Mr Conditioner

Meet Mr Conditioner!

He's a super cool guy that visits my kids during bathtime.  He does silly things like dances on the showerhead, then falls off and gets wet. He talks in a deep voice with an odd accent. He enjoys making a "bloop" noise while dispensing conditioner into children's hands. He likes to play peek-a-boo from behind the shower curtain. He also inspects children's cleanliness before allowing them to do their hair. He is generally delightfully funny and makes bathtime more pleasant for all involved. His conception was a moment of parental boredom, and he now holds a prominent place in our nightly routine.

Last night my 4 year old asked, "Mommy, how does Mr Conditioner talk?"  I kinda laughed it off, so she continued, "Mommy, how does Mr Conditioner talk and move? Is it really you?"

I was floored. I have made no secret of what I am doing. My arm is clearly attached while he dances and does flips. She can see my face while I am talking in my 'My Conditioner voice.' I thought this was extremely obvious to all involved.

Furthermore, my 4 year old is a precocious child in many ways. She recently declared that she wanted to get her ears pierced. When I started in on my spiel, she cut me off with, "Mommy, I know that it will hurt for a minute, but I won't fuss, so can you please drive me to the ear piercing place?"  I could come up with no better response than to grab my car keys. She got her ears pierced (one at a time!) with no fussing and cleaned them twice a day for 6 weeks with no prompting. She also cleans her own room, enjoys cooking, and can read. This child can competently order a meal in a restaurant, pay with a credit card, and give our phone number for the rewards program. We have discussed birth, death, girls marrying other girls (she wanted to marry her widowed great-grandmother), life being unfair, and many other difficult topics. She's basically a really short adult most of the time.

So did she really not know that I am Mr Conditioner?  She looked disappointed when I told her that it was really me. 

This incident made me really think about the line between fantasy and reality, or perceived reality.  

If you know me, you know that we don't do Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, or any other such people. When we see a costumed character, my kids know that it's a person in a costume for fun. And yes, they still think it's fun. We also don't do TV, so my kids have little experience with most characters. We do read a lot, so my kids have seen talking animals and such, but we discuss that it's all pretend.

I have read that kids have trouble understanding the difference between real and pretend.  I never understood that statement until last night.  

It makes me question why we live in a society that fills kids heads with nonsense about princesses, Santa Claus, and talking cars.  Why do we work to make our kids believe all this?  I have seen parents go to great lengths such as letters from the Tooth Fairy, or having 'Santa' on speed dial on their phone to call when their child misbehaves.   It seems that many parents use such things as a way to control their child.  Parents say it's for their child, or for fun, but really is calling 'Santa' because your kid was rude at dinner really any fun?  Maybe we need to redefine fun?

I've also seen way too many kids who are devastated when they realize that their parents have been lying to them the whole time.  It seems to me that that type of behavior destroys our parental credibility.  So you lied about the Easter Bunny huh?  Did you also lie about drugs being bad for you?

So while this conversation had definitely provoked some serious thought, Mr conditioner/mommy being silly will be back tonight for my kids' bath.  I'll just make sure that they know that Mommy has as much fun being Mr Conditioner as they have giving him high fives.

Passed

Since you already know the backstory (if not read Failed!), and I'm sure you guessed the result by the title of this post, I'll skip the announcement and cut right to the fun part.  The story of how it came about. The truth is, it was a group effort. I could not have passed that test without the support of a bunch of L2s, so here it is, a list of the most important things they said to me.

Jason Daniels: Our job is to make sure players play legally, not to make sure they play well.
As I contemplated preparing to be a Magic judge, I believed that I would first need to become an accomplished player.  I thought that I would need to be able to educate players on the proper plays in various situations and serve as a sort of 'coach' to new players. Since I was a new player myself, I had a long way to go towards that end. However, Jason explained that our role as judges is to ensure that players make legal choices and follow the rules. That makes the game fair and fun for everyone. Our job is not to help them actually play; their own skill will be needed for that. We serve as neutral arbitrators to help players with difficult situations and provide them a resource for resolving problems.
Thanks Jason for taking the time to chat with me at that GPT and open the door for me to become a judge.

