My dear sons (and any future daughters),
I want you to wait to have sex. At least until after high school. I know, I know. Big shock, right? But let me tell you why.
I don’t want you to wait out of some fear of an amorphous hell or devil getting the best of you.
I want you to know yourself. I want you to know your partner (he, she, or somewhere in between) well. I want there to be love and trust and respect between you and your partner. Because sex? It’s heavy stuff. And you will (hopefully) remember the first time for the rest of your life. I don’t want you to look back and feel any shame or disappointment over the circumstances of your first sexual experience. I have regrets over the circumstances of mine, and I want better for you.
I want you to be smart, and safe, and prepared for the emotional aftermath. Because there are a lot of emotions that go hand in hand with sex. And not all of them are fun.
I know that I can’t control everything you do. And I don’t want to. I know what I’m asking of you may seem silly, or crazy, or puritanical, but it’s not. All I’m asking you to do is wait. Wait for the right person, the right time. Wait and be prepared, so that you and your partner are protected. Raising babies with a willing partner to help is hard work, under the best of circumstances. Unplanned pregnancies bring a whole host of other issues that I don’t want you to face young. STIs are scary and, frankly, icky. I don’t want you to have to deal with treatment for them. Some STIs are forever, too.
Be smart. Be safe. Be caring and careful. But above all else, please, just wait.
I love you. And I want better for you than I had.
I skipped some assignments this past semester, in my film course, because I knew I could afford to not do them. I really only needed a D, but without these few things ((exercises in stupidity, for the most part)), my esteemed professor decided to give me an “incomplete” for the course. And said I had until the end of spring semester to complete the laundry list of assignments. He listed the entire frigging course assignment list. Nearly thirty varying items! Oh, and he’d change my “incomplete” to an F. ::record screeching to a stop::
I was missing eight stupid assignments. Ones that were not that consequential.
Whatever. Dude looks like a douche, in writing. No surprises there.
So I’ve spent the last five days cranking out these stupid assignments ((vocabulary words and highly subjective essay questions)) so that I can be done with them all before ((a)) Blackboard goes offline and ((b)) I absolutely have to send our rented textbooks back or be outrageously overcharged for a falling-apart, cat-pee-smelly textbook, that was written by super subjective douche canoes.
Anyway. That’s my long ass way of explaining why I’m still awake at nearly 5am. When all four of my guys are sleeping.
((WARNING: Potty words ahead!))
Oh. Yeah. I had a baby in September. 🙂 He’s pretty freaking amazing. There’s a video of before and after his birth on the YouTube, so all I’ll say about that is this: unmedicated childbirth is fucking phenomenal. The difference is beyond anything I imagined. Some things went pear-shaped, but overall, it was very nearly the perfect ((hospital)) experience. Orren Padraig MacErin was born on September 24th, and his joyful wee presence has been a sparkling delight. He’s a remarkably laid back baby, and he’s very happy.
He’s also inspired this post, a bit. I’ve been thinking about the best and worst parts of parenthood.
Right now, with the big boys, the best thing is how encouraging they are, to me, to Dan, to each other. They already have fierce family pride, at 4 and 2.5 years old.
With Orren, aside from when he deigns to giggle
at with for us, the very best part is how clearly I can read his eyes. Sometimes, I swear he can read through my soul ((most piercing gaze I’ve seen on a baby! It’s unsettling.))…but lately, more and more, there’s just this pure, unabashed, broad, adoring, overwhelming love, beaming out of his beautiful blue eyes. Sometimes, it makes me cry a bit. I hope that love is something my sons always see in my eyes – because I do adore them.
The worst thing, the very worst thing I can think of about having kids:
It’s over way. too. soon.
Oh. And diapers past age two. I’m seriously over that nonsense. There are far too many diapers in my life right now! 🙂
What are the best/worst things about parenthood for you?
Death is the worst part of life. Lately, there seems to have been a lot of death going around: Cory Monteith, the rehashing of Trayvon Martin, teenage girls hanging themselves after their rapists post and share pictures of their evil deeds…it all seems like too much, to me.
Why are our young people turning to drugs, alcohol, and suicide for solace, more and more? It is gutwrenching, just as an outside observer…I can’t begin to fathom how the mothers, fathers, significant others, and other loved ones feel in the aftermath of death. My heart goes out to those left behind.
