Digitus impudicus

On a relatively temperate December afternoon, my three school-age children walked into the house from the bus stop. It seemed like an uneventful bus ride home. The Informer, my second child, had nothing to report.

As one might imagine, there is always a fair amount of activity, noise, and well, chaos in those first moments when the girls get home from school with everyone talking, and asking for food, and waking up a sleeping three-year-old, which is probably why I didn't hear the phone ring several times.

I happened to grab the phone, noticed that there were missed calls, and checked the numbers. One number, at the time unknown to me, appeared twice within several seconds of each other. The character of an envelope on the screen and the stutter tone let me know that I had messages. I must confess that I don't always check voicemail immediately because of all the steps involved, but the mystery number and it's appearance so soon after school had me alarmed. So I called, and this is what I heard,

"Yram* (all names have been changed or altered to protect the innocent or in this case the not-so-innocent but easily embarrassed), this is Jane. That thing you gave Sue on the bus, well, the bus driver saw, and she wrote you up. Call me."

Mom: "Yram, come here immediately. I have to ask you something."

Yram: "What, Mom?"

Mom: "What did you give Sue on the bus?"

Yram, with deer-in-headlight eyes and answering very slowly: "I. Don't. Know. What. You. Are. Talking. About."

Mom: "Well, Jane does. Call her back. Stand right here while you do."

She then had to have me call because she did not know the number or how to use the caller I.D. to return a call. She tried to retreat to her room. She tried to turn her back to me. She used small phrases and cryptic language. She tried whispering.

Mom: "Okay, tell Jane, 'Good-bye,' and hang up. What happened?"

Yram: "Well, Sue (an eighth grader, two years older that Yram, and by all accounts a pill) had been teasing us about being little kids. She is so mean and annoying. Anyway, I let her get to me, and I shouldn't have."

Mom: "What did you do?"

Yram: "I mean, she is SO mean."

Mom: "Out with it, now."

Yram: "I didn't actually do anything ON the bus."

Mom: "I am getting impatient."

Yram: "When I got off of the bus, I flicked her off."

Mom: "You did what?"

Yram: "I flicked her off."

Mom: "You mean flipped her off."

Yram: "No, Mom, it's called flicking off (as if her generation invented the impudent finger)."

Mom: "You shot the bird, gave her the middle finger, right?"

Yram: "Something like that."

Mom: "Just so I am clear on this, you gave the middle finger to a girl in the school bus while standing on our street, where you live with us and everyone knows you belong to us while wearing you Catholic school uniform."

Yram: "Are you going to kill me?"

Mom: "No."

Yram: "Are you going to punish me?"

Mom: "Well, you will have take whatever punishment the school gives you, and you will have to tell Dad yourself."

Yram: "Great. He is going to lecture me all night."

Mom: "Maybe."

Well, she did tell him that night at the dinner table in the middle of game we play where we take turns telling three things that happened to us during the day, two true and one completely made up. Because she came clean and (this time) without making excuses, she didn't get too much of a lecture from Dad. She got a similar lecture from the principal who used the same in-your-school-uniform logic I had used, and she had to serve her detention on the same day we collected her VERY religious Granny from the airport. Now that is doing hard time.

My husband and I are not perfect parents, but we almost never use bad words around our children. And while he may make angry enough to "flick off" at times, I don't as he is more likely to see it as an invitation than an insult. Yram probably learned the sign or witnessed its usage on the bus or schoolyard from others who are savvier and who know better than to wield it openly.

Days after the incident, I broached the subject again, asking her if she knew what the sign meant.

Yram: "Well, it's bad and has something to do with the 'F' word."

Mom: "And do you know what the 'F' word means?"

Yram: "I know it's bad."

Mom: "Yep. It's an acronym for a violent crime against women. When you use foul language, you are telling those who hear you that you are not witty enough to think of anything else to say. You make yourself seem low-class or common, and that is not who you are or the kind of person we are raising."

She used the middle finger because it was the worst thing she could think to do, not because she fully understood what it meant, which is why, in large part, she doesn't have a cell phone or her own email account. Holy cow, could you imagine?

I would love to report that she has completely cleaned up her act and never uses even a "dang" or a "shoot," or Heaven forbid, a "freakin'." However, she got in trouble at school for calling a boy in her class (who delights in getting her in trouble while never telling on the kid who bullies him daily) an SOB when he shrieked at her for walking between his backpack and desk. Then, there was the time she referred to a nine-year-old girl who annoys her as a slut (not to her face but in front of The Informer) which resulted in yet another lecture about the meaning of things we say, a review of the Golden Rule, and a loss of weekend privileges.

My children often tell me that I am unfair when I discipline them for for things when their actions seem minor in comparison with the actions of other children. I remind them that I am their mother and not the other children's. I am accountable for teaching them the right way to behave and get along irregardless of how other children act or are disciplined.

I have to admit, though, and please don't let on that I said so, there is a small part of me (the part still smarting from my painful junior high years) that admires her chutzpah.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Bar...

I was a first year law student when I found out I was expecting my first child. I chose to go to law school because I thought it was the most prestigious career path for someone with my skill set. Had I known then what I know now, I might have made other education choices.

The initial plan was for me to take a year off in order to care for our new baby with the freedom to breastfeed and catch sleep without worrying about keeping up with reading, preparing for class, or attending lectures. As the year went on, I realized that there was nothing in the law that captivated me so much that I would leave my baby in another's care, and because it was not necessary that I work for our financial security, I decided not to go back when that year ended. Instead, we moved to Ohio and planned to have a second child, which we did, two and a half years after our first. She was the only planned pregnancy we had.

The third, fourth, and fifth followed at two year intervals. I would finish nursing one and be pregnant shortly after. Yes, we had to endure a fair amount of teasing and rude comments. "You sure have your hands full." "You aren't going to have anymore are you?" Or, my favorite, "Don't you know how that happens?" Most of the time, I smiled and gave a non-committal nod. Sometimes, I used a borrowed, "We can't even hold hands or wash our underclothes together." Or on occasion, I would reply, "Oh yes, we SURE do."

I have said, in an attempt to sound witty, that I chose prolific procreation over juris prudence, but now I spend much of my time engaged in alternative dispute resolution, which is true except that to say "I chose prolific procreation" is a bit overstated.

I have been blessed with five children, and this blog will be an outlet for me to write about my experiences as a mother and our adventures as a family. It is not a manifesto on motherhood or parenting. When my oldest was an infant and through her toddler years, I acted as though I had personally invented motherhood, which is why she will need the most therapy. As the years go on, I realize that I have a lot to learn. Now my philosophy is that we should do the very best we can at the time with what we have in terms of time, talent, or treasure.

Rather than offering advice, I simply hope to entertain you or perhaps let you learn from my mistakes or just let you know that there is someone else who has trampled this path before you.

I have a head full of stories that I have been meaning to write and share. Those will have to wait for another day. Until later...