Use Your Wisdom

For those of you who have been readers of this blog from the beginning, you know I have a daughter with a facial birthmark. She’s actually the inspiration behind “Use Your Wisdom.” You may read the section “About Use Your Wisdom” for the story on how my blog came to be.

My daughter’s birthmark is on her lower lip and upper chin. It is called a Strawberry Hemangioma and is very common. They appear shortly after birth and go through a process of development before eventually involuting and going away. Before my experience with my daughter, I never paid much attention to birthmarks. I also didn’t realize the negative stigma that has accompanied them for centuries. As an avid reader, I often find references to birthmarks I wouldn’t have noticed had I not shared this journey with Olivia. It’s amazing to me how often a villian’s face is marked or pitted in some way. There was one book that referred to the villian as having the nickname berry face. In another novel, a pregnant woman was worried her child would be born with a “red mark” because a loved one had died close to the birth of the child. Other references involve misfits or presumed predators who are/were marked in some way.

I know many of the negative references to birthmarks were a result of the mystery surrounding their occurance. To a large extent, we still don’t know for sure why they happen. The debate over how/why they form and whether or not there is a genetic tie rages on. When I read books or see movies where the ‘bad person’ is marked in some way, my heart breaks a bit. I’ll admit, my daughter is naughty at times. If I leave my purse on the floor she is more than likely to snag my money and debit card. At 11 months, she is already showing affinity for the almighty dollar. I’d hardly peg her a villian, however. Heck, with all of the money that ends up in her mouth I figure she’ll be made of money by the time she’s 5 and will never have a need to steal.

As I write this blog, I have to admit I often wonder what people think when they see Olivia. What reasons pop into their heads to explain her birthmark. I don’t mean that in a bad way. It’s just that I often see the wheels spinning in people’s minds and am curious to know what they’ve come up with. The only ones that bother me anymore are those who worry I’ve allowed her to be hurt in some way (or worse, inflicted the hurt). Sometimes I don’t have to wonder at all as perfect strangers are willing to offer their unsolicited opinion. Let’s see, I’ve heard she must have a nut allergy, she’s eaten too much fruit, she has a cancor sore that is out of control…the list goes on. I’m sure it will continue to grow.

I decided to write this particular blog today because it has been a while since I openly discussed by daughter’s hemangioma. I think it is important to do from time to time just to give everyone a chance to broaden their knowledge a bit and be more aware. Awareness helps everyone. A woman and her son, who I’ve come to know through various channels, have written a fabulous children’s book about birthmarks. I’m actually going to link it to my blog for those with any interest. The book is called “Buddy Booby’s Birthmark”. It’s about a Booby bird in the Galapagos Islands who is born with a birthmark. It tells the story of how the world greeted him and all of the questions they faced. Donna’s son Evan was the inspiration for the book when he remarked at a young age that none of the characters in the books he read had a birthmark like him. Donna and Evan decided to do something about that and wrote a story together. I’ve purchased several for my local libraries. It’s great to have a book on the shelves where a character who isn’t a villian or an evil force of some sort has a birthmark.

Thanks for reading.

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Have you heard of Jennifer Elison? She is the woman who wrote a book sharing her relief over her husband’s death in an automobile accident. She was feeling oppressed and trapped in her 4 year marriage and wanted a divorce. In fact, she had told him so the day before he died in a car accident. As luck would have it, she didn’t have to wade through any annoying divorce proceedings and fret over the distribution of assets. Fate intervened and his young life was snuffed out just in the knick of time. She got her husband out of her hair and was able to retain all of his assets. Cha-ching! As the doctors informed her the man she had married did not survive, she was spared the pain of grief as the pleasure of relief overcame her.

Just when I think people can’t possibly become any shallower, someone like Ms. Elison comes along. There are plenty of people in this world who annoy and frustrate me, or make my life more difficult at times. I still recognize those individuals as living, breathing souls with feelings and families and dreams. Just because our lives don’t compliment one another doesn’t mean the planet is too small for the both of us. Perhaps Ms. Elison would be happy if some huge epidemic struck her city and killed off most of the population. Then she would feel relieved not to have to wait in line at the grocery store or suffer delays on the roadways. She’d also have a better chance of getting a first rate parking space at the local mall with fewer people to compete with and hold her back.

