Happy Humiliation Day!

One of my biggest fears finally came to fruition. I turned the BIG 5-0 on Mother’s Day this year. (That’s not the fear.)  I put off the big celebration because it was a busy month and I wanted a big blow out bash to mark the milestone. I spent a lot of time and effort and money on putting together my perfect birthday party, only to discover that I must have some inflated sense of self to think that people I love would join me to honor my half century of life. (Sarcasm)

It’s the classic cliché’ – a sad, insecure, unpopular girl plans a party and invites all the cool kids. Hours later, she sits amid the uneaten chips, dips, appetizers and snacks, dejected and hurt that no one showed up. That’s what happened to me. On the night I so meticulously planned, lots of people stood me up. It’s bad enough getting stood up just one person, but 25?!?! That cut to the bone. It did a little tap dance on every insecurity I ever had about myself.

I think I did a pretty good job of covering up, to the four people who did show up, that I was disappointed and hurt. Everything was so beautiful and my two closest friends were there, so I made the best of it for as long as I could. I hoped that my friends, The Amazingparents, and Crazy Nurse, didn’t notice how disappointed I was at the turn out. But, seriously, how could they not? I’m grateful to them for not mentioning it. I felt like such a loser.

I ordered food – enough for 25 people: cocktail shrimp, stuffed mushrooms, cheeses, veggies and tasty chicken salad in freakin’ phyllo cups!! I provided two free drink tickets to everyone, so I paid for the alcohol, too! I set up a candy buffet in all the theme colors and the party took place in a beautiful VIP lounge on a rooftop bar in an historical downtown hotel. My friend, Doc, paid for decorations and other little party accoutrements to make it a special occasion. I felt horrible that she spent so much for no one to enjoy.

What I felt most was humiliation. I was embarrassed that I made such a big deal about the excitement of turning 50, holding out hope that the people I cared for would want to share that excitement with me. The brave face I put on weighed so heavily that as I began to pack up all the pretty little doo-dads and gee-gaws, I felt a tear slowly travel down my cheek. I turned away so that no one could see my sadness. I hid my mortification until I made it to my car, then I cried.

I can take rejection….but humiliation is a killer.

Reach Out and Touch...

Since I began working full time, The Pie goes to a sitter before and after school. Not actually a sitter…my next door neighbor watches her during that time. Neighbor has four children of her own (which includes a set of nearly two year old twins) and she also babysits other kids, too. Her house is what I yesterday lovingly deemed, “a teeming mass of tiny humanity.”

I love kids. Well, I love my kid. And some other people’s kids. But being surrounded by young children can sometimes make me feel as if my eyes are going to melt out of their sockets as a result of being exposed to the sheer sonic sounds emitted by the youngsters. But there are admittedly days when I long to be assaulted with sticky little hands, unintelligible squeals and drool. All the kids at Neighbor’s house know me and appear to really like – well, love – me. Especially the twins.

When I show up to claim The Pie, I sometimes will enter the living room, which is always separated by a baby gate, and plop down on the floor. Little people with limited speech run at me like I’m covered in animal crackers and they hug me and drape themselves on my lap, my shoulders, my head. It’s the closest approximation to being a rock star that I can imagine. On a day like I had yesterday, all I could think about on the drive home, was getting to those small humans and soaking up their love like a big old sponge. That’s me…the love sponge.

I honestly believe those children look forward to our limited time together. They squeal with delight when I walk in the door and bang on the couch where they want me to sit. They hug me, sit on me, poke my nose and ears with their little fingers and fight each other over who gets the best place on my lap. They “waller” all over me and I feel drained and energized all at the same time. 

It reminds me of when The Pie was very small and she hung on me like a parasitic fish. Even now, she must be touching me in some way almost all the time. It’s that interactive touch I think we all long for, what we need to remind us that we are not alone.  There are days that seem interminable, just going through the motions of being a content human being. When we are lost inside that teeming mass of humanity, it’s nice to feel a friendly, comforting touch.

 Back in my younger days, when I worked around a lot of men, I concocted a scheme in which I told everyone that it takes one hug a day to maintain happiness and two hugs a day to grow your happiness. I got a lot of hugs! And I remember eventually thinking that there was some truth to it. The more hugs I got, the better I felt about myself and my life. I can’t speak for those gentlemen, but I imagine the opportunity to rub up against some boobies made them fairly happy, too.

So, if you have a chance to just reach across the divide and gently touch someone who needs to feel comfort, stability or just your presence, don’t let that chance go by.  And if little people want to shove their fingers in your facial orifices, let ‘em! 

Off to Work I Go

I’d been thinking about going back to work full-time for several weeks. Dad was in the nursing home and the majority of his monthly income needed to go toward paying for that outrageous bill. I had a job all lined up to start December 1, but after Dad passed away I didn't feel up to dealing with people in any situation the demanded I not cry copiously for no apparent reason. There was money in the bank to last me and The Pie a little while, so I forfeited that opportunity.

Right after Christmas, I stepped up my job search – sending out resumes to just about any industry that offered something close to what I wanted to do! I knew I needed income and I knew I would need it soon. I approached my search aggressively and it paid off.