Whether by accident, the ((potential)) misdeed of another, or their own hands, it’s unbelievably clear that something in our society must change. Our youth need to know that there are other, better options, than dealing with pain through self medication or suicide. I know there are hurts that are larger than life and seem inescapable, except through death. I’ve been very, very fortunate to survive such things.
My most fervent hope is that those who struggled in life have found the peace they sought in death. That they are free from the pain of this world. But also, that they may be able to see the greater picture, and feel regret for the lives they left unlived. Because all of them gave up their potential by making some terrible, everlasting choices.
The friends of those who have suffered should also bear a burden, in my opinion, particularly if they fed into any of the ostracizing of the dead. I would have been lost without my friends, if they had turned on me in the wake of such scandals as so many young girls have been caught up in.
For those outraged in the wake of the Zimmerman trial, I have a question: What purpose does your rage have? Will your anger bring Trayvon back? Or illuminate for the world whatever it was that truly happened that night? Will the violence against innocent people, based solely on the color of their skin, truly make anything right? Would Trayvon have wanted a nation to turn, man against man, brother against brother, because of his death? We all know the answers are no. Any violent death is a tragedy; especially when it’s the death of a youth, on the cusp of manhood. The fact remains, though, that we don’t and can’t know all that happened that night, since there were no witnesses besides Zimmerman and Martin. The justice system did what it was supposed to do. That is often a tough thing to accept. But in this country, you are supposed to be innocent until proven guilty. And there was not enough clear cut evidence to support a guilty verdict. If it was, in fact, murder and not legitimate self-defense, that is atrocious and one day, George Zimmerman will have to answer for that. But that judgment is not ours to dispense.
Rather than abuse and fight one another, why not make our states, our country, our world, a safer place for all? Turn your pain into the service of others and honor the memories of those lost, rather than dishonoring them with violence and discord. Gandhi said it best: “An eye for an eye, and pretty soon the whole world is blind.”
In the last…six? months or so, Dan and I have found ourselves more focused on the quality of the food we eat – to the point that before I got sick a few weeks ago, I was making close to 90% of our food from scratch. I even have a meat grinder and have gound beef and chicken!
This is no easy task – and certainly one I’ve been working back up to whilst I’ve been recovering. And let me tell you: what a difference it makes! Once you stop eating so much processed food and give up things like additives and preservatives, it’s amazing the change you’ll feel. And…less than stellar when you slip into old habits, especially after being monstrously ill.
Since my last bout of the flu/creeping crud/whatever the hell that demon cold was, I’ve nearly completely given up soda. I occasionally indulge in a ginger ale or Coke icee (yum!) but I can hardly stand to look at my once-beloved Dr Pepper Cherry. It’s sad, but also good. Hopefully, in spite of my exhaustion and crazy offspring, I’ll be able to keep it cut out. Or at least mostly, since that ish is delish.
I never really expected that I would become such a food purist, but I’ve really come to embrace the “granola” side of life, in this regard. Really, it’s just smart. Yes, healthy food is more expensive; however, you will make that money back in spades later in life from not having consumed gross quantities of horrible things. There’s definitely a balance.
We recently watched Food, Inc. Honestly, as disgusting as some of it was, I have to recommend it. I’ve known for quite some time about the poor feeding and treatment standards of chicken and cattle, but I really didn’t know just how disgusting it all truly is. I’m going through a sort of meat-fast right now, but when we do start buying and eating it again, I will for sure be buying it where I can find out where it’s come from and how it was treated before and during the butchering process. ((Don’t eat snacks whille you watch Food, Inc.!))
Anyway, I know that the clean(er) eating we’ve been doing has assisted Dan in meeting his physical health goals ((he’s lost nearly 30lbs just since December and was recently featured in the Court System’s monthly newsletter as a health inspiration!)) and I know that I feel better when I’m not eating garbage. Thanks to general laziness, female genetics, and full-term breastfeeding, I have unfortunately not made as great of strides as Dan has, but that’s okay. I’m heavy, but really pretty healthy. And making positive food choices can only help, both me directly, and my sons, who see me modeling healthy behaviors every day.
So the other day, I hatched a plan for a dinner that I thought would be delightful: chicken breasts breaded with crushed waffle cones, baked.
And I’m here to tell you: it’s delicious!
