catching flak

My dream community basically just consists of myself, my kids, my husband (so long as we’re getting along), and my dog when he isn’t excessively shedding, eating our felt geographical landmarks, or puking – on a large plot of acres, surrounded by no one.

It’s VASTLY different from the community that I actually live in which is full of so many people.

They’re mostly nice – they’re just always there and making noise and talking to me – I dunno. My husband eats it up because he’s a people person, but stepping out onto the back steps to drink my morning coffee only to have multiple people say hi to me before noon is literally my nightmare.

And tonight, while minding my own business – waiting at a lure module nearby, catching Pokémon like a nerdy little introvert ought – this neighbor girl approaches and asks me not to lean against a concrete wall along the side of her yard because it’s in bad shape and her parents would like to be able to repair it someday.

It’s like, excuse me, but my ass hasn’t once done irreparable damage to a solid concrete wall…and you owe me a Jolteon, you little punk, because you made me miss a wild Eevee.


This would have never happened on 100 acres.


baby steps

My husband is a helicopter parent.

Not in the traditional sense of the word, as he is rarely hovering around the kids himself – but more in the “just don’t do anything ever because you might get hurt and then I’ll blame your mom,” sort of way.

Ok, I added the “blame your mom” part, but only because it’s so true.
(And he knows I love him anyway.)

It’s possible that I’ve been pegged as a helicopter parent by those that know us best, but I can assure you that I hover by default; attempting to avoid blame for things that I couldn’t possibly control without bubble-wrap, duct tape, and a really convincing argument for staying put forever.

That kind of talking/thinking clearly has affect on the kids, so lately we’ve been really mindful about what is said/not said in an effort to curb some of that anxiety and timidity that they have, e.g. refusing to ride bikes without training wheels.

I dunno if they’ll ever do the bike thing (sorry not sorry, husband), but my oldest daughter has recently taken to YouTube and fallen down the rabbit hole of “CRAZY/INSANE scooter tricks #2016 YEA!”

So I’m whipping up dinner in the kitchen yesterday, when one of the kids’ friends knocks at the back door, dragging my oldest daughter’s scooter with her. I answer the door and she calmly tells me that my daughter was at the end of the sidewalk bleeding, and hands me the scooter that has blood all over it – soaked into the foamy handlebars, dripping down the rest of the frame, even down to the tires.

I dunno how a person measures progress when it comes to their anxiety, but I can tell that I’m moving forward because I felt a tiny twinge of pride before I felt any sort of panic – wondering what “CRAZY/INSANE” trick she suddenly felt brave enough to try.

Turns out that she just collided with another friend and had a bloody nose and a fat lip. And I dunno how you measure progress when it comes to your kid’s anxiety either, but when I met her on the sidewalk, she wasn’t completely beside herself about a bloody nose like she usually is, she was just laughing and going on about how weird her lip felt, so I think she’s moving forward, too.