How to Not Raise a Serial Killer

Family is a strange construct.

My beautifully crazy little family
             My beautifully crazy little family
As parents we have children, cross our fingers, do our best, and hope our kids don’t turn out to be serial killers. As spouses we hope we’ve chosen well and have a partner who will love and cherish us the way we love and cherish them (unless we’re being adulterous assholes. Then we aren’t a good example). And when all the finger crossing and hope and prayers don’t work the way we envisioned? What do we do when we’ve raised the crazy one in the family? How do we ensure we DON’T?

If we are married, we hope that our spouses know and feel the love we have for them when they aren’t snoring. I hope that my husband knows that he is my foundation. He is everything that I’m not and more. If he doesn’t know that, then I’ve failed him. (And I don’t fail, so…)

If we are parents we hope our kiddies know how much they are loved. If we are parents with more than one child or if we have siblings we hope that they won’t follow the Cain and Able path. In this example, the Kardashians are a better model of sibling love and bonding. How sad is that. That the Kardashians are better models of love than that of a story in the Bible… Anyway, it’s all kind of a crapshoot.

You’re totally, vulnerably dependent on the good conscious of someone else when you have family. That’s the comfort and pain of it all. Family is supposed to be the one safe place to fall, regardless of your role. I can pour myself into my kids. I can raise them both exactly the same. One may figure life out and one may not. It’s all in the way they PERCEIVE their upbringing. When that perception is different than reality, well let’s just say that crazy will swoop right in and wreak havoc all over that family of yours. And if you’re not the crazy one in the family, well, let’s just say that ignorance is bliss. Cuz it sucks being the sane one (ok, fine… the MORE sane one).

Every family has crazy. It’s just a fact. Pretty sure scientists have proven it. If you don’t think that’s true that every family has its fair share of cray, look in the mirror. It’s you. You’re the crazy one. Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing. Crazy can be fun. I know I’m crazy. I own it. I’m spontaneous, inconsistent, impulsive, creative, and unfiltered. You never know what will happen when I open my mouth.

But crazy can also be VERY fuq’d up. I’m not fuq’d up crazy (I hope). I’m not mean or spiteful. I’m not going to hurt others to get back at someone. Hell, I have no desire to get back at anyone I feel wronged by. I’d rather just move on. Spiteful, mean, vindictive crazy is what you DON’T want in your family. It’s divisive and dramatic. It’s painful.

When I think of the future of my family, I envision big parties and holidays with love and happiness and fun. I envision my kids smiling and laughing and hanging out with each other even when they don’t HAVE to. I look forward to hearing the stories of things they did together when they were teenagers that, when they’re 25 and 28, it’s ok to tell me because the statute of limitations has expired. I hope I teach them to be friends above all else.

Aren't they cute!?
                           Aren’t they cute!?
In my experience, the actions that will get you the crazy designation quicker than most are those that could be described as mean. Not “oh I hurt your feelings on accident” but “I hate you and I want you to know how much I hate you so I’m going to make you feel it.”  In general, I don’t understand why people have to be mean and hateful, especially to family.  We all have our moments of insanity, maybe even instances we’ve been mean on accident. PMS, stress, ‘roid rage, sleeplessness… all of it can contribute. And that’s excusable for the most part. But most people don’t have PMS for 30 years. Not even men… LOL, ok, slight tangent alert: I couldn’t even type that with a straight face. Men TOTALLY have PMS for 30 years. How old is he? Just turned 30 today? Then, yes, he’s had PMS for 30 years. It’s ok. Y’all know I’m right.

So what can we do to make sure our kids love and respect each other? What can we do to make sure our kids know that we as their parents truly want what’s best for them?

To keep our kids from adopting the cray-cray lifestyle, perhaps we should find the answer to the question, ‘why are some people able to let go of the mistakes of their past and the good-faith mistakes of their parents while others aren’t’.

As a parent, my main job is to raise my babies to be functioning, contributing members of society. That means it’s my job to love them, educate them, correct them, keep them safe, their home life stable, and give them the emotional support necessary to convey a feeling of safety and stability. Along the way I will fail. I’m sure I already have. I may not even realize it. But I can assure you that kids remember. Like little baby elephants, they remember.

Maybe at some point a circumstance will present itself that I won’t know how to navigate. Maybe I’ll think I’m doing what’s best but I’m not. (Hard to imagine, I know. I mean, this is all purely hypothetical since I don’t make mistakes so just hang with me for a moment.) Maybe at some point my kids will start to doubt the love or safety or stability of their home environment. (Cuz, let’s face it, Lola can be a little off-kilter sometimes. She makes me feel unsafe with her stare and I’m pretty sure she’s judgy.) 

God willing, if that happens, I can recognize the struggle and help them through it. You know, like Blac Chyna did for Rob. That fits, right? (That’s what he said.)

