this, but for some reason it did not prepare me for the future. “It’s going to be really hard” was actually an understatement. I was twelve at the time, in sixth grade. I looked forward to school as an escape. My little sister, on the other hand, was five, and just starting kindergarten. She would cry every morning when my mom dropped her off at school. The tears lasted all day long, for most of the school year. Some days I would have to go to her classroom to try and comfort her, but to no avail. She was damaged. Seeing my own five-year-old sobbing brought back the sadness I had seen in my little sister’s eyes. A sadness that we will both carry for the rest of our lives.

I once read a quote that struck me: “As a child I grew up without any visible scars. But inside I battled monsters of rage, depression and insecurity with out knowing why … my parents’ divorce took away from me every child’s birthright—the feeling of being secure and protected.” It was if I had written that statement. A few days later, I was talking to my husband, who is also from a broken family. When I mentioned this quote, he said, “That is exactly how I feel.” We have both been robbed of our birthright; we are both children of divorce. Our scars are invisible, and our wounds are internal. They will never heal, and we will carry them for the rest of our lives, because divorce damages.

Are you a child of divorce? How has it impacted your life?

Mirror reflection

This is a hard one for parents to accept, myself included: Your child or children are a perfect reflection of YOU. I like to think of my youngest daughter as a reflection of her older siblings, and to some extent this is true. When a three-year-old knows vocabulary most adults don’t use and greets you with, “What’s up?” you know she’s learning it from somewhere. But this behavior is not what I am talking about.

The part I’m talking about is something deeper—not actions, but feelings. What is the mood of your household? Being extremely smart and sensitive, kids seem to pick up on body language that most adults block out. They are little radios, transmitting the feelings of your family for the public to see and hear. You’re in a bad mood, they’re grouchy. You’re uptight in the store; they manage to break something. You fight with your mate; they fight with their siblings.

I fully understand that each child has a genetic make-up that makes them who they are, and that some are wound tighter than others. But I have noticed that my attitude has the biggest impact on the mood of our family. My oldest daughter is our high-strung child, but how much of that was caused by our neurotic behavior as first-time parents? We were stressed, so she would cry … she would cry, and we would get more stressed. Stress was the common feeling in our family.

Children are wiser than we give them credit for: they mimic our emotions. When mine are being exceptionally out of control and driving me insane, I wonder if it is them, or me. Ninety-nine percent of the time, it’s me. My feelings are contributing to their actions. If I take a break, regroup or get out of the house, my outlook changes, and so does theirs. They become enjoyable children again. So I don’t need to wake up and look in the mirror to figure out my mood. All I need is to look at my children—they are my mirror reflection.

Don’t mess with mama!

There is no shortage of pregnant cats in North Carolina. And somehow they all seem to end up at our house. I suspect word travels fast in the cat world, or that there is a sign written in meows alerting all gestating females that we are the perfect halfway house. Truthfully, I don’t have the heart to turn them away. Mainly because I know how hard it is to be a mother, and I respect their tenacity. Once the kittens are born, the moms will do whatever it takes to protect them. If the mom spots danger, she somehow alerts the kittens, who scramble for safety. As the kittens look on, she will hold her ground and fight with all her might the predator at hand.

With most animals, one thing holds true: you don’t want to mess with mama! I took on many responsibilities when I decided to become a parent. But my most natural instinct is to keep my children safe from predators. They need to grow and explore the world, but if I sense danger the claws will come out. It can be exhausting work, but their lives are at stake.

Children are vulnerable and impressionable. They crave role models. When a family unit is intact, these may be the child’s parents or close relatives. The child will emulate these people. When the family is broken, the child will usually look elsewhere for guidance. They will search for what it is lacking. Because of inexperience, they may choose the wrong person, and this can cause lifelong damage.

When my parents divorced, each of us children looked for what was suddenly missing in our lives. I settled on two of my aunts, who are amazingly strong, capable women. They shaped the woman I would become. My brother settled on my mom’s second husband. He introduced my brother (who was thirteen at the time) to smoking, drugs and alcohol. This new role model shaped the man my brother would become.

The attributes of innocence and trust can be quickly stolen from a child. Make sure that every person you allow into your child’s life is someone you would want them to become! I implore you as a parent: keep your children safe! Fight with every ounce of your being to protect them. Take on any battle necessary, because your children need to know that you should never mess with mama!

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I drove my parents crazy

I feel deceitful. I have managed to trick the universal forces that my mother set in motion with the infamous words, “I hope your children are just like you!” I am blessed, and a little sneaky, to have basically escaped this curse. Most of the time I have three manageable, kindhearted, easygoing children.

And then there are the other days. Days that make me wonder what I did to deserve this. Those are the days when my childhood flashes before me and it all becomes clear. I remember the days of driving my own parents crazy. There are certain personality traits that make a child loveable, that draw adults to them. I’m pretty sure I didn’t have any of them. I was at the opposite end of the spectrum. I didn’t have looks, so I learned to rely on my personality, and boy, did I have a lot to offer! I was extremely picky, exceptionally whiny, painfully shy and gravely serious.

I know I was whiny, because I actually remember my mom telling me, over and over again, to “STOP WHINING!” I hated everything my mom made, except sweets. I was sure that all adults would kidnap me, and prevented this from happening by staying in the house at all times. My parents would tell me “It’s okay if someone takes you, because they will bring you back.” I don’t remember laughing much, and took myself and others very seriously. I was afraid of my own shadow, and was without an ounce of hand-eye coordination. To top it off, I thought I was an adult trapped in a child’s body. I couldn’t understand why my mom would make me leave the room for adult conversation. My parents nicknamed me “Memorex,” because not only did I love listening to adult conversation, I would repeat it word for word at the most inopportune times.

I imagine my parents developed qualities of patience, endurance, longsuffering and mildness every day of my childhood. So on those days when I am ready for a nervous breakdown, I have to laugh, think of myself as a little girl and thank the stars that my children are not even close to the child that I was. Hallelujah!


What did you do as a child that would have drove your parents crazy?

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