I hate you!

"If you have never been hated by your child, you have never been a parent." ~ Bette Davis

I suppose I should take some comfort in that quote, right?
I suppose I should remember that most kids hate their parents at some point or another, right?
Yeah, I guess.
Still doesn't make it sting any less.
When the kids were toddlers, the discipline options seemed more limited. Time outs and verbal reprimands were a constant in our house. I'd like to say I've never spanked my kids, but that isn't true. I have. And I don't judge parents who DO spank. Personally I never like to judge other parents or other marriages. We have no idea what happens in peoples' homes and we have no idea what makes other parents lose their minds over Pop Tarts in the VCR.
I think we all have those moments, when we have a vein sticking out of our neck while screaming at the kids, that we actually mentally step back and say, "Whoa, Crazy Pants. Why don't you calm down a bit before you end up on the Dr Phil show?"
I wish I can say I've thought with deliberate care and carefully chose the words I've used with my kids when disciplining them, each and every time. But that would be as realistic as Mitt Romney exhibiting empathy to the middle class.
I've screamed, I've yelled, I've swore, I've made them cry. I've said things that I'm convinced they'll be repeating twenty years from now, on some therapist's couch.
And as they get older, and start navigating the tricky years between middle school and high school, I feel like my words need to make an impact. I can't really put them in a corner or make them stand on their "naughty rug." My words need to show that I love them and am concerned, but I'm their mama and I'm not standing for any of their stupid shit.
I mean seriously, their butt cheeks are not allowed to be hanging out of the back of their shorts.
And as gansta as they may try to be on Facebook sometimes, I'm going to have to insist they delete some of their posts. Besides, as soon as they put something questionable as their status, half my friends text me immediately with: "Did u see your daughter's latest FB post?"
Oh great. Can't freakin' wait to log on to see what it is.
Growing up in the 70s in Wisconsin, our method of punishment was universal:
The Wooden Spoon
Our mothers, and sometimes grandmothers, were able to use a wooden spoon with the skill and efficiency that a ninja uses nunchuks. Very rarely did our moms even need to take their eyes off the "Guiding Light" while issuing a swift WHACK on our butts for being sassy. In fact, that's probably how we all trained for Track and Field Day at school; while trying to outrun our moms while being chased with The Spoon.
As much as it seemed to keep us in line, I feel like it's a little antiquated to use on our kids. I feel like I bring a much more severe punishment by just uttering four dreaded words to them:
"Give me your phone."
With the wailing and pleading and begging that goes on afterward, you'd think I had just threatened my daughters with female circumcision. But to them, relinquishing their cell phones is much, much worse. A clitoris or unlimited texting? Hmmmm.....
A couple weeks ago I had a huge blow out with one of my daughters, and I said a few things that I regretted. I was feeling awful about it and was talking about it with some friends at work.
One of them shook her head sympathetically and said, "Vanessa...teen daughters are the worst. Remember how awful we were to our mothers? One time when I was 13 I got into a fight with my mom and she was so mad SHE BROKE A WOODEN SPOON OVER MY HEAD."
I looked at my friend silently for a minute and then burst out laughing.
We all just need to remember to not be so hard on ourselves when it comes to this parenting gig. To paraphrase a quote I saw online, no one looks at their newborn baby and thinks to themself "Boy, how can we screw this kid up?"
Years ago one of my friends, whose boys are grown, gave me some great advice. She had mentioned that she was always a little afraid her boys would remember the times she thought she punished them too severely, yelled too much or spanked too hard. She said they assured her they didn't remember nearly as much as she had dreaded.
"But I will tell you this," my friend told me. "They don't remember the yelling as nearly as much as they remember when you do or don't show up for school events."
Very wise and interesting words indeed.
So in the meantime, I'll keep threatening with the removal of electronics and phones, and keep showing up at their school events. I might even keep a wooden spoon in the kitchen for when things get really out of control.
Because when it's time for punishment and our kids say they hate us, I guess it means we're doing our job.

Lucky to Exercise?? Are you kidding me??

"I really don't think I need buns of steel. I'd be happy with buns of cinnamon." ~ Ellen DeGeneres

Finally, six weeks after an injury that left me with a dislocated and fractured hip, I was back in my surgeon's office to see if I could get the "green light" and have some physical restrictions lifted.

"Well, Vanessa, it looks like you can start with physical therapy and working out again. You can do light walking, upper body and core work."