David Carroll: I think it's fair to say I liked you from the start.
I played my first game of Legacy ever with a deck David let me borrow.  I also got my first penalty ever with a decklist David gave me.  Afterwards he taught me an important lesson: always verify your own decklist.  While he did apologize, he did not take responsibility. And he's right.  My deck and decklist are my responsibility, and I tried to take the lazy road and turn in the one he handed me sight unseen.  In every interaction with David, he has pushed me to be a little bit better.  Correcting my terminology in Slack, providing feedback on my cover letter, pointing out the 1 question I missed as room for improvement. David liked me enough to never let me settle for less than top tier.
Thanks David for holding me to the highest standards.

Jim Shuman: When are you taking your L1 test?
Jim walked up to me in the middle of a match at the Hunter Burton Memorial Magic Open and asked me that. I struggled to figure out how to play while having that conversation.  Ok, I struggled to play anyway, but trying to talk and play . . . almost impossible.  But when Jim walked away, my opponent looked at me in semi-awe and said, "You're a judge?"  I had wanted to judge that exact event, but couldn't because I failed my certification test. Playing in the event while my friends judged made that stand out to me even more. Jim helped me realize that while I'm not actually a certified judge yet, I am a member of the judge community and have the support of other judges.
Thanks Jim for giving me that boost of acceptance and encouragement when my frustration level was the highest.

Antonio Zanutto: You can't do math while running from a lion.
The night before my L1 test, coincidentally also the day I met Antonio, he was helping me study.  We stayed up late going over scenarios and I expressed my nervousness.  He explained that I would need to relax enough to think clearly while taking the test.  His poignant way of stating such a pragmatic fact really struck a chord with me and made me smile during the actual test.
Thanks Antonio for the last minute advice that made all the difference.

Josh McCurley: You ARE a judge. 
I don't think either Josh or I want to count the exact number of times he made that statement to me. After I failed my first L1 exam I fought the urge to give up.  Magic is a complicated game and maybe learning the rules was too much for me. I was also frustrated that my plans for judging upcoming events had been changed.  That I had learned some things wrong and needed to re-learn them.  That I'm a girl in a man's world of judging. That my husband was better than me - lots better.  Josh was there to talk me off that ledge-several times.  He offered me a listening ear, late night jokes, and answers to all of my million questions. No matter how upset I got, he was the level-headed one who reminded me that even at L0, I was a judge. He showed me a multitude of ways to get involved in the program and offered his name as a reference, and little by little, I stepped out of my box and into my new role.
Thanks Josh for all the good conversations and for never letting me lose sight of my goal.

Brian Leonard: I'm proud of you baby.
My husband, the L2. While it was a roller coaster of a ride, sometimes filled with frustration, jealousy, tears, or long study sessions, there is no one I would have rather been with than you.  You were the first person to support my goal, and you put up with me through the good times and the bad. You shared your knowledge while still allowing me to chart my own (albeit rocky) path. You never gave in to my fits of frustration, and you never let me win unless I was right.  The night I won my first rules debate against you was a turning point for me and since then you have let me build up a belief in myself.
Thanks baby for loving me, supporting me, and sharing this journey with me!


I'd also like to add a few quick "thank yous":
 . . . to Chris as Area 51 for letting me help with some FNMs.
 . . . to L2 Preston May, the guy who saw me fail and saw me pass, and encouraged me both times.
 . . . to Jessica Livingston, Mitchell Nitz, Trevor Nunez, Steve Wise, and all of the #trainingroom crew.

You read my blog

You read my blog.
(Please pronounce read as "red" not "reed.")

You are a friend.
You are a former co-worker.
You are the parent of a student I taught 5 years ago.
You are a judge.
You are a friend of a friend who saw it on facebook.
You stumbled around on the internet and found it.

I was surprised.
I never really expected you, or anyone, to read it.

For years people told me I should start a blog. Or write a book.
I've always enjoyed writing, even when I was in school.  I tried journaling, writing for my high school's literary magazine, and posting funny vignettes on facebook.  I actually wrote the introduction to my senior yearbook.

I write for me.
I write to process the events of my life and better understand myself. It helps me make sense of the chaos in the world. It helps me to find new perspectives. It helps me to see what is important.

Last week, a friend said, "You put it on the internet, so you must want someone to read it."

Wow!
Time stopped for a moment.
Did I really want people to read it? The obvious logic says yes since I did in fact make it public.  But I guess I just never thought anyone actually would.

