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Wednesday, July 09, 2008


There are a lot of posts that I simply don't post. Sometimes, after sitting on a thought for a while, I decide that I don't need to post it to gain closure. The other problem with sitting on a thought for a bit is that the emotions pass and you don't need the support to get through those feelings. It would be a little strange to receive the equivalent of a hug when I'm not in this space right now.

I don't know why I keep opening this post and then closing it without posting. But without understanding the "why," I figure that it must mean that a part of me wants to put it out there. Perhaps it will help someone else? But I'll begin this by saying that I'm not in this emotional space right now. I've also tacked on a second post that also never went up that relates to this same time period. And I'll warn in advance that because it is actually two posts combined into one, this post is looooooooooooong.

This whole damn post is about the ChickieNob and Wolvog so I also understand if you wish to skip it. It also contains some advice I received recently, so perhaps you'll want to skim to find it. Either/or.

When the twins were in the NICU, the thought that got me through those first months of living in the hospital and coming home on heart monitors and living in constant fear was that it would get easier. I was going through the hardest part and one day it would be easy. And I'm not saying that it wasn't hard--it was really hard during that time.

Then, when we were in the sleepless stage--a stage that lasted until 16 months for us because we couldn't drop any night feeds due to low weight (we were not even on the charts)--I thought, this is the hardest part because I'm emotional AND exhausted. But it will get easier once they sleep. Or, at least, sleep at the same time.

Then they could move and I had to figure out how to watch two children going in two directions at once. Then they learned the word "no" and I had to learn how to navigate behaviour. We had to learn how to drink from a cup and sleep in a bed and potty training is still kicking my ass.

I kept waiting for things to get easier and they kept getting harder. They are getting so much harder.

With infertility, you don't really remember the physical pain. I mean, you remember that you were in physical pain, but I can't really muster how any test or procedure or blood draw felt--only that it hurt. But the emotional pain stays with you forever. You can bring yourself right back into that emotional space with a scary intensity as you think back over words said or failed cycles or moments of loss.

The same is true with parenting in a sense except the intensity and distance come from the situations I can remember experiencing myself vs. the ones I only experience through the twins. The learning to walk, teaching them to sleep, getting them to eat broccoli--those parenting moments are painful (sometimes) in the moment, but now, years apart from some of those experiences, I can barely remember how we did it much less how it felt in the moment. I know I was exhausted, but I can't really remember how exhausted felt. I know that I cried a lot when they gave up their bottle, but we've used cups for so long that I never think about it.

But I am having a really hard time watching my children go through things that were emotional triggers for me as a child. I taught middle school for years and Josh always said that he couldn't understand how I could submerge myself in those years--those years that are so emotionally painful for almost everyone on this earth--and not spend my entire day crying with the kids.

The fact is that as much as I thought I cared about those children, as much as I would have done anything to protect them in the moment and acted like mother while they were between school walls, I watched everything with a detachment. It was like a surgeon who could eat lunch while prepping for surgery, looking at pictures of intestines or livers. You somehow detach and stop thinking about what you are seeing or hearing.

But with the twins, there is no space. It feels like it is happening to me all over again. The navigating friendships and circumventing fears. The true growing pains. I had to plan their birthday party last week and I spent more time crying than I did writing out the details. It brought out all of my worries--would they have enough friends? I never had enough friends; would they have enough? Would they be popular and kind? What if they were popular and mean? Or unpopular but kind? The friendship thing is a huge trigger for me.

If this trend continues, with things always getting harder, how will I make it through their middle school years? How will I make it through their first crushes, their first dates, their first lost friends? I can't even fathom how I'm going to let them go to preschool next year much less how I will ever drive away from their college after helping them move in.

I know, I know, the point is not to jump fifteen years into the future and worry about that now, but I always thought it would get easier. I thought once they became self-sufficient, it would be easy. And now, I've come to realize--at least for me--that the sleep training and crawling and transitioning to a bed--those were all so small, so frustrating in the moment, but forgotten soon after. But the emotional things--making friends and losing friends, overcoming fears and seeing your child consumed with fear, watching your child experience anger or frustration--these stay with you and bring you directly back into your own childhood with scary intensity.

It is one thing to talk about your childhood while you eat a slice of pizza with a friend. It is another thing to relive those moments as you watch someone you love go through it. I just didn't realize that this part was going to be so hard.