It’s so sick and sad to me. Ms. Elison is actually being praised by some who commend her for her honesty. There are some who have shared there own stories of relief when someone close to them has died. There are a few who had a right to be relieved. They were watching a loved one suffer horribly through a terminal disease. There were others who, like Ms. Elison, had simply tired of having another person around them. Some have justified this reaction with the argument that the after life is more important than the physical life anyway, so it’s not like it was any great loss for the dearly departed. It’s discouraging, but not a complete surprise. As a society we seem to be getting further and further away from valuing human life and recognizing how special existence can be.

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It’s a bad day when a trip to the beauty salon leaves you with hair more expensive than the total of everything you are wearing. A few days ago I decided to venture out in the snow and try my luck as a walk-in for a haircut. Since my daughter was born 10 months ago, I have had my hair cut twice. It’s just too much of a hassle to find time. I’ve also switched from getting my hair colored and highlighted in a salon to having my husband dye my hair from a box at home. The decision to brave the elements in search of a haircut grew wings when I realized I was beginning to resemble ‘Cousin It’ with roots. My husband was home from work so it seemed like a good idea to get put back to rights.

The salon I have been going to for haircuts is pretty reasonable. They charge $30 for a cut and style. Not bad considering the metropolitan area I live in. I assumed they were less expensive because the salon is located inside a discount mall. In any event, as I sit down in the chair the stylist begins to ask me about my color. Now, I’m not blind to the fact my box color is not quite the right color for me. It works though. Especially considering it’s $5 a shot. I end up explaining how my husband dyes my hair for me at home. Yadda, yadda, yadda. As the stylist rakes through my hair, she starts talking about how women often let themselves go after the birth of a child and how that can negatively impact a marriage. Looking in the mirror, I couldn’t deny I wasn’t quite the girl my husband had married. Well dang! She offered to touch up my color a bit and I decided I might as well. It would be nice to have a good looking ‘do’ again after all of this time. She breezes over how she will apply an all over color and then add in a few highlights to brighten things up. Sounded good to me.

After nearly two hours in the salon, my hair was cut, my roots were gone and I did indeed have a aura of brightness about my head. The brightness turned to flames when I reached the receptionist’s desk to pay the bill, however. I walked into the salon intending to spend $30 on a haircut. I ended up spending….um, wait a minute. My mother-in-law reads my blog. Um, Mom, if you are there…make sure Dad is nearby to check your pulse should you faint. Continuing on, the grand total was a whopping $180!!! I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How could a haircut and color job in a discount mall hair salon add up to that much money?

As the receptionist looked at me expectantly, I struggled for words and some sense of composure. Though I’ve never had a seizure before, I’m pretty sure I came close to one at that moment. “I’m sorry, what?” was all I could manage. She repeated the number. Yep, still $180. Is it possible they had added a few other customers’ bills to mine? Nope. Turns out this lucky walk-in ended up in the chair of their ‘Senior Stylist’. She has special rates, you see. Never did she bother to mention what the cost of her upsell would be. It was $30 for the haircut, $70 for the all over color and $80 for those few precious highlights that brightened everything up. I quickly brought my hand to my mouth. I needed to cover the gaping hole. I did manage to explain to the receptionist how customers would benefit from knowing ahead of time if a stylist’s suggestions would end up costing $180. The stylist had conveniently disappeared at this point. The receptionist gave me her best “yeah, whatever” look and went on to ask if I wanted the tip amount added to my card or if I was going to handle that with cash. Tip???!!! I’m pretty sure a tip could be found somewhere in that $180. If not, the best tip I could offer was for that stylist to refrain from taking her clients to the cleaners in the future.

By the way, when I got home and shared the details with my husband he quickly informed me he is upping his rates for hair service as he is clearly under paid.  Great.  Just great.

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My 9 month old daughter is now able to play. Her ability to crawl and grab things broadens the types of activities we can enjoy together. Our favorite games are peek-a-boo and chase. When we are feeling mellow we play with her Little People Barnyard and Fisher Price Learning Table. My daughter’s giggles are magic to my ears. Knowing she is having a good time interacting with me makes me feel wonderful as a mother. In addition to providing immense maternal satisfaction, our play is also showing me how to have fun again. It’s hard to be stressed or overly serious while making animal noises and crawling around on the floor. Sharing my daughter’s experiences is allowing me the opportunity to get in touch with my inner child.