In the first week of January, I had nine (9) interviews! It felt really validating that I still was considered valuable in the workplace. My skills, admittedly, have gotten a little rusty, but I can still keep up. At first, I wondered if my absence from being a member of the gainfully employed club worked as an obstacle to even being considered. However, as the calls kept coming in, I became more and more confident that I would find … something. Most of the interviews went very well, a couple were definitely not what I was looking for, so I made sure they ended quickly. As I played the waiting game, jumping every time the phone rang, I tried to decide which position I really wanted.  And then it happened.

On a Monday afternoon, I had two job offers within a few minutes of each other. I couldn't believe it! One company manufactures video gaming machines and one of the benefits is getting free lunch every day. The other company is an internationally known and respected aviation, flight and technology college and it’s closer to my home. I accepted the position as a Financial Aid Advisor with the flight school.

I've been on the job for three weeks and I really know I made the right choice. I am working in education again, helping students fund their education that will improve the rest of their lives. It is very rewarding to me to think that I can help a young man or woman follow their dreams. My co-workers are fun and knowledgeable and I feel like I fit in.

The Pie has been having some adjustment issues, though. She’s not used to me being unavailable to her. For most of her life, I have always been there for her – dropping her off at school, attending class parties, volunteering, and picking her up in the afternoons. She misses me and clings to me when we are at home. The best part of that scenario is that she hardly ever wants friends to come over!

I’m looking forward to a long career in my new position and will undoubtedly have many “interesting stories” to share. Stay tuned!

Is It Teacher Bullying?

I’m about to gain a reputation at my daughter’s school as being a difficult mom, a troublemaker, a bitch. It’s a yoke I’m happy to wear because I am standing up for my kid when she can’t. She refuses to explain herself to her teacher on this issue because she is being made to feel like she is different from her classmates. And I am quite pissed off about it.

It all began when the weather started getting colder. The Pie runs a little hot…well, let’s face it, she’s a walking heat source and probably the cause of global warming! Anyway, her teacher told her several times that she HAD to wear a coat to school. I finally caved and forced The Pie to wear a coat, just to stop the complaints. Last week, the teacher

 called me and asked if I knew what The Pie wore to school. I was perplexed. Of course, I knew…I dropped her off at school! She wore a shirt and a skirt. Looked pretty cute, too! The teacher goes on to tell me that she would like my daughter to always wear pants and tennis shoes because of the cold weather. I feigned interest, but eventually dismissed it.

 

Today, The Pie tells me that a lady in the office called her in to ask her once again if I knew what she was wearing and if I saw her before school. What the hell? She proceeded to tell my child that she MUST wear long pants and closed shoes at least until the end of February. I lost my damn mind when The Pie told me about what happened. She said she felt embarrassed and like she was in trouble. I intend to put a stop to it.

I sat down and wrote a sternly worded email to her principal about the issue. I’m sure she is completely unaware that adults are bullying her students. And that’s what I think it is…I may be overreacting, but it’s how she feels she’s being treated and I will not diminish her feelings. Here’s the letter, somewhat modified, I wrote:

My daughter, The Pie, is in Mrs. Hess' second grade class and I am angry. The Pie told me about something that happened today and I am deeply upset.  She explained that Annie in the office pulled her aside and asked her if she dressed herself and if I saw her before she left for school. The Pie also said that Annie told her that she MUST wear long pants and closed shoes to school from now on.

This is an issue I tried to ignore, but during a recent phone call, I discussed it with Mrs. Hess and explained that The Pie's wardrobe is something I leave up to her. It's simply not worth fighting about. Mrs. Hess said that her concern is that The Pie will get cold during an outside recess and possibly get sick.  My daughter has a normal body temperature that runs a little high, so she is always warm to the touch and never, ever gets cold. I gave in to Mrs. Hess' badgering about my child wearing a coat to school, so now she takes one because her teacher told her to. 

The Pie's grandfather, with whom we lived the majority of her life, passed away in November and rather than try to support my daughter through a very difficult emotional time, these women are chastising her for what she wears! My daughter is scared that she has done something wrong. Her grades have fallen, but the focus is on her clothes? That is just wrong. Her learning environment is obviously compromised as a result of this form of harassment. 

I do not appreciate the interference of these ladies regarding something so trivial as my daughter's wardrobe. She is always appropriately covered and does not violate any of the dress code rules in the student handbook. If you can show me in the handbook where it requires girls to wear long pants during cold weather, I wish you would. Until such time, I will not force my daughter to wear clothes in which she feels uncomfortable merely to mitigate the ridiculous gossip of a couple of young women. 

My child is a unique, creative and intelligent girl and I refuse to allow her spirit to be broken by people who have no knowledge or real concern for her welfare. I make no excuses for her and I am offended by the fact that I am being forced to defend her clothing. Rest assured, I will no longer tolerate the shaming she has had to endure about this issue. 

Please call me at your earliest convenience to discuss this situation or to schedule an appointment to meet. 

I’d like to know what all you parents, educators and school administrators out there think. Is there a real basis for requiring The Pie to change her wardrobe? Are the adults at her school bullying her? Or am I just a Mama Bear??  Honest feedback is welcome.