Summer

So, I hate summer time. I know it sounds awful, but I do. It's so damned hot. Give me spring or fall, but keep your fucking summer. I don't want it.

I find myself very irritable lately, and with that comes this feel of dripping, nasty sarcasm in my writings. I don't like the tone, so I'm not getting very much done, production wise. Not many words get kept. I can't even manage to keep that tone out of a shared project between me and another writer. And it is completely unsuited for that particular work. So, little worth keeping in the last two - four weeks.

So, why am I irritable? I dunno. Worries, commitments [familial and otherwise], stress. It's nothing out of the norm. If you've followed my blog for a while, you might remember me talking about the long silences.

This is the long silence.

I've written only two or three new stories since The beginning of July, which isn't a lot for me. I'm usually more prolific. I've gotten some work done on the "Sister" project, but that's slow moving. Rewrites are, from what I hear.

Mostly though, it's my kids. It's not that they're bad kids, because they aren't. They're just normal kids. But they're home all the time and that means distractions. Distractions and writing don't mix well.

Especially those distractions that come in the form of: "Mom! Come and look, it's so frigging cool. I just chopped a snake in half and it's still trying to bite me! And there are baby ones crawling out of the bottom half. Bro, grab that shovel and kill those little fuc... uhh... I mean... boogers."

Oh yes, that happened.

Now, I'm a country kinda chick and have no problems with snakes if they are minding their own business. But my children and snakes that are still trying to bite? Oh but no. Nope, no way, not happening. I live 30 minutes from the nearest hospital. I'd have a dead kid if one of them got bitten by something like a copper head or a cotton mouth moccasin.

Anyhow, summer is moving along and trying to work itself to fall. I'll be ready for the cooler temperatures, and my kids are already ready to go back to school (although they would never admit it). They miss their friends that they don't get to see and what not.

Funny Things About a Note from the Teacher

So, no blog post yesterday, so you get the extra one on Tuesday and this one too. I think scheduling blog time helps keep me posting regularly. I always work better with a deadline. I was just very worn yesterday and I was a bit busy too. Hence, today's post.

So anyway, my daughter, who is eight-going-on-nine as she makes sure I know every time age is a topic of discussion (as if I had forgotten somehow when exactly it was I gave birth to her), and who is also in the third grade, has received a funny note from her teacher.

Being in third grade is apparently a big deal. This is the grade where cursive writing is required for all school-work. Cursive, my daughter mastered quickly. She writes with a very fine hand that is much better than mine is now. In time, her penmanship will be beautiful. (I love hand written things and pretty writing is so nice to see. You can tell a lot about a person by their handwriting.)

However, my daughter's handwriting is very small. Not tiny, you don't need a magnifying glass to see it. I can read it just fine. I might have to put my glasses on. Sometimes, I don't even have to.

The other day, in my daughter's backpack, attached to one of her spelling tests, was a little post it note. The test had quite a few answers marked as missed and the teacher had spelled the word out correctly beside it. The original grade was an F. Needless to say, the note got stickied to the table while I looked at the strangely graded spelling test. Some (not all) of the wrong answers had been marked through and counted correct, bringing her grade up to a nice, comfortable D.

Now what gets me, is the child can spell... verbally. But when she writes words out, sometimes she spells them phonetically. We're working on that aspect and she's picking it up slowly. I hate the phonetic system the schools use.

Anyway (see how I ramble? I apologize.), daughter and I talk a while about the D and how she can improve. We go through the words, she spells them to me and then writes them out a few times each. We've gotten reading down to an art, much like her penmanship, and now spelling is suffering.

While daughter is writing, I read the sticky note.

--Savannah,

You must write a little larger. I can't see this. Old Teacher!! (this was underlined) If it would be better - you may print!

After months of having answers counted wrong if printed (encouraging the use of cursive, in other words), this struck me very funny. My poor kid.

I told her she needed to write her words slightly bigger and she laughed. I asked what was funny.