And I'm eating the words I spoke before I had children: "these parents don't even appreciate what they have. I would do anything to have my own middle schooler." And maybe, that distance wasn't bad parenting. Maybe that distance I saw between parent and child was simply a mother protecting her heart as she watched her child go through some of the most painful years of her life.

My mother gave me a great piece of advice that I'm going to pass along to you right after I extrapolate and expand and twist her idea (sorry, mummy) because I think it is a very interesting way of looking at arguments and tears as well as shifting the placement of a line.

To completely twist my mother's words: if you don't spend any time thinking you are a shit partner, worker, mother (take your pick of role that you beat yourself up about), then you aren't caring enough. You are going to mess up and you're going to have fights and you're going to have days when you're short with your kids. And the fact that you're crying afterwards is actually a sign of how much you care. And that care is more important than perfection.

In terms of a relationship, a couple who cares will have a fight every once in a while. Fights in a relationship are a sign of passion, activity, the attempt to bring two worlds into sync. The alternate would be a lack of fights but also a lack of communication, attachment, care. Two people, existing in a house, without the energy to actually navigate one another. Even the most perfectly suited partners (or friends or family members) argue every once in a while.

It brings new meaning to the idea of what are you willing to fight for.

She gave me this advice on a day when I lost it with the Wolvog and screamed at him an hour into his own tantrum (so much for deep breathing for an entire hour). After the apologies, more tears, and an early bedtime, I called my mother and admitted that I had yelled at him because keeping it a secret (the only people who knew I had yelled were the Wolvog, the ChickieNob, and I) was eating me from the inside out. I had this compulsion to admit that I was a shit mother who had yelled at her child and startled him with this roar of frustration.

I think blogging is such an interesting medium because it give us this sounding board to do just that: release this compulsion to scream to the world, "I fucked up." I fucked up. I yelled at him and weeks later, I still feel terribly about it. But I really did like her advice about why we occasionally yell or break down. We cry because there is so much at stake. We cry because we feel so passionately and we have so much love. And that, frankly, terrifies us; especially when we think of all the ways we can fuck up inside that love.

My question though is when we step over that line and fights actually signal a problem in the relationship and tears actually signal depression. It's a slippery line of when enough becomes too much.

And I'll end this by saying I care. I care so damn much. I care that they have the best childhood possible. And it keeps me awake at night, worrying. I know there are blessings from a skinned knee and other platitudes like that, but it is so exquisitely painful to watch someone you love struggle. Whether or not you are currently a parent, I think we all can understand that thought through any friendship or relationship you have had. It is so hard to see someone you love struggle and to wish you could do something and to know that part of life is the inability to orchestrate the things that truly matter.

Maybe I needed to post this tonight because I had an incredibly frustrating day today. And I deep breathed through it and came out the other side without screaming. We don't have punishments or rewards in our house--only positive and negative consequences to our actions. The Wolvog had taken peace and relaxation out of my time so I told him that the consequence was that I was taking the relaxation out of his time. As his sister chilled with Wonder Pets (there is such a freakin' long story tied to why it was Wonder Pets and perhaps it could best be explained with a Show & Tell), we rocked in the chair (I may have been a bitch about relaxation in regards to television, but who is going to turn down knocking back with a shnuzzle?) and quietly spoke about what we take away from one another. And each time I repeated, "you took happiness out of my time and that is why I'm taking happiness out of yours" he would lay his head down on my chest in agreement and apology. It was such a larger moment than the scream. I wish I knew how to always reach that place instead of stumbling into it in the dark.

And, yes, once he got it, once I knew that I'd be able to refer back to that moment and draw from his empathy and say, "remember how it felt to have happiness sucked out of your time?" I released him to the sweet, sweet, dulcet tones of the Wonder Pets.


bleu said...

Amazing post, thanks so much for sharing it. It does get harder, and easier and everything.

The first time I roared at Bliss and frightened him was just awful and we talked a lot after, and I apologized and told him it wasn't a good thing I did. He came to call that voice, or any of my yelling as my "big voice" and one day when I yelled (not huge but still yelled) he very calmly said "mama don't use your big voice, it's not nice" and we work on it still but I have gotten better.
I came to realize long ago that all the times he makes me nutz and all the times I get mad it is 99.99999% about my own crap and truly really has little or nothing to do with him. It is my baggage. Yes he needs manners and to know boundaries, but my yelling at him about it is most likely because I am trying to do too many things at once, or not taking the extra minute to really connect so he understands, or it is some trigger from my own childhood.