I also know that my kids will make mistakes. It’s part of growing up. They’ll make bad decisions. They’ll choose partners that may not be right for them. They’ll have friends that may try to influence them in the wrong direction. That’s part of growing up. Mistakes are just that (or so I’ve been told). You learn and redirect. As a parent, it’s my job to teach them how to redirect and move forward. I would hate to still be ashamed and holding on to mistakes I made at 16. Self-forgiveness. I think that’s key. (For example, I’ve already forgiven myself for the chocolate croissant I just inhaled. You’re welcome, self. You’re welcome.)

Here is my hope in the face of uncertainty: I hope my actions unify, not divide my family. I hope I exhibit behavior that makes my kids feel safe and my husband feel loved and respected. I hope my kids see me respecting their father even when life isn’t going the way we planned. And I hope that my kids learn above all else that they are responsible for their own happiness in life. Like the Atlanta Falcons do sometimes, when 300 lb. life comes charging, I hope we Rise Up.

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Roman Is 4

Roman then and now

Ugh.  It happened.  My precious, 9 pound, unifying gift from God has become a little boy.  A full-speed-ahead locomotive that plows into life no matter what is coming at him.

When I found out I was going to have another baby almost five years ago I was a little unsure of it all.  I wasn’t married.  I had been dating the hot guy in scrubs from Starbucks for several months at that point.  A rekindled romance from a year prior.

After my first marriage I was in no hurry.  Actually, I was fine to never marry again.  What’s the point… they all end badly anyway.

{I was so optimistic in my early years.}

I had a happy, healthy two-year-old and thought my life was full and complete.  It was her and me.  What else did I need?

{Don’t answer that… we’re about to find out.}

God knew.  He had great plans for this big little baby.

I began to see that not all guys leave.  Some actually stay.  Even when they discover your flaws.  And some guys will even happily raise babies they didn’t biologically help create.  This rare species of man is AMAZING.  I have one.  His name is Rick.  And he’s really cute.

Before he was even born, I saw Roman bringing Bella, the hubs, and me closer every day.  We had good days and bad while trying to come together as a family but we were, indeed, a family.

For the first 2 years of her little life, my daughter didn’t have anyone to call dad.  She didn’t have anyone to come to Daddy-Daughter day at daycare or take her on a daddy-daughter date.  When it was time for parents to come to the school for a show or a special day, it was just me.

The first time she called my hubs “Daddy” she wouldn’t stop.  She would come up with reasons to say his name so she could say “Daddy” and have someone respond.  I had no idea she needed it THAT badly.

I gained an extra 200 pounds on March 5th, 2011 when I married who turned out to be the love of my life.

Then, on June 20th we welcomed Roman into the world.

He emerged the size of a linebacker.  He was 2 weeks early and weighed 9 pounds.  I kind of expected him to stand up, throw me a peace sign, and say, “Hey Moms, I’m gonna go hang with tha guys for the night.  Be back later.  Hey, thanks for that birth thing you just did.”

{My doctor still apologizes for not giving me a C-section…}

He could hold his head up, he loved to snuggle, and (I would find out that first night) hated to sleep.  I was IN LOVE!

I look at him now and still see my little man-baby.

As soon as I saw him for the first time I instantly couldn’t remember the world without him.  We were OFFICIALLY a family of four.  Bella now had a little brother to go with her new dad.  I had a son who would forever connect me to my new husband.  She and I had family I didn’t realize we needed.  All thanks to:

scuba roman

Roman.

A strong name for a strong little man.  It fits him perfectly.

He is strong-willed and impulsive and he loves chocolate almond milk.  He is sensitive and loving and he loves his basketball shoes.  He wants to be Batman, Superman, Captain America, and Spiderman depending on the day you ask him.  But he ALWAYS wants to be Slash.

He is rough and physical and loves all things sports or Guns N Roses.

He has the most AMAZING blue eyes that melt my heart every time I see them.  His kisses taste like sugar and his hair is so soft and blonde.  When he wraps his little arms around my neck and whispers, “I love you, Mommy” he could ask me for a dinosaur and I would get one for him.

The thought of one day having to relinquish my place in his life to someone else BREAKS ME!!!!!!!!!!!  But, I also don’t want to create a “Norman Bates” so I’m working on that.

Every time I look at my widdle bubby I see all the life lessons he has taught me in his short little 4 years.

Life is unexpected.

Sometimes doing things the “right” way leaves you broken and hurt.  Conversely, sometimes doing things the “wrong” way gets you exactly what you need.

Never, ever judge a pregnant woman who is not wearing a wedding ring.  She may be loved more than the one who has a huge rock on her hand.

We don’t know what we need.  But God does.

My heart will forever belong to a tiny little man who likes to run around in his batman underwear.

Mommy loves you, Roman.  Thank you for my family.

Rick Roman and Bella

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