This led to several days of profound introspection.  I sought the answer to 'why I put something so personal on the internet.'  In some ways, I'm still seeking it, but I'll give it a try.

I want to be real.  I want to celebrate openness and honesty. I want to be able to share the truth.  If you've read Ender's Game, think of a Speaker for the Dead. I want to be able to share things the way they really are without having to hide behind what I am "supposed to" do/say/think/feel.

I think that's why you read it - because it rings true.  Because you like it unfiltered. Because you want to share in my emotions - joy, pain, love, exhilaration, loss. And maybe because despite my flaws, you accept me anyway.

So thank you.  Thank you for reading. But more importantly, thank you for sharing in a piece of my life.

She was real to me

Today would have been her 1st birthday.

Her name was Cynthia Geraldean Leonard.
She was due April 5, 2015.
I miscarried her in August of 2014.

It was early.  We hadn't told many people. I wasn't showing. Hadn't been to the doctor.

I was sick, as I was with every pregnancy.  I knew for a few days.  I bought a test.  It was confirmed.  I was excited.  I told Brian.  We were excited.

Terrified, but excited.  After thinking we were done after our second child, we had decided to try for a third (and planned on a fourth after that). Getting pregnant was easy, and after 2 uncomplicated pregnancies, we expected the best. I started to pull out my few remaining baby items.  I had actually gotten rid of most things after our second, but a few items remained.

We had a boy's name picked out.  In fact, we had it before our first child was born . . . it just took us a while to get to use it.  For a girl . . . well, since our first daughter's name starts with A, and our second starts with B . . . yeah.  We both love names with family ties, so we chose Cynthia after my aunt Cindy who died when I was in college. My aunt Cindy was a beautiful, creative woman with a heart for others and a gift for hospitality.  She was active in her church, involved in charity work, and hosted amazing family gatherings. She could cook the most delicious treats and she always made me feel grown-up and special. We selected Geraldean as a middle name after Brian's grandmother Gerry. She is the sweetest woman and full of energy and smiles. She loves on our children, encourages me as a wife and mother, and cherishes all things family. These two amazing women embodied the things we hoped our daughter's future would hold.

(Note: I miscarried before we knew the child's actual gender.  I choose to remember her as a girl.)

As my excitement built, we told Brian's parents, and mine.  I preferred to keep quiet for a while because about some things I'm just a private person, but Brian loves to share, so share we did. And our families shared in our joy.

While I'll skip the details of the actual miscarriage, suffice it to say that it's an emotionally traumatic moment, with a very anticlimactic physical manifestation. If you have experienced the death of a loved one, you may know the exact feeling of which I speak.  A life leaves, silently, slowly, and you are left feeling empty and alone, but when you look around, everything looks the same as it did before.

I told Brian the next morning.  We cried together.  We grieved together. After a few days, he told our families.  A few consoling comments aside, no one ever mentioned her again.

It does not make me feel any better to forget about her. It does not help when you pretend she never happened. And it really hurts when you say things like, "at least it was early" or "well, good thing you already have 2 healthy kids."

When I got pregnant with our son later that year, I even heard a few comments implying that he replaced her or some how erased her loss.  I disagree. I am delighted to have him, but he is not a replacement or a consolation prize.  Each child is unique and wonderful in his or her own way, and I prefer not to compare them.

Last year her due date fell on Easter Sunday.  A day to celebrate life and resurrection. A day of hope. It was a hard day. Seeing families with babies in Easter dresses, watching my daughters play and laugh, feeling my son kick in my belly - all those joys juxtaposed with the sense of loss made for an emotional roller coaster.  While new life was all around me, the life that would never be was still deep inside me.

As time passes, the loss is less acute, but the questions still cross my mind.  What would she look like? Would she like bananas? What word would she say first? Would she love the outdoors? Could she sing like a lark?

A mom's heart never forgets.  And so today, on what would be her 1st birthday, I choose to remember her by sharing her with you, whomever chooses to read this.  And I ask a favor of you: if you know a mom who is grieving the loss of a child, speak up.  Don't say nothing for fear of making her sad.  The saddest thing to a mother is that no one remembers her child.  So share the memories, the tears, and the lost dreams, and grieve together with her.