Tag: parenting

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It runs in the family.

Hank Williams Jr. sang a song about his family traditions. The song goes like this:

“So don’t ask me,
Hank, why do you drink?
Hank, why do you roll smoke?
Why must you live out the songs that you wrote?
Stop and think it over,
Try and put yourself in my unique position
If I get stoned and sing all night long, it’s a family tradition!”

(You can find the official video for this song here)

This song could have been written about my family. You see, I am the child of an alcoholic. I grew up knowing what Budweiser on someone’s breath smelled like. We always had beer in the fridge, with the exception of the time my dad decided to start making his own wine and it was stocked with wine. I learned not to trust that a bottle that looked like Dasani water in my dad’s car was actually water when it could very well be vodka.

There are some who debate whether alcoholism is a disease or a choice, much like the chicken and egg philosophy.  I can’t answer that question. I can only say that my dad’s grandma was a class-A drinker herself, an ex-barmaid who could drink a fifth of Wild Turkey like it was water and still stand upright.  His brother passed away in January from a handful of health problems, including a lifetime of hard drinking.  My dad’s father drank until a health scare nearly cost him his life.  I can also say that alcohol was just part of the family culture.  So is it a disease or a cultural norm?  I still can’t say.

But, my dad’s story is not mine to write.  No, the only story I can write is my own.

Contrary to what you might think, alcoholism isn’t always ugly.  It sometimes looks like an 800 credit score, three homes, and a vacation property. It looks like 30 years of hard work at the same job.  It looks like two normal, well-adjusted children and four happy, healthy grandchildren. Sometimes, alcoholism looks like a boat on the lake.  It disguises itself as a handyman, a carpenter, the life of the party.

But…sometimes it IS ugly, too.

Alcoholism looks like an unhealthy coping mechanism. It’s an effective tool to alienate your children and grandchildren. It’s a great way to chase away all your acquaintances until you’re left all alone, wondering what the hell happened. Alcoholism looks like multiple DUI’s and sideswiped cars in Walmart’s parking lot. It’s being friends with the clerks at the only liquor store in the county that will sell to you before noon on a Sunday. It’s falling down in your house and ripping half your face off and nearly bleeding to death, alone. It’s walking a fine line between unhappiness and emotional numbness.

Alcoholism runs in my family. Whether due to nature or nurture, the outcome is the same.

We all have it in our power to change our story, write a new chapter, make the ending not what the reader expects.  That’s exactly what I’m doing.

Sometimes people have said to me, “Yeah, but drinking is just what we do. It runs in our family.”

Oh, yeah, well, guess what?  Not today, Satan.  This is where it runs out.

 

 

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This is pigskin season.

To everything there is a season. This is pigskin season.

My son played his last football game of the year today.  At the end of a crushing 30 to 0 loss, there was a range of emotions from players, parents, and coaches.  Some of the boys on the team were crying.  Some of them were hugging each other.  Still others were giving high-fives.  Parents were shaking hands and thanking coaches for a great season.  Tomorrow, we will turn in pads and helmets and padded pants. We will start to mentally prepare for basketball season, the tryouts for which coincide with football uniform turn-in day.

Football is in my son’s DNA. I used to joke with others that if he had to choose between breathing and football, he would turn blue before dropping the ball.  In a way, I was only half-joking, so great is his passion for the game.  Some parents encourage – force, even – their child to participate in a sport.  That is not the case in our house.  My son is one of the first ones at practice every day and one of the last ones to leave. He idolizes Tom Brady and can quote statistics from the New England Patriots in such a way that would make Siri jealous.  (If you’re interested in learning more about my son’s beloved Patriots, click here)

I’m a stereotypical small-town football mom.  I wear my glittery shirt with “football mom” emblazoned on the front.  I wash stinky pads and fill water jugs before practice. I have my own special foldable chair that I cart to the field on game days. I ask all the wrong questions.  It usually goes like this:

My son:  “We would have won if our defense was better.”

Me:  “Wait, I thought you were on offense?”

My son:  “No, mom, that’s when we have the ball.”