I did my meal planning over the weekend, so I’ve been thinking about my waffle cone chicken for a few days. Should I cook it in butter? Add salt? Any seasonings at all?
The answers turned out to be yes, no, yes.
So, for your dining pleasure, my recipe. Feel free to tweak it as you please!
Erin’s Baked Chicken and Waffles
4 Chicken Breasts
1 Stick Unsalted Butter (this is highly subjective)
3 Dashes of Cinnamon
1/2 Cup Milk
3 Waffle Cones, crushed
1/4 Cup Maple Syrup
Place butter and cinnamon in a glass 9×13 pan. Put the pan in the oven and preheat to 350*. When the butter is melted, remove the pan and set it near to where you’re preparing your chicken.
Dip each breast in the milk until coated. Then roll them in the waffle cone pieces. Place in the pan, repeat until your chicken is all in the pan. If you have remaining crumbs, sprinkle them over the chicken. Then, drizzle the chicken with your maple syrup.
Bake for 40-45 minutes and enjoy! I scooped some of the butter/syrup out and drizzled it over the breasts before serving.
It’s rich and delicious! I know it all sounds a little crazy, but one of my favorite sayings is: The greater the risk, the greater the reward. Totally true. 🙂
Ten days ago, my little baby turned one! I’ve been trying to remember what exactly Danny was like at this age, and can’t…and irritatingly, I didn’t make note of it anywhere, either. SO!
Oliver at Age One:
LOVES food. Fruit, veggies, cheese, burgers, bread. Almost whatever he can get his hands on.
Says: Mama, Daddy, hey (a la the Fonz), yeah
Has taken a few wobbly steps, does a hilarious two-step run/squat thing
Refuses to drink from a bottle; attempts a sippy cup
Very much a booby kid (of course… :))
Climbs on/up EVERYTHING
Super happy, quick to laugh
Has about a bajillion teeth…ouch.
Loves to give hugs&kisses from Mom and Dad, and going for walks in the jogger
Finds Maggie utterly hilarious
Hates cuddling in his sleep. 😥
Loves to play with his big brother…and wrestle.
Has blue jean eyes.
My little blue-eyed boy is so fun! And Danny loves him very much. There’s a great deal of mutual adoration between the boys, and it is so, so wonderful to see. Thinking about them together makes my heart swell and feel like it is just about to burst with love and pride. Motherhood suits me.
In other news, I recently decided to change my major. I’m not so good at not internalizing the pain of others, so I have decided to only pursue culinary arts at this time. I’m really excited; I should be able to finish my degree within three years! And Dan will be done with his about that time, so we’ll be moving on and I’ll have a great foundation for an accredited culinary school down in the states. I’m just ecstatic about the whole new plan.
I’ve also decided to write a play based on an obscure psychological condition. It’s going to be hilarious. I was inspired by, of all things, a Dilbert comic strip, and the title of some play that’s running down at (the headline was in the same language as this medical term.)
Things are going pretty well for me and my little family. We play together and go for walks…read books and cook together…it’s a delightful team of which I am a part. ❤
It’s funny, how time can fade memories so that they play like an old filmstrip, with scene breaks and pops in the film. The edges are blurred and in sepia tones, but certain words, or smells, or places, or tastes can throw you right back like they’re a time machine. When that happens, you have to shake yourself out of the memory to return to the present or risk reliving what you’ve stumbled upon, good or bad.
I’ve realized lately that a lot of my memories are like this…even just of the last few years. Almost like I didn’t live my life, but I watched it happen. It’s a startling, uncomfortable discovery…and one I’m not sure how to correct.
I think, perhaps, that a lot of it was my mind protecting me from my reality. I had terrible PPD after Danny was born, and then the nightmare that was our life back East. (Have I mentioned how grateful I am to live in Alaska again? Because I.Am.So.Grateful.) I feel robbed of many of Danny’s firsts, because the memories are already so blurred. Living on our own again makes such a stark difference; it’s completely abstract to me how anyone could want to share the early family years so intimately with other adults. I can’t see how it works without at least one person stifling their authentic self, which is horrifying to consider. I’ll never do it again.
This time is such that I’ll never have it again. I must make it count for me and my sweet babies. Living a clouded existence is not an option. And, after all, my favorite quote comes from JM Barrie (author of
- Peter Pan
Those who bring sunshine into the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves.