My Fears about Raising a Daughter in the World Today

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When Owen and I had the talk about pregnancy after our 3^rd was born and walking, we decided to be content that we did not have a daughter. We wanted one for sure. Each baby after my first, I hoped was a girl because I wanted both and I had already had a son. But when we found out we were having boys, we were still incredibly joyful and maybe even somehow deep down, relieved…because despite the fact that we would greatly miss the tutus and tights on chubby legs, we both were not looking forward to the teenage years.

Is it just me, or does it seem that teenage girls have a lot more trials and antagonists out there in the world than boys?

But the Lord gave us our wish, anyway…5-6 months after a vasectomy (which we chose because c-sections become increasingly dangerous as they increase in number), I missed my period and took the pregnancy test, to find out, we were pregnant. And at 17 weeks, we learned we were having a girl.

Let me be clear.

I am so excited.

I cannot wait for tutus and tights on chubby legs. For big bows and dolls and kitchen sets. I cannot wait for calm….the child who will more likely (yes, there are always be exceptions to the rule) be less crazy and running around and aggressive as my three boys. I cannot wait for smelling lotions and bonding over a chick flick and talking girl talk. I’m looking forward to see how this delicate creature softens my husband’s heart as well. I truly believe every man needs a daughter. I think it is good for them. Makes them stronger and yet more compassionate.

But I am not looking forward to the teenage years.

I know it is not always bad.

There are a few families that I know who have beautiful, well-balanced daughters who seem to be doing just fine.

I also teach high school and see a few of them as well. Of course, as a teacher, I don’t know all the secrets. I don’t know all the unseen turmoil. I know very well, they could be giving me a false impression than what they show to their friends after school and on the weekends. But I can also certainly see in my classroom the ones who are clearly struggling with the pressures of this society. But regardless, with all of them—I know the pressures they face.

I see the fashion that they are being exposed to and expected to wear by their peers if they want to be fashionable.

I hear the music that plays on the radio and the pictures of musicians they have plastered to their binders. Women who claim independence and “girl power” but who are enslaved to a world of drugs and sex and image image image. The men who talk about them in their music like they are something to be had and thrown away.

I see the movies they watch where kissing and premarital sex and provocative clothing is the common, light-hearted, lifestyle of the female protagonist.

I hear the way boys talk about them in the halls when they are listening or not listening.

I hear the way their friends talk about boys to each other.

I hear the stories of what their friends are going through….the anorexia, the cutting, the depression, the abortions or secret pregnancies, the baggage…

I don’t want that for my daughter. I don’t want it anywhere near.

Who does?

And what parent goes into their role as a mother or father of a daughter with the expectation that their daughter will go through these? Not much. I know most parents go in with the goal to prevent these things from happening (although some are more okay with the sexuality aspect…no one is okay with the consequences that often comes from it).

So of course, I go in saying “not my daughter.” Of course I go in saying, “We are going to raise her differently.”

But I also know parents who said the same thing and yet their daughters are still struggling.

We can do our best. But the rest is up to them. Up to God. Up to their circumstances and all the combinations in between.

I grew up in a home with parents who feared these things too. And in their attempt to protect me from them, I felt they went too far in some ways…over protecting me to some degree and over-punishing me when I messed up so there was no room or opportunity to try again or grow from my mistakes. And despite their best intentions to protect me, they did not give me the solid Christian foundation to help me build my identity so that I wouldn’t be wooed so much by the world out there that seduced me. I didn’t even read one book from the bible until my late 20’s. And so what did I do? I rebelled. And then when my mom and step dad separated, my mother went the other extreme. She let me do whatever I wanted. And I went out there with no strong sense of self, no confidence in my identity or my dreams, no value for who I was…and I threw everything good and pure and valuable about myself away—washed myself away with alcohol and drugs and premarital sex and all the emotional baggage that came as a consequence of those choices.

Is it my parents fault? Partially. But I also chose to rebel. I also knew right from wrong and chose wrong. But I also did not have that strong identity in myself as a child of God to be able to see why I should chose right.

So Owen and I plan on all sorts of ways we plan to raise our daughter differently. We definitely plan on rules and guidelines. We definitely plan on raising her to have a personal relationship with Jesus and to be confident in who she is. We will have limitations on what kinds of music she should be listening to and movies she can watch (but not super strict and sheltered where she can’t even understand the world and what they are going through).

We plan on all of this.

And the rest we leave to prayer.

But I can be honest when I say, I don’t have some strong peace that everything is going to be great. I don’t automatically assume disaster. But I am realistic in knowing that we can do everything within our power and it still not go as planned.

To the parents out there who raised daughters and had them survive their teens without eating disorders, hyper-rebellion, cutting and suicide attempts, promiscuity, and the like…what are your tips? What insight can you bring to the moms of young baby girls? To give yourself the entire credit? Who else and what else can help?

5Sep2014

Whisper: 5 minute Friday Post

Posted in Five Minute Friday, memoirs, my thoughts, parenting by Theresa

Painting by Karl Witkowski--available for reuse with modification.

Paintintg by Karl Witkowski–available for reuse with modification.

As part of 5 Minute Friday, I am supposed to blog for 5 minutes on a word prompt given by the blogger at KateMotaung.com who hosts the writing activity. My routine is to do this on my prep period at work. I set my timer and I go. Timer is set. Here we go:

My babies don’t know how to whisper. Well I take that back. Only in a couple of situations can they whisper. When we read the last page of “Good Night Moon” when it says, “Good night noises, everywhere.” I whisper that line and they love it. They whisper with me with big eyes and big smiles before closing the books and snuggling up in their sheets. It is a warm connection I can have with them before we go to sleep.

This morning, Benjamin woke up happily at 6 AM, calling “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy” and tapping his sleeping shoulders.

“Shhhhhhh” Owen kept saying.

But Benny wouldn’t. Benny was ready to get up and doesn’t understand the purpose of using a whisper voice in the wee hours of the morning when everyone is asleep–to speak and connect with us, without the sleeping others hearing.

But later, he rushed to me when I came out of the bathroom where I was discreetly putting on makeup and brushing my teeth, listening to him talk Owen into putting on the Elmos show —

“Mommy!” he called loudly.

“Shhhhhh” I whispered, “We need to whisper. Everyone is asleep.”

He reached up his arms eagerly, showing me he wanted a hug. I bent down and pressed his little body onto my big, 8-month-pregnant belly, and I rocked him.

And then he whispered his favorite phrase in these special moments: “baby Mommy, Mommy baby.”

I love it when he whispers that. I hear, “I love you” in those words. I feel so connected to him in those moments, like an invisible umbilical cord still connects us.

Today as I write this, I sit in the back of this classroom filled with teenagers with special needs. There are 5 teachers in this room with 20 students. These teens with down syndrome and severe learning disabilities, and various physical disabilities as well, clearly look different as they learn to fill out job applications and how to add up grocery receipts, but are so happy and kind and eager to greet me when I come in and ask questions about my belly as they play with their hair or rock in their chairs. Like children. And I wonder how many other teenagers, whisper when they walk by–closely connecting with their friends nearby but never trying to connect with these people because they are different. Never get close enough to whisper in their ears their secrets or compliments. How many whispering sounds do these people hear when they walk through the halls, without knowing the words? How many eyes avert away and disconnect?

Whispers…we connect with people we whisper to. How I want all whispers to be out of love, and nothing more.

stop

1Sep2014

Tonight’s Bedtime Story–Footprints on the Moon

Posted in Children's books, The Hemsath Life by Theresa

The Hemsath Alteregos
Watermelon Belly (me), Banana Face (Kanan), Strawberry Head (James), Cherry Buns (Ben), and Apple Brain (Owen). Peach Cheeks will be coming soon. 🙂

Tonight, my son Jameson took me by the hand and walked me to his bedroom, and asked me to tell him a story before bed. How could I resist? We have a running series of stories that we like to tell which are essentially about us, but use alter egos in order to make it fun and add a bit of magic to the story.

This was the story I told tonight:

Once upon a time there were three little boys named Banana Face, Strawberry Head, and Cherry Buns and they lived with their dad, Apple Brain, and mom, Watermelon Belly.