I suspect many adults have a secret desire to forget they are 30, 40, 50 or 60 for a while. Some, like me, relive their youth through childlike activities. Others rely on clothing or gadgets to help them feel younger at times. There are all sorts of ways to accomplish the task. My least favorite is when people decide to find their inner child by behaving like one during a difficult situation. Donald Trump and Rosie O’Donnell’s current spat comes to mind. They are carrying on in public in a way that reminds me of my high school days. All of the name calling, whining and note sending is worthy of a good week in detention. I’m so glad I found a positive way to relive being a kid. Mooing like a cow and meowing like a kitten is much more appealing to me than announcing someone is a loser or ugly and writing letters about how someone stabbed so-and-so in the back by calling whosey-whatsis a you know what.

My advice to Donald & Rosie, go play on the living room floor with your kids for a bit.

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Remember the song, “Mamas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys?” I think Willie Nelson could do us all a grand favor by providing a more modern version. There are so many more concerning professions Mamas need to be on the look out for now. I’d take a cowboy any day over internet predator, petty thief, white collar criminal or drug dealer.

I understand Mamas aren’t solely responsible for the adults their children become. They should play a considerable role, however. There is no denying every mass of living, breathing flesh that populates our prisons has a biological mother. Biology isn’t enough though. We wouldn’t just drop an egg in a hot pan and expect it to turn out okay if left alone. Whether the plan is for the egg to be scrambled, over easy or an omelet, it needs tending and care. Without nurturing and a little strategic manipulation, it will likely end up discarded. It’s disappointing when that happens to a perfectly good chicken egg. It’s tragic when it happens to a human being.

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You know the type who stop at the end of the escalator to look around or fiddle with their purse in the only doorway of a store? I can’t stand it when people do that. So irritating, right? Well, guess what I caught myself doing today? Yep. My daughter was crying in her stroller. I wheeled her out of the store and stopped immediately on the other side of the door to check on her. I actually engaged the stroller brake, walked around to the front of the stroller and played with her using my car keys. By the time I was finished, she was smiling. When I stood up, I saw a small cluster of people giving me the evil eye. Jolly great. Dangling my keys while chatting “who loves you? who loves you?” wasn’t going to put a smile on their faces like it did Olivia’s.

I’d better get it together. Next thing you know I’ll be sitting through the green arrow in the turn lane while talking on my cell phone or shaking a person’s hand after sneezing into mine. I think we are all one mindless moment away from getting on other people’s nerves. Maybe I won’t assume the person to be a moron so quickly the next time.

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Yesterday’s post on my negative experience with a 7 year old left me thinking about how my behavior was shaped as a child. Looking back, we were constantly receiving messages on how to treat others. My mom’s primary concern when we were kids was that she refused to have children who annoyed others. Touching, I know. She made us aware at an early age of how our actions effected others. She was quick to point out when people may not being liking us all that much because of how we were behaving at the moment. Lucky for her, she happened to have two kids who desperately wanted to be liked and who embarrassed easily.

Aside from the messages she delivered in the form of parental guidance, she also modeled the behavior she expected from us. She didn’t do it to set an example. She did it because it is in her core that others deserve to be treated with respect and kindness. One of my earliest memories on the subject involves my mom and a clerk at a grocery store. We were waiting in line with a cart full of items. The woman in front of us was fumbling for a check and a pen. This was the early 70’s. There weren’t any debit cards to scan. It seemed like an eternity before the customer ahead of us was finally finished and on her way. When our turn came, the cashier apologized profusely for the other customer and began making remarks on how she was an idiot and such. Without missing a beat, my mom asked the clerk a startling question. “I’m curious, what do you intend to say about me to the next customer once I’m gone?” Holy cow! Even the young kid in me knew that was a big gotcha moment. The cashier stuttered a bit. My mother went on to say that she need not put down another customer to make her satisfied with the service. I wanted to shrivel up and die with embarrassment over my mother calling the cashier’s rudeness out on the table. As a kid, I thought it was wrong for my mother to put her on the spot like that. As an adult, I’m giving her a standing ovation. She didn’t ignore the ill treatment of another. She also didn’t participate in the negative remarks. How often do you see people either doing nothing or going along and joining in. I’ll answer…too often. My mom taught me a lesson that day I will never forget. It reminds me as a parent there is so much more I can do for my daughter than offer words and shake a finger from time to time.