She said, very good naturedly and without even a hint of temper at having gotten a bad grade for writing too small: "Mom, I DID write bigger for that test. Mrs. Such and such is just blind!"

Oh my darling child. I love her so.

Peace & Love
~Effie

Bunnies and Eggs

Just to say Happy Easter to my friends, fiends and fans who celebrate, religiously or otherwise.

Peace & Love, y'all
~E

Children Are Marvels (A pondering of boys and their antics)

Trouble is unavoidable most times; it always seems to find one at some point or another.

What about my children? All we can do with our kids is hope they listen, but let me say I make it hard for them to avoid knowing what they do. I make a point to show my kids what they are doing to someone else when they act selfishly. I'll tell my sons to look at their sister, who is crying over some silly spat between them... and then I ask them how angry they would be if someone else made her cry that way. Then I ask them what gives them the right to make her cry that way. I'm not going to coddle my children into yet another bunch of self-indulgent nothings. I don't just require that they grow up. I require that they grow up right. It doesn't matter. Let them be hurt by their actions. Let them know the consequences. Point them right to it and say "Stand up and take what you get."

I'm not talking about punishments. Those are more for atonement than anything. They have to know what the hell it is that makes it wrong, not just that it is! I'm talking about teaching responsibility and a sense of right and wrong. And how my boys make me ponder how the hell I can make a lesson out of some of the fantastic crap they do.

As mothers, parents in general, it's so easy to say, "Not my child." Oh man, I've wanted to. I've wanted to not believe something my son has done at school, trust me. A food fight in the middle of the office, with another little girl's project (made out of cake!!) was something I'd have never dreamed I would be getting a call from the principal about. I was dumbfounded, I mean... I could see either of my boys getting into a fight. A fist-fight. But a food fight baffled me. I never thought my child, at the age of 10, would throw food when he was already in detention in the first place.

I wanted to say No way. I think I even asked the principal if she was kidding me.

So my son was suspended from school. He did chores throughout the day and made up his classwork. I made him write an essay about respecting others (destroying another kid's project, which counted as 5 grades, was unreal.). I wondered what made him think that would possibly be an okay thing to do.

Then I thought about it. It was fun at the time. Daring. He's 10. He could be doing worse things than throwing a cake.

But no matter how hard I tried to justify it, it came back to the same thing. My boy was out of line and I didn't go easy on him. I made his life miserable with grounding for two solid weeks and didn't let up. He didn't talk once on the phone, he didn't have his DS or his computer or his ipod shuffle. A 10 year old's version of hell, according to him.

Still, a week before Thanksgiving, the boy tries to piss on two other kids.

So am I doing something wrong? I start to doubt my methods.

But it's consistency. It's sticking to my guns. So, another grounding with extra chores for the entire week. Lecture... yawn. The kid ain't listening, y'all.

So I'm tripping. My son's behavior is progressively worse, I'm out of my head trying to find what will work for him.

But like my personality, my rules, and just good morals in general, are set in stone.

I fully believe in there being shame involved in consequences.

I hear people say, "You shouldn't shame your child, it'll damage their self image."

You got to be kidding me. If my child causes hurt in another, I am ashamed of them. So much used to depend on a good family name and now that it doesn't, what is it? What have we gained from cutting shame out of how we raise kids? They should be ashamed of themselves for even behaving that way.

A world without shame will be a scary motherfucking place. You watch and see.

I'd rather teach my child to be shameful of wrongs done and actually be sorry when they do so... than raise men and women that will never be sorry for anything they do in their whole lives. There is so much hurt going around already, I want my kids to be remorseful when they add more. I want them to give a damn about others. I do.

I dunno about other people, but I don't think compassion is a bad trait for anyone. If I can instill this in my kids, I'll die a happy woman someday. If I manage to make my three kids into caring, humble people, aware of their own self worth without giving up their sense of right and wrong... I'll even throw a party when I go.

So I ask my son, "What's going on with you? You're acting like a hellion."

His universal answer is always "I dunno."

Yay me. Another battle won, y'all! I'm getting somewhere--he's not shrugging and rolling his eyes anymore.