One of the things the boys loved to do was in the evening time–when Mom and Dad would make dinner, they’d go outside and jump on their trampoline. And they would jump so high, they’d fly high into the sky and visit the stars and the moon. Then right before dinner was ready, they’d fly back down, land on the trampoline, and come inside to eat a warm meal with their mom and dad, keeping their adventures a secret.

One day, when the boys were out flying in the sky and visiting the moon, Apple Brain and Watermelon Belly went outside to watch the boys jump.But when they went out there, they didn’t see them. They were gone.

They looked around all outside, calling “Strawberry Head, Banana Face, Cherry Buns, where are you?”

They looked all around inside, calling their names again.

But they could not find them.

Apple Brain and Watermelon were very sad. They started to cry.

Just then, Strawberry Head, Banana Face, and Cherry Buns landed on their trampoline and came inside to eat dinner.

“Here we are Mommy and Daddy!” They called.

“Where were you boys?” their parents asked, “We couldn’t find you and we were very scared.”

“We went and visited the moon!” They exclaimed! “Sorry we didn’t tell you.”

“Boys, you have to tell us when you want to visit the moon, so we know where you are and so we can make sure you are safe. You can’t just leave without telling us. It’s just not safe.”

“Ok, Mommy and Daddy.” They said with heads down.

So the next day when Watermelon Belly and Apple Brain were about to make dinner, Banana Face, Strawberry Head, and Cherry Buns asked if they could go visit the moon.

“Sure,” they said, “but that sounds like so much fun, we’d like to go with you too.”

“You want to go with us?” They asked, jumping with glee.

So the whole family went out, climbed into the trampoline and started jumping.

They jumped higher and higher and higher until all 5 of them, Apple Brain, Watermelon Belly, Banana Face, Strawberry Head, and Cherry Buns were flying in the sky, on their way to the moon.

And when they landed, they all put their feet on the dirt floor of the moon and left their foot prints. And you can still see their footprints to this day.

I then asked Jameson if he wanted to go look at the moon and see if we could find our footprints. He eagerly nodded his head. So we held hands and walked outside. I picked him up and held him high enough to peer through the branches of the big tree in our backyard where the moon hung. It was a crescent moon tonight. And the man in the moon stood on the glowing right side. I asked him if he could see our footprints their in the dark patch. He smiled broadly and nodded yes.

Then we went back inside. He kissed his dad goodnight and went to his room, ready for prayers and snuggles, and sweet dreams.

It was a great end to a great day.

Thought I’d share.

Maybe one day, I’ll write some children’s books about all of our adventures. More will surely come, especially when Watermelon Belly has the fourth baby, Peach Cheeks.

29Aug2014

Reach–at times it feels like grasping for the wind

Posted in memoirs, More Theresa's Thoughts, parenting by Theresa

openclipart.com

Reach

We reach for what we want…sometimes to find success. And other times only to be disappointed.

I watch my toddlers stand on tippy toes, trying to reach the off limits objects of their desires on counter tops and shelves— scissors, candy, their brother’s Legos, or that glass of milk.

In life…we reach for dreams. We reach for goals. We reach for our desires. Some—to enjoy and hold. Other’s—like grasping for the wind.

My stepmother did not reach my father in time in the warm waters of Maui while they were snorkeli Five-Minute-Friday-4 ng. She reached down into the deep waters to drag him out and perform mouth to mouth on the shore. But that night after finally falling asleep, she woke up half conscious to reach for his warm body next to her, only to find a cold pillow.

I reach for that day when I can come home to be with my kids and spend time with them. Right now I feel so disconnected from them since I’ve gone back to teaching. I cry for this dream.

All three of my babies, I have had to have by C-section. All three I wanted to reach out to after they came out, only to have doctors take them away. Two to the NICU. One for an extra hour due to “low blood sugar.” This last baby–my little girl, I pray I can have right away.

In worship, I reach up toward the sky in my feeble attempt to touch my God, looking forward to the day when I no longer have to reach, but will already be in his arms, saved from the challenges of this life, and tears wiped from the pain. When that day comes, nothing else that I have reached for and had or did not have–none of that will matter anymore.

25Aug2014

How I Handled My Son’s Drawings of Violent Images

Posted in parenting by Theresa

This is NOT my child’s drawing, but one I got from early childhood magazine on an article on children’s experience with violence.