I sucked in my breath. "Ooooh, that's unfortunate. I was hoping you'd say I was still banned from doing anything with my abdomen."

She smiled and shook her head. "I wouldn't do any long distance running, though."

I brightened and sat up straighter. "Really? You should probably write a note so I can show my parents so I don't have to make any excuses about not doing a marathon with them."

She laughed. "You know, I have written many notes to employers and insurance companies but never once have I been asked to write a note to some one's parents so they don't have to run a marathon."

I nodded and leaned forward. "My family is a bunch of athletic freaks. Anything you can do to get me out of their craziness would be greatly appreciated."

Later that day I found myself taking several, tentative steps unassisted. There was nothing pretty about my new gait; in fact, it was quite ugly.

My kids, however, cheered like I had just climbed Mount Everest.

"Way to go Mom! Yay for walking without a walker!"

I couldn't help but think about how it wasn't that many years ago that I was cheering them on as they took their first shaky steps as toddlers.

My thirteen year old watched me walk across the floor. "What do you think?" I asked her.

"Oh snap," she replied. 

Teenage translation: Good job.

This was all two days ago. Yesterday I made the drive to my trainer's studio. For years I've referred to him as the Tin Man, since I always whine that he's heartless. While driving to his studio, I started to get nervous. What was I doing? I wasn't ready to work out. It's not that I was afraid of exercise, I was just terrified of getting hurt again. 

Before long I was at his studio, and staring down the treadmill like it was the scariest thing I've ever seen. But for as much of a hard time I give the Tin Man about being mean, I will give him this: he knows his shit. He knew what I needed to do to start the rehab process and he knew I needed to be pushed.

After a few minutes on the treadmill, I started to feel like Forrest Gump. "Oh, check out me and my magic legs!"

We moved on to arm work and then the sucky core abdomen work. The Tin Man had me doing some type of horrific crunches while he carefully stabilized my legs.

"Oh my gosh it hurts!" I cried out.

"Tell me what hurts," he said. "Is it your hip?"

"No," I whimpered. "It's my stomach muscles."

He rolled his eyes, called me a punk, and made me start over.

After 45 minutes my workout was over. As I was finishing one of my last bicep moves, I was surprised to find myself almost getting a little teary.

Not from the pain, but from what just happened.

"You know," I said, "I know that was was one of my most pathetic work outs ever. I looked like a 93 year old arthritic woman...but I think it was my most favorite work outs of my life. Just yesterday I was having to use a tub transfer seat to take a shower, and I was using a walker. And today I was on a treadmill for ten whole minutes." I never would have thought I could accomplish that.

My main focus is to strengthen my gait to get rid of my limp. The Tin Man assured me it would be gone soon. I excitedly shared one of my useless celebrity trivia facts with him. "You know Marilyn Monroe had a limp. Well, hers was more of a self-practiced waddle. She perfected it by walking around with a nickel under her left butt cheek."

The Tin Man laughed. "Damn, girl, you can get more than a nickel under your ass."

Oh shut it.

I couldn't stop thinking about my workout throughout the day. I had been dreading it for days and I was actually astounded I could do it. I never thought I'd be so excited to work out. I was talking about it to my aunt Betty and she wisely said something I don' t think I'll ever forget:

"You know, Vanessa, you'll probably never view exercise the same way again. This will make you realize how lucky we are to be able to move our bodies like that."

So true. My doctor told me that a hundred years ago I never would have walked again. Thank God for modern medicine.

Next week I go back to work. I'm also looking forward to that. I need to go back and utilize my brain in a more constructive way than watching my "stories" on tv in the afternoon. Seriously, no good has come from my watching back-to-back courtroom shows.

For instance, I have developed an unhealthy interest in Judge Alex. He's so cute. I became a fan of his on Facebook and started imagining us drinking wine and playing Yahtzee together.

Then there's Judge Joe Brown. He reminds me of a cantankerous old man that yells at people to get off his lawn. After this we have Judge Judy. She makes me crabby. Today I watched her yell at some plaintiff and I said to the tv, "Bitch, please."

Yep, time to go back to work.

And I am going to count my blessings that not only do I have a job to go back to, but I'm going to be able to practically skip my merry ass into the office.

Ok, ok...I probably won't be able to actually skip for a few more weeks.

But mentally I sure will be!