Me: Why are you trying to pee on people?

Him: I wasn't.

Me: You were caught with your doodle in your hand and aiming, son, I don't think it was a mistake.

Him: I was just goofing around.

Hmm...

Pause for reaction y'all. Epiphany forthcoming.

I'm over reacting, maybe. He was goofing around with a couple friends. He still shouldn't do it, but my kid isn't losing his mind. He's just getting into mischief.

Him: They put some on my shirt, Mom. It's gross.

And the boy opens his mouth!

See, he wasn't goofing around. He was actually going to urinate on those two boys. As if, by some mysterious thing, balance would be restored by him pissing on them.

For fuck's sake. How am I supposed to point out to him what pissing on someone would do to the ones on the receiving end? I mean, I'm not going to invite him to do so just to teach him what he needs to learn?

This is one of those wonderful times I just have to let it ride with punishment. You got to pick your battles too.

I totally got off track and have no idea what I was talking about, so I'm done. But yeah... there you go.

Peace & Love, y'all
~E.

Incredibly incredible credibles and other nonsense

So, this is a fly by the seat of my pants post. I have no idea where it's going or what I'm going to say. You have been warned.

First, my poem "Addicted" is up at Short Story Library. Stop by, take a read.... subscribe to the journal. There's some good fiction and poetry on that site. You're missing out if you don't go take a look-see.

Second, my son will be celebrating his tenth birthday this month. Ten years, the boy has been alive. It doesn't seem like it at all. I can't believe that this tall, manly thing wandering around my house is the tiny baby I brought home. It's amazing, seeing your children grow up. Mine are growing too fast. I need a ton of bricks to put on their heads... slow 'em down a bit.

Maturity in children has gotten me thinking. When do we, as parents, need to stop and say 'You're still a kid'. My oldest boy is obsessed with girls and cooking (he likes to cook). My kids have been cooking for a long time. I'll not have sons who need a woman to do their cooking for them. Anyway, the point is, with all the forward movement in society, when is it time to stop and just let kids be kids? I'm always talking to them about how it's my responsibility to prepare them for the future, but it begs the question.

When is the right time to let the future take care of itself and just let the kids be? I'm afraid I don't know the answer to that.

Being a horror writer with children is so funny. My kids are always asking me to read them something I wrote. And most times, there's nothing I *can* read to them. I don't write your grandfather's horror story. My work is graphic--not blood and guts, but truly fear inspiring (Well, what's the point in being a writer if you can't admit what you are good at?). My kids being interested in what I do is wonderful, I just wish I could share more of it.

However, it pains me to see that when I do find something they can read, something that isn't mine but is age appropriate, they aren't interested. I love to read--I'd read anything you put in front of me, good, bad and ugly. My kids don't share this love of the written word, though and it bothers me. How can I get my kids to read? I've tried assigning them daily reading, which doesn't work. I've tried buying them books in subjects they show interest in. Still, nothing. In the age of images, words are just boring. This is sad. There are so many worlds to be explored. And a writer whose children don't like to read? Talk about a horror story...

Getting your child to read isn't as easy as it sounds. With movies and video games, not to mention texting and IM's, Myspace and all the rest, how are kids supposed to want to read books? Maybe if I sent it to them page by page as a text message...

Well, that's about it for now. I can't think of anything else, so for now....

Peace & Love, y'all
~E.

sex & sexuality

Hehe. Bet that got your attention, huh? Now, as you may have figured out, we are going to talk about sex today, but not like you probably think. I'm making my comments not for shits and giggles, my friends. This is a serious post. Sorry.

I'm so sick of people treating sex to different extremes. There's the: Sex is like the plague! extreme. And then there's: Sex is just a thing. Have a lot of it with a lot of people.

My view? I think sex is personal and intimate. I think this world was a lot better of a place when people thought sex and sexuality were best left where they should be: behind closed doors.

Opinions on sex vary and have varied in society for years. It's gone from something to be discreet about, to something shameful and nasty to something all people should indulge in with anyone they wish. And we all wonder why disease runs rampant.

Way back when sex was something special that happened after you were married is strangely the same damn time period when people had some fucking respect for themselves. I don't know about anyone else, but my worth will not be measured by how good a lay I happen to be.

I am worth more than how fuckable I am. I have standards. I have respect for myself and my body. I've been fucking the same man since I was 15 years old. Maybe I was too young to have sex. I dealt with the consequences. I am raising my children with their biological father, so I figure my choice in partner was pretty damned accurate... even if we were just kids.

I think discretion with sex is a needed thing. Can we stop acting like it's nothing? Are our children nothing? Didn't think so. Strange, though, how we treat the very thing that creates a child with such flippancy.

Sex is not just another thing to do. It is not a cure for boredom. It's a naturally occurring phenomenon between two people that is wonderful and can have wonderful results (You know... like having a KID!). But, unless we want brothers and sisters having children together, we must stop acting as if sex is just a meaningless act. Want me to prove it? Fine, mother fucker, fine, as someone once said.

Woman A has spontanius, wild, drunken sex with man A. Woman and man A use no protection. Man A and woman A never see each other again. Baby boy is born to woman A.

Meanwhile, Man A goes on to marry Woman B. They have baby girl.

Woman A marries Man B. Man B decides to adopt baby boy so his birth certificate no longer has a blank line after "father's name".

Baby boy grows up. Becomes man C.

Baby girl grows up to be woman C.

Man and woman C both go to same college.

Man and woman A were too drunk that night to remember who they procreated with.

Man and woman C fall in love, get married and have children.

Now, does this sound like responsible people? No. Does it sound realistic? Hell yeah, it does. It's sad, and it's sick, but fucking true. And what about all the adopted children? Think about it. There really are only so many people in the world and unless you are having one night stands in another country...

Being responsible doesn't mean making sex shameful. But teaching our children to respect it for the beautiful catastrophe it is might be a good thing.

I tell my daughter that her body and virginity are treasures, precious. I'm teaching my children that sex comes with responsabilities. They are not too young to know what sex is. They understand the mechanics of it, and the results and risks. I firmly believe that my kids will make the right decisions.

But then again, I bet my mom thought that too.

In an age where young girls think desirability means looks and wildness, "Just how far will she go, I wonder" I fear for our society. I fear for our children. And our future. Why? Because as little as sex means now, imagine how desensitized the next generation will be.

I don't remember a time when you only fucked who you married.

I don't remember a time when a grown man still felt fear if he thought his daddy was going to catch him touching a kid the wrong way.

I don't remember a time when sex was special.

I don't remember a time without AIDS.

I wish like hell I did.

Peace and love, y'all. I hope.

~E.

The Joys of Parenthood

Children. Kids. Rugrats.

I have three. My oldest son, Dakota, is a sweet, good boy with a lot of anger problems. He is an introvert, much like myself, but he got his father's explosive temper. Not a good combination. Not a bad one either, though. He's highly intelligent. His teachers have shown me (on a silly chart graph, as if I were too stupid to understand the difference between above mark and below) how high his reading ability is. In school, they will only let him try up to a fifth grade level. At home, he reads at a college level. I don't interfere with my kids trying to read. If they want to read, then by George, they freaking will! I try to help my son with his anger issues. Being bipolar, I feel like I should understand. He refuses to listen to what I have to say, complaining that I just don't get it. The problem is, though, that he won't listen to his father either. So, where does that leave me? In the lurch, with all the others stuck in the happy nation I like to call "Clueless Parentton". He's only nine, but I'm afraid that my son is slowly rolling toward that avenue no one wants to see their kid on. And what can I do to stop it? Nothing. Not a damned thing.

My daughter, Savannah, is an 8 year old drama queen. Everything is the end of the world. Everything makes her cry. Everything is all because no one wants her to have anything or any fun and we're just mean, mean, mean! I'm sorry, but my eight year old daughter is not going to be dropped off at the movies with her little "boyfriend" and left with no adult supervision. Not going to happen. Not when you hear about 11 year old girls having babies on the news. In fact, when I was having my daughter, there was an 11 or 12 year old who came in the hospital. Her water had broken a week before her c-section was scheduled. She was screaming at the top of her lungs "I WANT TO GO HOME TO MY MOMMY!!!" 11 years old. Screaming for her mommy. About to become a mommy herself. Oh, huh-huh-hell no. Not my daughter. No way, not happening, not while I draw breath into my lungs.

My youngest son, 6 year old Nicholas, brought home his last report card, which was covered in a happy little note saying that he has difficulty paying attention, can't focus for more than 3-5 minutes on a subject, making noises, actions with his hands. I admit, I got angry. My son is very boisterous, very imaginative. He certainly CAN focus on a task; he does it ALL the time at home. I have no problem with my child having a vivid imagination. I have no problem with him wanting to use his imagination to occupy himself when he has finished his work ahead of everyone else. His grades are excellent, yet she claims he is "not preforming on grade level". How can a child receive high 90's in all his subjects, but not be on grade level? Sounds a trifle bull-shitty to me.

Okay, so I don't have perfect kids. I don't expect them to be perfect. How could I? I started having kids when I was 16 years old and stopped when I was almost nineteen. Yeah. I had a kid a year. I was the mother of three before I was twenty. Soooo??? What have I done wrong? Nothing, exactly. I just didn't know what I was doing. No one does, their first time around. Unfortunately, all of my times at the "mother-board" (sorry, small attempt at humor) occured at about the same time as my first go around. There is only two and a half years between my oldest son and youngest, with a daughter thrown in between. I was a kid and yeah, I screwed up. A lot. All new mother's do. But now, I have a child who has been thrown off the bus for destruction of property, a daughter who thinks she just isn't anything unless she can show her tummy off a bit and another son who crawls along the floor chasing fuzz when he should be doing math worksheets. And guess what? I still don't have a clue. I don't know what to do because no matter how old they get, I will still not have any experience. Each year brings new and exciting worry because I just haven't been there yet. If I had a baby, along with the other three, the baby might have a chance at having an experienced mother. Might. Know why?

Because no matter how many kids you have, you'll never be an expert. All three of my children are intelligent and have ample opportunity to become decent adults that actually contribute to society. I'm afraid, though, that one or all of them will end up like me and my husband. I quit school to have a baby; my husband quit to support it. He's a coal miner, but with the economy, he's laid-off for the moment. Not sure when he will get the chance to go back. I have no college education, I've stayed home and taken care of kids since I was 16. I've worked, but only for two and a half years at a restaurant. My dream was to be an author. It still is. I have three completed novels that I'm too scared to try and publish, forty or more short stories and several novellas that I'm also too scared to try and publish. I keep telling myself that I'm not scared, but in truth I am. I've had more than a few people tell me that I'm a wonderful writer (people other than my family... family doesn't count) and I just can't bring myself to try. But, I also have three children who depend on me. They look to me to make their lives better.

As a parent, I have a responsability to my children, to guide them and teach them everything they need to know to care for themselves as adults. I don't think it's wrong for them to have chores and be taught how to cook. My youngest son, in fact, won't eat scrambled eggs unless my daughter is the one to cook them. He says hers taste better than mine. At least she will be able to cook for herself when she's grown and makes a home for herself. But, I also have to make sure they do the things they are supposed to do. Like their school work. If they want to go to college, they have to make the grades and behave themselves. They have to get into college. But telling a nine year old that he needs to try harder is like telling a man who can't hear that he needs to listen a little better. It's useless. And I'm lost. I don't know what to do. And for some reason, I don't think I ever will. Kids are like opinions. They're all different.

I suppose I'll just have to hope for the best and do what I can. Isn't that what we parents all do? Try our hardest and just hope it comes out okay? I'll have to settle for that because it's the only thing I can do. Just keep trying.

Peace and love, y'all.
~E.