You really do raise yourself again while raising your child, if you are awake that is, or at least struggling to be.

Your mom's advice, I heard it from a friend but she said it like this, she said "If you didn't question yourself I would worry but you do and that examining of yourself as a mother is way more than many and a sure sign you are on the right road." It is great advice and does help a lot, especially in the hard times, if I can remember to remember it.

This part of your post though

"My question though is when we step over that line and fights actually signal a problem in the relationship and tears actually signal depression. It's a slippery line of when enough becomes too much."

That part seemed glossed over and vague. I would love to know more about that.

Much much love.

Michell said...

No words really, just an amazing post.

Just Me. said...

Loved this post.


luna said...

really a terrific post. what a wonderful mother you must be. and your mom's words are spot on.

Tash said...

Lovely post. I've been meaning to write something similar about how thin my patience has been of late, how quick I am to blow, and how it hit me when my daughter sadly asked me to "please quit yelling at the dog." Gak. (I actually think the dogs become my target even if it's not about them remotely.) It's all part of motherhood, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Anyone who says they get through all their days with calmness and respect and conversational tones of voice sans television is a liar.

There, I said it. Bleu is right -- it will get easier. But there'll be something else there difficult to tend to even though they're using the toilet by themselves.

Oh, and I once helped a friend with her newborn, and I was completely SHOCKED when I said something like, "Isn't it amazing to think this baby could grow up to be anything? He could be a world-class baseball pitcher!" And her partner completely freaked, and went on and on about how he wasn't going to do organized sports, and would have trouble making friends, and would get picked last, all complete with sample dialogue . . . and the kid was weeks old. It was so sad. While I no longer have such rose-tinted views of my or my child's future, I also really don't see wasting brain space on problems that haven't happened yet.

niobe said...

I keep opening and closing this comment, so this will probably come out all wrong. But my -- perhaps unusual -- experience with parenting has been that it gets easier and easier.

Maybe it's just a reflection of the fact that my kid is so much older than yours. Maybe it's because, tempermentally, my son and I are very similar. Maybe it's because I only have one.

Maybe it's because I'm not sufficiently emotionally invested in being a good mother. (I mean, I don't want to be a bad mother, but I figure that being a good enough mother is, well, good enough).

As usual, you've done a wonderful job of explaining and drawing lessons from your own experiences. Mine is just so different.

And I feel like I can't talk about it on my own blog, which is why I'm completely hogging your comment section.

Samantha said...

What a post. From what I can tell, reading your blog, you are emotionally invested in everything that you do. From what I can tell also, you seem to have a had a horrible childhood, or some really bad experiences in it, anyway, and they have colored your views forever. Sometimes, perhaps, allowing a little distance, realizing that your experiences don't necessarily have to be your children's experiences, might be helpful.

Perhaps the scariest thing that you are realizing is that you can't protect your children from the outside world, and from all things bad and angry, including even your tired, frustrated self. I remember you posting about a year ago how scared you were to let your twins out of your sight. And yet, they are going to be going out of your sight at some point. To let them grow up, you have to let them go. And they'll probably fall, and it's going to feel terrible, but that's how they'll learn and find their own inner strength.

I can't speak from personal experience, so take this for what it's worth.

Jamie said...

Thank you for this. Your timing was exceptional because I really needed to hear something like this right now.

I guess in a way it comes back to putting our hearts outside of our own body and into our children.

I may use your post to spur my own blog post today.

Sunny said...

Completely amazing. I love how you handled yesterday. He will never forget that moment. You are an incredible mom who is very human. Never forget that!

By the way, you were so in my dreams last night. HA!

loribeth said...

Since I have no living children, I have no assvice to offer, just (((hugs))). But from what I can tell, I think what you're feeling is pretty common among mothers. Enjoy your rocking chair time!

bendingbackwards said...

That was an AMAZING post! I have really no words except your post was spot on. Thank you!

Heather J. said...

(this is a long one, sorry!0

Mel - excellent post today. I completely identify with how you feel. I was always the unpopular kid in elementary school. I do remember being sad about it, but according to my mom I came home crying almost every day (THAT I don't remember). My hubby had similar experiences.

Our kiddo is now 6 yrs old, going into 1st grade, and our fears for him are so different. See, he's somehow become the popular kid, the one everyone wants to play with at recess, sit by at lunch, and just be around in general.