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This might be offensive to some, but I believe parents who teach or allow their children to be mean are guilty of abuse or neglect. There is no way I will ever be convinced children emerge from the womb ready to harm and be cruel to others. It is something that happens over the course of time as the behavior is modeled for them by movies, video games, other children or the adults in their life.

Today I had an experience that made me physically ill. My daughter, as I’ve shared before, has a prominent birth mark on her upper chin and lower lip. It is dark red and quite puffy. People frequently stare and make comments (some kind and some rude). It is part of our daily life so I’m rarely thrown by the behavior of other’s anymore. A 7 year old boy (I’m estimating) in Old Navy today threw me for a loop. As his mother shopped, her son decided to entertain himself by harassing my 8 month old daughter as she sat, bright eyed and smiling, in her stroller. He approached her 3 times and placed his face right in hers. “You have an ugly face”, he announced each time. The 3rd time, he stuck his tongue out as well. His clueless mother wasn’t offering any relief, so I looked the boy in the eyes, told him he wasn’t being nice and wheeled my daughter to another part of the store. Moments later my attention was drawn to the same young boy playing around with soccer style balls in the rear of the store. He was probably 12-16 feet away from us. My gut suddenly told me something was up and I moved towards my daughter. Just as I did, he kicked the ball in her direction. I was able to bat it away before it could connect with her face. The boy had a look of satisfaction about him.

If you are a parent reading this, you can probably guess the degree of anger I felt over the incident. I rarely get angry. When I do, a rash forms on my neck. I was telling some friends today, I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to being ticked off. Since lashing out at the boy wasn’t going to solve anything, and there were no goalies available for an impromptu soccer match, I decided to approach his mother. Containing my rage, I gently offered she should keep a close eye as her son is being a menace. My words were met with a look of complete bewilderment. I provided a brief summation of events. You’d think an apology would be the first thing to pass through her lips. Nope. She suggested the ball sailing towards my daughter was the result of an accident. Considering I was the one watching her child and not her, I was left to overrule her opinion. The only contribution she made to resolve the issue was to tell her son he shouldn’t pick on other kids. Though my infant daughter is technically a kid, my mind was screaming…he’s attempting to assault a baby, not picking on a kid.

Knowing a lost cause, I wheeled my daughter away, checked out and left the store. In processing the event, I’ve tried to allow myself to be mad at the little boy. I just can’t be though. I’m shocked by his behavior, but my anger is reserved for his mother. Without more guidance and discipline from his parents, that 7 year old menace could be on a path to a career as an abuser. Even if the outcome is less extreme, he certainly has a bumpy ride ahead of him as he attempts to make friends while lacking social skills and common courtesy. It really is sad. By his appearance, he is well provided for in terms of material things. By his actions, he is sorely neglected.

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As a twin, I grew up sharing at a young age. From the womb to toys to bedrooms, nothing was ever just my own. Sharing is a good thing usually. It really is easier to make friends and get along with others when not intent on keeping everything to yourself. There is a limit, however. Sometimes people take sharing to the extreme.

It sounds like I’m being petty to complain about people sharing too much. Some might argue sharing too much is better than not sharing at all. It’s hard to say. If it were about sharing fortunes, chocolate chip cookies and helpful advice, I’d agree. The sharing that holds me up is the kind that is the result of another person not thinking about or being considerate to others. Those who feel sharing the road means I should also share my car lane with them. Those who feel my wireless internet service is a free for all…like I’m Starbuck’s or something. Those who have a cold or the flu and don’t feel complete until they’ve included me in the party. Those who are unable to say something nice, but have a knack for sharing advice and commentary that irritates and offends.

It would be easier to swallow the above offenses if those involved were just so tuned into sharing they couldn’t separate the good from the bad. I have a sneaky suspicion that is not the case, however. I remember returning to my car in the grocery store parking lot to find someone had attempted to share my parking space. A 15 inch scratch decorated my rear bumper. Funny how there wasn’t a note on my window offering to share the repair bill.

With the holidays approaching, we tend to take a little more time to reflect on how we treat others and what we can do better in the New Year. I think it would be good if we all looked at how we could make sharing good things a bigger part of our lives. Even if we occasionally share things that aren’t so great, the positive should always outweigh the negative.

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