Me:  “Well, how am I supposed to know where the ball is?  They need to paint it pink with feathers and glitter.  You all look the same out there.”

I took my son and two of his friends to the skating rink today to celebrate the end of the football season.  They sat in the backseat and sang rap songs.  They discussed the likelihood that they can all have an epic video game battle later.  They talked about which girl named Mercedes is prettier, Mercedes A. or Mercedes M.?

This, friends, is the season of life that we’re in, hovering on the cusp between fall and winter, football and basketball, boyhood and the teen years.  It’s the fine line of crying in mom’s arms when we suffer a crushing loss on the football field, and being too manly to cry, even when a pretty girl breaks our heart.

On the football field, they call my son “Speedy,” because he’s the fastest kid on the team.  To me, though, the greatest name I can call him will always be my little boy.  Don’t grow up too fast, son.  Days like today are a much-needed reminder to all of us to slow down and enjoy the season of life we’re in, even when that season involves pigskins, padded pants, and epic losses on the field.  For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.

“Hey babies crawling on the carpet
No, you won’t be that little for long
One day you’ll move away but you’re still gonna stay
This innocent after you’re gone
‘Cause no matter how much time goes by
And no matter how much you grow up
For worse or for better, from now ’til forever
I’ll always remember you young.”
Song credit:  Thomas Rhett

Find the link to this song here.IMG_0743.JPG

 

 

Expert or exasperated?

ex·pert
/ˈekˌspərt/
Learn to pronounce
noun
  1. a person who has a comprehensive and authoritative knowledge of or skill in a particular area.
    “a financial expert”
    synonyms: specialist, authority, pundit, oracle, resource person; More
adjective
  1. having or involving authoritative knowledge.
    “he had received expert academic advice”
    synonyms: skillful, skilled, adept, accomplished, talented, fine; More

I began this blog as an assignment for one of my classes.  I am going to continue the blog as an assignment for…another one of my classes.  The professor was specific in his instructions about the assignment:  We need to write a blog that is interesting and not-too-broad.  In other words, spend the next 12 weeks blogging about something that I have direct knowledge of that others will find captivating and enthralling.  For example, one student a few semesters ago set up a blog all about knitting.  Another student blogged about his extracurricular life of coaching youth sports.

Okay.  Got it.  I don’t know how to knit and I don’t care much for children’s sports (a fact I discovered AFTER I had three children who each participate simultaneously in various sports and activities), so I have zero to blog about there, which got me thinking…what AM I good at?  What type of knowledge and uncanny abilities do I possess?

Let’s see here…I show up for work on time and I like to think I do an above-average job in the workplace; however, I have a hard time believing that there’s a huge amount of avid readers out in the blogosphere anxiously foaming at the mouth to hear the latest tale of how I spent my day clearing a jam from the office copy machine or stocking K-cups for the coffeemaker.  All vital skills, sure, but hardly titillating material for the masses to consume.

Well, what else can I contribute?  In no particular order, here are some things I consider myself somewhat of an “expert” on:

  • Going to Target with an itemized list and leaving with a $200 receipt and a cart full of things, none of which were actually on the original list;
  • Sneaking out of my bathroom at night without making a sound to avoid my children hearing me and asking me for another snack when it’s 11:00 and they should be sleeping;
  • Finding ways to combine coupons at Bath and Body Works in order to score lotions and hand soaps for bargain-basement prices;
  • And finally, making sure all the children make it to the aforementioned sports practices while maintaining an inner monologue of profanities that would make a sailor blush, simultaneously ensuring my daughter is wearing panties, as she tends to “forget” to put them on.

It was during my thought process that I realized, maybe the insight I possess isn’t anything special.  I’m just another single mom, navigating the waters of my forties.  I’m blunt, honest, non-judgmental, and I keep it real.  You can expect to hear my random thoughts on religion, friendship, parenting, and leisure time.  You may also hear about the time my son asked me to take him to buy an athletic cup for sports, or how my second-oldest son once referred to his bedroom as a “shit brick,” a story that emphasizes clear enunciation and grammar usage.

Welcome back, friends.  I’m glad to be here.