Kiddo is a genuinely kind child, but hubby and I fear that he'll turn into one of those popular/mean kids you mentioned in your post. You know, those kids hubby and I thought were mean and cruel when WE were kids. And we DON'T want kiddo to turn out like that.

While we revel in the fact that (it appears) he won't be the odd-man-out, we cringe over the possibility that this popularity will go to his head. It's a constant fear, and one we actively try to prevent though conversations and being good examples.

All this to say that I totally get you. But I wouldn't say things get harder ... they just stay hard in different ways.

Io said...

This post made me FEEL so much.It's all jumbled up together the sweet and the salty. I'm also wet eyed sitting here at work. Whoops.
By the way, when you said:
"I never had enough friends; would they have enough?" I am so glad you now have more friends than probably anyone ever. (Even if most of us are stuck inside the magic box.)

InfertileMadWoman said...

Oh girl you touched me deep with that one, in fact could you get the hell out of my damn head for 2 seconds??

Hugs!! Things seem so profound when you are living through the little people huh?? We have so many paralels that I feel like you speak for me a lot!!

Hang in there.


KLTTX said...

Wow, great post. You put into words so many things that I feel as a parent. I have only truly yelled at D a few times and I immediately feel remorse and we both end up apologizing for our behaviour. Thanks again for posting.

Kim said...

Long post but every bit worth it!

And to add to your comment on blogging - yes, it does save me and is such a sounding board.

electriclady said...

Oh, yes. I can feel it happening already, even though BG is only 17 months old--when another child ignores her (even though that's what they DO at this age!) or when an older kid snatches away a toy, she doesn't care, but I hurt so much, because I don't want her to feel alone and rejected like I often did as a child. But I know I have to work hard at not making what happens in HER life about ME, which is the especially hard part.

chicklet said...

Your mum's advice is brilliant. We're human, it's gonna happen.

ms.bri said...

Great post. I have stepparented from ages 6-17 and many things were incredibly hard. Most of the things that I found hideous have to do with parenting after divorce. But some were things like consequences. If you play sick for days to avoid the $250 basketball camp we wanted to send you to (yes, definitely pretend sick), then you are obviously MUCH too sick to go to Cape Cod with us this weekend so you will have to stay home with Grandma. That was just not a fun weekend for any of us.

A friend asked her mom what it's like to parent an adult child and do you just want to grab them and cuddle them all the time and if not, why not? And her mom said one word: adolescence. There is a natural arc to all this. Our kids will separate from us and we will sort of want to do that because they will be annoying and frustrating. This is normal and good.

My own mother gave me one bit of parenting advice before she died when I was younger. She said that she believed in raising me like a puppy. The mom does everything she can until the puppy can do it herself and then she sends her off on her own. She was big into independence, my mom. I think it's served me well. I have emotions about Beck getting bigger but mostly I am thrilled as he grows more and more able. Same for stepson.

One more. A men's magazine Wes reads said something we liked about childrearing: self-esteem is fine but self-reliance is golden. Our first one came out really confident but not so self-reliant. We hope to step that up.

This is practically a fricking blog post. Sorry. Maybe it can count for, like, 15 "Bri was here"'s.

Jen said...

Beautiful post and perfect advice. When people worry about being good parents, my first thought is always that you are a good parent if you are worrying. Through my teaching, I saw so many bad parents and they never thought about it for a second.

loribeth said...

P.S. Do you ever read Judith Warner's blog in the NY Times? This recent one reminded me of your post!

midlife mommy said...

Great post. I am a "bad" mom sometimes, but reading blogs helps me realize that I just have occasions where I could be better at it. And, while you may not have ever called your three year old an a**hole, there are equivalent things. So, blogs are the great leveler, I think. The honest ones, anyway.

The part of your post that resonated with me is thinking about watching my daughter go through all the painful things that are part of growing up. I don't want her heart to be broken, but if that means that it will help her to know when she's finally met someone worthwhile, then of course it's worth it. Or, to have to deal with all the b*tchy, popular, shallow girls at school? Painful, yes. But how would she ever recognize a true friend if she didn't have anything to compare it to? I would be a different person without those experiences, I think. Sad, but true.

nikole said...

Wow - this post really resonates with me. Maybe not so much about the stages of development and growing up, b/c I haven't gotten there yet, but about all of the emotions tied up in showing up and being present for our children, day after day. Often, I feel guilty about needing a little bit of my own space to be able to face the day with a little one who requires so much. I mean, we worked so damn hard to get her here, and I am so incredibly grateful, and yet I feel like by getting frustrated or upset or needing to walk away for a few moments, it is somehow saying that I don't love this little girl with all of my heart and soul (which I most definitely do). I like your interpretation so much better - that it is so hard because we care so incredibly much.

Thank you for posting this.

Martha said...

Wow, thanks for sharing and wonderful insight. I have two sons, ages 13 and 10 years old, sometimes mixing a perimenopausal women with a preteen = disaster. I am working on giving myself (and my family) the gift of kindness and cutting myself a freaking break. It's a work in progress and I take heart in knowing most days, I am doing the Best I can and the proof is in the pudding. Our boys are compassionate and kind, it's a Mitzvah. Just like you are, Martha

Lori said...

I love exploring this part of the human condition: our need to individuate with our need to congregate. To become ourselves while being in partnership with others.

We do this with friends, parents, spouses/partners, and children. And, most importantly, we teach our children how to do this for themselves.

That's why the scene of your loud (but quiet) moment in the cuddle chair is so poignant. You are teaching them the truly important things.

Kim said...

I admit to yelling and losing my cool too. It is hard and no it doesn't get any easier. Age 7 has been a tough year for me/him. My mom has also given me advice, most of which I take. I think, with her help to get here, that it is not whether or not you lost your temper once in while, but it is how you deal with the destruction left behind. I yell when they have pushed me too far and then I tell them I am sorry. I was mad/angry/hurt/upset. I feel better now etc. This shows them that it is okay to express emotions but that it is necessary to own up to them afterwards. Because, let's face it - I have not seen one parent or one kid who has never been pushed over the edge. We are human and emotion is a big part of that. I am having a rough week - too much bs to explain here, but I know I have lost my temper more times that I would have liked. But my kids are okay and they know I was upset by their actions not by them. I make it a point to say things like the way you talked to me made me angry or you not listening made me frustrated. I make it known that it is not them as people that I am upset with. That I love them unconditionally and nothing they do will ever change that. We have a family running secret - they all think I love them the most, because I tell them that in private. I also make sure to tell them something nice about them before they go to bed - even if their behavior was spawned from the devil that day! Hang in there and try not to feel too guilty for being human!

On another point I have a hard time letting go too. I want them to be safe physically and emotionally and I know my time to control things is dwindling by the day. I often wonder how may parents let me sleep over another friend's house, live at the shore for the summer, go to college! Eeek!

I love the part about rocking in the chair. What a wonderful moment and lesson. Thanks for sharing.

My grandma always said when it comes to raising kids - if they are happy and thriving and you are happy and functioning, then you are doing it right.

Geohde said...

At the end of the day, trite as it sounds, we all just human. Not perfect.

Yelling does not make you bad, but not feeling bad about doing it would perhaps have.

They do say that parenting is the hardest, and most rewarding, job that any of us will ever do.


Ally said...

I love this post. Love it. I don't yet know how I will respond to life's bumps and bruises for my children (if I am able to have them), but I do know it frightens me. I am a very proud aunt and I know my heart aches for my niece and nephews when they struggle. I just want to pick them up and shelter them. But you can't. I often wonder if I feel this way about children who aren't mine, what would I do and how would I feel as a parent? This love is frightening in its scope.

luna said...

ok so I keep thinking about this post and two things keep coming back to me.

first, that image of you and the wolvog in that rocking chair -- with you teaching him ever so gently an important life lesson -- just precious.

second, I love what you said about memory and how the physical pain memory subsides but the emotional pain is still so accessible. I think that's so true.

nancy said...

I love the quote "you took happiness out of my time and that is why I'm taking happiness out of yours" and I think I'll use it.

I just had some sort of the same type of thing just today. I've had a bad day and it started 1.5 minutes out of bed, when I stood staring at every single puzzle piece laying on the floor in a circle. (we have like 150 puzzles and the rule is one puzzle at a time). I asked my husband why this was allowed and he said "they were making me a cake". So I was frustrated with him. Sweet it was a cake for him, not cool that it broke a main rule. So what did I do? I yelled at my kids. Then took a shower and thought about what a shitty mother I just was. And then I came out and we all helped putting the puzzles back together and I talked about why I was angry. Ugh. The frustrations of motherhood is so enormous. And on days I feel I can't handle it, I second guess this little beating heart in my tummy. And then I feel worse for even thinking it.

