When Missy B was 15 months old we moved to our first family home in the suburbs if Houston. It was my 'dream home' and we were house poor. She spoke in full sentences, walking the neighborhood introducing herself "Hi, I Ebelle, I 1." She would also run out the front door naked as the day she was born and yell over her shoulder she was 'going to Chuck E CHEESE!'. She had never watched a millisecond of television. She had never eaten anything I hadn't hand picked from our gay neighbors organic garden that I ground with a mortar and pestle. She was just about toilet trained from her cloth diapers. In short, I was a nut.
I fed all natural from the earth not because it was trendy, but because I believed it to be best for her. And because I was sure that a lack of hormoninated, pest treated foods would delay the early developing trend going on in americas young women.
She shaved her legs this week and I cried behind my husband suits in my closet.
I lovingly wiped her gums after every time she nursed from birth through her first birthday. At 9 months old her first tooth broke the gum line and I made her first appointment with a pediatric dentist.
Her braces will go on next week. She has selected navy blue and gold rubber bands. Why she can't just go with burnt orange and white, I don't know. We don't live in Illinois and we aren't Notre Dame fans.
When we lived in that first house, I laid her down for a nap one afternoon in time to fold towels while watching Oprah. Oprah's guest was a beautiful 14 year old girl. She was sitting next to her mother who no doubt began her journey 14 years before with the same hope of providing what was best for her daughter. Except, her gorgeous little girl was on the show because she had begun abusing crystal methamphetamines. My.stomach.sank. I remember sitting there on my over stuffed 45% down khaki colored sectional and wanting to run and grab 'Ebelle' and shake her about her itty bitty shoulders and scream at her to promise to never ever use drugs.
I ordered that transcript, and clipped articles from the Houston Chronicle about the clumping overdoses of teenagers who got their hands on a batch of bad drugs.
Today I-very unexpectedly- had The drug Talk with my kids. It didn't go like I planned with manila folders of years of information. It also didn't take place sitting comfortably on the well made shabby chic bed with a window in the backdrop over looking lovingly cared for hydrangeas in a cape just south of the water in Maine. It happened in Americas New Dinner Table-The car.
"What is heroin and cocaine, mom?"
"They are drugs, and they will destroy you. The work because they enter your body through vein or your nose or your lungs. They get to your brain quickly and quickly tell your brain to work in a new way. A way that will only work if that drug is present. When you try to get your brain to function without the aid of these drugs, you will become very ill. Like the flu ill. Until you breakdown and put the drug back in your system."
"So, you always think you need it?"
"Exactly. And because your brain has a new way of working, it thinks that you are actually working very normal and when you think you aren't working normally, you don't care any longer. Then, if you are lucky, you die quickly. If you are unlucky, you die on the streets with no family or friends and your brain still tells you not to care. You have nothing and you die alone and probably very painfully. Here is the most important thing to remember: You will know people who take drugs. They will appear completely normal and in control. You will ask yourself if drugs are okay. You will think about giving them a try. Trust me when I tell you, a very few end their drug usage well."
I wasn't sure if what I said was appropriate. I am not sure. I am just not sure. I feel confident though. And very rarely in good, no, great parenting do I think you feel truly confident.