On Friday, I picked up my 7-year-old son from his after school program, expecting to see him playing with Legos or tumbling around on the grass with a football in hand. Instead I found him chatting with friends–already something different than the usual status quo. I greeted him. We hugged. Went through the usual dialogue…

“What did you do in school today?”

“Good. I got a star for [fill in the blank]”

“Great! What did you learn?” ….

Then, as he does at times when we are in the car, he pulls out stuff he wants me to see. Often times its a project he worked on in class that he did well on. Sometimes its a flier for a school event he really wants to join.

This day he pulled out some drawings he was really proud of that he made after school. He and his friends were sitting around and drawing together and sharing their stories.

There on paper were images of an elaborate forest scene—tons of green trees. And among the trees were images of people with swords and bows and arrows…all fighting. And there is red crayon scribbles here and there for added effect.

Where are my son’s precious drawings of families holding hands, of surfers riding waves, of snowboarders sliding down mountains? Of dirt bike riders heading up hills?

He was so excited to show me. Big smiles. So proud.

I didn’t want to crush his spirit with immediate criticism. I complimented his drawing and the detail.

Then I expressed that the blood really bothered me and could make other people feel uncomfortable so that in the future I didn’t want him to use red crayon.

He was hurt. Immediately got defensive and asked if his drawing was bad.

I didn’t want to shame him.
I didn’t want to make him feel he did anything wrong.

I mean did he?

I think I’ve seen a lot of movies like “The Sixth Sense” that show these mentally disturbed kids drawing violent images. I think I’ve been educated by the feminist and liberal professors that say drawings of violent images are linked to violent behavior and internal angst….and that male aggression is bad. Very very bad.

I immediately clarified that I thought he was a great artist. But that the blood is just scary. I asked him where he got the idea for the picture and he talked about some movies we’ve let him see. Owen and I don’t have a problem with some violence in movies for our kids. We are stricter about sex and definitely dark, satanic themes, drugs, or gore. But we allow him to watch shoot-em-up movies. And I still feel that it is okay, provided we talk to him about each film and how it compares to the real world and right vs wrong.

And for the record, I don’t think that my son is a future psycho. It was a good guy/bad guy scenario. No one is killing innocent cats, etc…

I think he is a normal boy.

But I’m afraid of what other people might think.What if a teacher, who has been taught to believe all violence and male aggression is wrong, found the drawing and sent him the school psychologist? What if I were called in to talk about the government’s opinion of my parenting tactics?

And I do admit, I don’t want him drawing like this all the time because then that would concern me. An occasional violent drawing is fine with me. Just not with all the blood. And not all the time.

Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything right away. Maybe I should have waited to see if he drew such a violent image again. But my female emotions took over and I immediately wanted to nip any potential issues in the bud right away.

I told Owen, my husband. He wasn’t too concerned. Told Kanan not to include the blood because it bothered his mommy and to make sure and continue drawing other things that are not so violent. Keep a good variety.

Kanan, like me, wanted specifics. Can I do one drawing a day? One drawing a week? One a month?

We didn’t know the answer. Just every once in a while. And you will have to figure out how often that is and we will too. There’s no rule. Just don’t do it often. Then on Monday, Owen told the teachers in his after school program to make sure and not allow him to draw any violent images while there (we figured we could monitor the drawings better if in our own home),

I told his dad about his drawing.

“Completely normal” was his response and a look in his eyes that suggested I was being a worrisome mother.

I want to be rational and logical with this. I don’t want to be overly emotional.

I’m in this dilemma, this paradoxical philosophical world view that on one side recognizes that our nation has bought into too many feminist ideals that demonize male aggression and demonize even self-protection with our gun law battles and our dependency on the government as the ones to protect ourselves. I also have this other world view—the Christian one that does value peace and love and “all things good and pure.” But Christianity certainly isn’t a pacifist faith. While love and peace are certainly goals, even Jesus says that there will be times in the future where his disciples will need to “bring a sword.” Self-protection is not a sin when approached with violence.

So we shall see how it goes. If I see any more consistent violent drawings from my sweet boy.

What are your thoughts? How have my mommy readers handled situations like this with their boys? Where do you give room for being boys, but draw lines for being what you consider :”normal, natural, and healthy?”

I found a couple of books on the topic I thought might be helpful. Two differing views:

and

22Aug2014

Change

Posted in More Theresa's Thoughts by Theresa

available for reuse

Change is something we cannot escape. It is something many of us love and thrive on, and something many of us hate, and resist, kicking and screaming. Even if we need it, we often still resist.

Change is often good. But not always.

Regardless, it is a part of life.

I have a love/hate relationship with change. If life continues on and on without any change, I look forward to it. But only if it is not uncomfortable. I like comfort. I don’t like painful change. I like invigorating change.

When I changed my belief system 7 years ago and accepted Christ as my savior and Lord, I loved so much of the change I felt inside and how I viewed the world. But I hated the consequences of that change. The boyfriend of 6 years who refused to marry me because I had changed. The decision to leave and start a new life with my 1 year old son, alone….but with God.

God blessed that change. Within a couple of years I was newly married to a God-loving man, and within the last 5 years I’ve been blessed with 2 other children and now pregnant with another one.

Last year, my husband and I were talking about our desire for change—for me to be able to come home and raise our kids while he ran his new business. But it didn’t seem enough to just continue as we were going. Owen said its like a dog who is sitting on a nail. It hurt, but not enough to just get up and move away. But enough to whine and wimper about it all day. I was tired of wimpering and whining. Stuck with an income so tight that a dent in a fender would put us in debt, was not life for us, let alone have the luxury of me coming home. If we wanted that change, I’d hav Five-Minute-Friday-4-300x300 e to start other ventures that could supplement the income enough so that I could eventually leave teaching while he worked harder on growing his business as well. Doing nothing would change nothing.

Teaching by day, raising kids by afternoon and weekend, and writing resumes and memoirs and children’s books by night is not easy. It is uncomfortable a times. At other times, it is invigorating. Exciting. I am being pushed to go beyond myself and even at times, enjoy the challenge and seeing its fruits–the books I’ve always wanted to write but never had the time.

This change is necessary. And in the end, I know it will pay off.

To a better future. Because without change, it just can’t happen.

14Aug2014

Back To Work= Messy House

Posted in Random, The Hemsath Life, work life by Theresa

These are the most important people in my life. I don’t want to miss out time with them because I’m cleaning.

I have two choices when I get home. I can spend time with my kids. Or I can clean up the house.

I want to do both. But there is no time for both. I pick up the boys at 415 after a 45 minute commute, we make it home and they play while I cook dinner. Dinner is around 5. Then afterward they run around and play while I try to do everything but never have the time to do it all. And that is on an easy day. A day without doctor’s appointments, grocery runs, karate practice, or bible studies.

Still….my hate for mess, finds me often telling my kids to “wait a minute while I finish [fill in the blank here].”

They want to spend time with me. They want me to push them on the swing or watch them do back flips on the trampoline. They want me to play legos or to look at the spider they found. And I absolutely HATE washing dishes.

Then why? Why do I continually push that time away from them to wash the dreaded dishes? Because in the end, after the dishes are done and dinner is eaten, its time for baths and pajamas and teeth brushing. And bed. And then I am sitting there, missing my kids and wondering how I lost the time.

The dishes can wait, right?

I don’t want my children’s memory of me to always be the one who was around but never really there. When I’m not working, I have time to take them to the park, or read stories to them, or cuddle on the couch watching morning cartoons. It is those days I can say, “wait a minute.” But Monday-Friday, I need to just stop.

I want to wash dishes after they go to bed. And I want to complete one simple, quick chore a day that I can do to keep the house up and get back to being with my kids.

I also need to get my 7-year-old to do a daily chore and get my toddlers participating a bit more. One idea I also came up with after I wrote this is—don’t give them unmonitored free play time while I’m cooking. That is often when they make their biggest messes (especially the toddlers). Instead, I think I will set them up at the kitchen table for some table activities while I cook and Kanan does his homework. Then after dinner we spend 10 minutes cleaning up the room together or with some of my direction as I do my quick chore.

I read this great book last year also called The Get Organized Project by Kathy Lipp. She had great ideas, a lot of which I have applied. But one that I have stopped doing was putting a paper towel roll and a spray bottle of cleaning spray in each bathroom. And that way I can clean it up when the kids are bathing and not have to leave the restroom to get anything (which is often the deal breaker when the thought of cleaning it comes to mind). I can do the same after I use my restroom…just a quick spray and wipe of a counter or toilet after leaving without needing to go out and find all the supplies can make a big difference. By Saturday, I might just have a floor to sweep and that’s it.

Okay so here is a rough plan.

Monday-– Me– wipe down bathroom counters and wash a load of laundry.

Tuesday– Me– fold the load of laundry.

Wednesday— Kanan, h.w and karate. Me– sweep kitchen floor, gym

Thursday–Kanan–h.w, trash and clean bedroom. Me–clear up clutter from living room.

Friday--Kanan–dust. Me–wash a load of laundry.

Saturday-– kanan and me–fold a load of laundry and me–clean a bathroom (we have two).

Sunday-– 20 minutes per room (hubby and wife turbo house clean up).

So what do you other moms, working or non-working, do to keep your house in order with toddlers and the hectic schedules that come with all our many tasks?

11Aug2014

The Dreaded Gestational Diabetes Test

Posted in About Me, Pregnancy Update by Theresa

Every single time I am pregnant, I have to take that dreaded sugar test. For some reason, they don’t like my first test scores and I have to go in for the second test which is way worse–you have to fast. And then they take your blood three times over the course of three hours after giving you an orange-flavored beverage with 75 g of sugar packed into it.

This time, I only had to take one test. But it was a 2-hour fasting.

Now the good part is that I passed. I always pass. But the interesting part is that this time, I got to see my results because my doctor went all digital and I can now access all my reports online. The interesting part is that my insulin works so well it is almost too good.

So basically healthy sugar levels are between 70-90. At fasting I was 70. So it was on the low side of normal. Then one hour after I drank the sugar, I raised to just 72. If you have gestational diabetes, you sky rocket to a 100 or more. Then two-hours after I drank the sugar, I actually went HYPO-glycemic. My bloodsugar dropped to 68. No wonder I was feeling shaky! By the time I hit Costco afterward (I was planning on snacking as I went grocery shopping) I was breaking out in a sweat and having a hard time even thinking.

I’ve always treated myself like a hypoglycemic because I have the symptoms. I can’t eat sugary breakfast because within 3 hours I’m light-headed and seeing stars. I have to eat like every 3-hours, otherwise I get “hangry” as I like to call it.

So it makes sense now. I run on the low side of normal, but eating sugar can actually send my blood sugar crashing after just 2 hours. Now I understand why my mom used to give me string cheese when I’d start feeling like garbage. Protein on the other hand helps me feel great and last longer between meals.

When I’m pregnant, sugary breakfasts affect me even worse. As much as I crave a delicious bowl of cereal when I wake up, instead I shoot for a bean burrito or a protein shake packed with veggies and fruit. I can handle the fruit as long as it has protein in it.

What is your experience when eating high carb/high glucose foods? Do you feel fine 2 hours later? What’s your ideal breakfast?

5Aug2014

How Do You Teach a 6-Year-Old to Love in Action?

Posted in Children's books, Kanan news, The Hemsath Life by Theresa

About a year ago, my oldest son was 6-years-old and struggling with the typical issues 6-year-olds struggle with: selfishness, boasting, being rude…just a me-first attitude, really. I remember telling him that what he was doing was not showing love. He immediately defended himself–” I love you all, Mom!”

That when I realized, I hadn’t really showed him what loving in action looked like. I just said he needed to love.

That’s when I went to the only source I trust for truth and teaching– the bible. I found that famous scripture in 1 Corinthians.

“Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. Love does not insist on its own way. It is not irritable, and does not count up wrongdoing. It does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things” (ESV 1 Corinthians 13: 4-7)

So I read it to him.

“What is patient, Mom?”

” Patient means we wait for what we want without whining, crying, or screaming. Jesus is patient with us when we make mistakes. He waits for us to do the right thing without acting unloving.”

“What is counting up wrongdoing mean?”

I realized then, that I needed to come up with a way to explain it to him. So I went on Amazon to look for books on the topic. Nothing but silly stories out there with rhymes and such that never really explained it.