Another thing - my 2nd didn't sleep until 24 months. Exactly. The night of her 2nd birthday, she slept and has since. 24 months of waking 3-10 times a night. Oh good lord. I don't know if I can do that again.

This was a really good post Mel.

xavier2001 said...

wow, I am in this exact space now and i have goosebumps and tears flowing after reading that. Between travelling, illness, and the overall clinginess that is seperation anxiety I am frustrated and have had enough. Very nice to know I am not alone, and that I feel this way because I care, makes me feel less like a shitty mother.

Thank you, this is what I needed to read tonight!

surpriseofunfolding said...

I understand ... I can relate to these feelings, some days more than others. We seem to go in phases, maybe when I'm reading parenting books I do better at keeping in line!

One of my big struggles is that DS (4 yo) is allergic to tree nuts, eggs,& fish. Normal things could be so serious for him. He misses out on many things that other kids/families can enjoy without a thought. I hope he has friends that will help him navigate through this during hte teen years, when most deaths due to food allergy happen because kids want to be "cool" and eat the same as the others, or not wear their epipens. (deep breath). Yes, the future really freaks me out at times. And I wonder if I am handling it well, if I can teach him to be safe without making him paranoid? Let's be honest, I AM paranoid!!! LOL


B said...

Maybe you should ask your wise mum how it was to watch you go through infertility and pregnancy loss. What did you want as a daughter?

Watching someone you love be in pain or face the pain in the world with shock and confusion aint easy. I think what most people want - kids or adults - is to have the experience honoured, and a safe place to retreat to. And I am sure you provide both these things.
Also though, your kids are different to you and will have different triggers that you simply scratch your head at, while the experiences you are terrified of on their behalf, they might sail through with barely a hair out of place.

Piccinigirl said...

I just love the way you parent, and I always feel like I'll never be able to do it well. I want to, so desperately, but the will is there to be good, to be strong, to be fair with my sons. So I looked at this post and said "Tuck it away Kir, and keep it for a rainy day and remember that even yelling has a place if you learn the lesson" .
thank you again for bringing me back to myself and helping me find the way.


JamieD said...

I can see where this was a difficult post to start, but thank you for it. It was wonderful!

I don't have children, but I often think, 'When I do get pregnant, when will I stop worrying?' And the answer I always come to is: Never.

Your mother has some great advice, but I think you answered your own question regarding the slippery line between healthy fighting and fighting when there are problems. You said that we fight and we cry because we care so much. I believe it is when we don't care anymore that the line has been crossed.

You sound like an amazing mother . . .

Nic said...

Wow, powerful post.
I think it's very true, what you said about the caring, love hard, fight hard, I think the frustration that can lead to losing it can even be part of the want them to be good', you don't want them in this place, you don't want everyone to feel crap...

Oh, I am rambling. Thanks for a fab post.

the Babychaser: said...

I often skip the posts about parenting--sometimes I feel like I'm just too raw to see what it's like. But this was really touching. Interestingly, rather than making me want to back off, it brought me hope. I WANT to care that much about a child. Not just about feeding and potty training and mommy-stuff, but about how they learn to interact with friends, how they fall in love, how they experience life.

I feel like, how matter much it hurts, it will be a way of living life that just isn't happening right now. Honestly? I can't wait.

Bea said...

"With infertility, you don't really remember the physical pain. I mean, you remember that you were in physical pain, but I can't really muster how any test or procedure or blood draw felt... But the emotional pain stays... You can bring yourself right back..."


Also, thanks for this:
"If you don't spend any time thinking you are a shit partner, worker, mother (take your pick of role that you beat yourself up about), then you aren't caring enough."

I love the rest of your story, and I think empathy is a wonderful gift to impart.

As for the rest - did it turn out ok for you? Because it seems like it has. It seems like you got past middle school and out the other side and now you have lots of friends! So I don't know if it will help to remember that during those middle-school years ahead, but for what it's worth...


Kami said...

This kind of thing has been my biggest fear since before TTC. Maybe it was because my youngest sister is 10 years younger and I remember the first time she came home from school to say that someone was mean and insulting to her. Maybe it was because it took me so long to re-program (de-program?) myself after high school. Speaking of which, would anyone survive HS if they had to do it as an adult? Bleh.