That was when I knew I just needed to write the book myself. So I did. I started writing it that summer. Even started the illustrations. And I used those to help teach my son how to love like Jesus. So I wrote the book. Its called How to Love Like Jesus: A Guide for Children and Their Parents.

It has been a year, and I’m finally back in that book. I’ve revised it. I’ve finished the illustrations (pretty much) in Photoshop, and I”m almost ready to venture into the self-publication stage. But the added beauty to it is–I’ve written 2 more and co-written another 2 more with my friend Kelly. So there is much more to come. And I’ve got a few ideas for even more when I’m ready for the second and third wave of writing. This summer has been a turbo-charged writing session, but I’m excited about where it might go. For my kids. And for others.

I will definitely be thanking my son Kanan for being the inspiration for my first book. And my hope and prayer is that there are other children and parents out there who could use this book too.

What do you find your kids need help in understanding? What books do you use? What books are not out there and need to be written?

5Aug2014

My Wild and Crazy Hair

Posted in About Me by Theresa

When I was a child, I had pretty, semi-wavy hair. My bangs laid down nicely. There were some soft waves or rings that would form at the very ends, and it could grow long.

Then one day I hit puberty. And everything changed. Literally, over night.

I went to bed the summer between my 7th and 8th grade year with my normal wavy, ruly locks. And I woke up with stretch marks all over my rear-end, and out of control, course, electro-magnetically shocked hair. I have a picture of it somewhere hidden in a childhood photo album. I was playing barbie dolls with my 6 year-old niece, Katie, at the time. I’m smiling a big smile with my braces. And my hair is absolutely nuts.

I didn’t know what to do with it. I think I tried gel at first. That’s what my mom and sister used with their tight ringlets. Didn’t work for me. I did the mouse and Aqua-Net thing for a couple of years (1993-1995). That kept it tame, but crunchy. Then my junior year I discovered the flat iron and then added hair dye. My hair my senior year in high school was fried.

Over my 20’s I discovered jojoba oil. That has been a God-send. When I didn’t have kids, I did flat iron my hair a few times a week and then on off days, just used jojoba oil. Now it seems like jojoba oil is all I use. Between kids, late nights working my second and third jobs as a Mompreneur and a husband who likes to shower together often (can’t do the shower-cap thing in front of hubby) my hair just needs to work well from air drying.

Normally I wear it long. Not super long. Never have been able to do that. My course hair breaks after a certain length. But recently I’ve been doing that fun angled bob thing, although wearing a longer version, right around shoulder length.

Today, I finally got my second hair cut since I switched the style. Thank God. It was out of control! But I did get my hair dresser to straighten it while I was there. Just a good blow dry with a flat iron finish. So hopefully Hubby can be happy with a few showers on his own, while I work on making sure this hair style lasts. After that though, jojoba oil will have to suffice. She must have cut half my hair off just with the thinning shears, so that should help. It looked like she picked up a large rodent when she grabbed my hair off the floor and threw it in the trash.

The issue is–I’m pregnant. And when I’m pregnant atleast, none of my hair falls out. You know how normally, when you shower or comb your hair, strands of hair come out? Not when I’m pregnant. So within a few months, I have this mop of hair so stinkin’ thick, I can barely see my scalp. I remember getting my hair highlighted one year when I was pregnant and the lady who did my hair, was so stressed because she kept having to pull out more and more foils as my hair just wouldn’t stop. I think she ran late for her next appointment.

I remember complaining about my hair one day to an old friend from high school. I was so humbled when she looked at me and told me to get over it because she has the opposite problem and already needed to use Nioxin to keep her hair. “At least you have hair, Theresa.”

Yikes.

Yeah, I felt bad.

At least in a few months, approximately 2 months after the baby will be born, all the hair that didn’t come out while pregnant, will all come out at the same time. Then I just might start needing to use Nioxin too. I remember the first time that happened, I had recently given birth to my first, and I was sitting at the bottom of the bathtub with the water running over my head, pulling the strands of hair off my head in clumps like the mean girl on The Craft who got cursed by Naomi Campbell.

Each consecutive pregnancy has gone the same way.