A 400 lb Mistake

I'm posting this here because I can feel a "too-long-for-facebook" thing coming on.

Say what you want about the actual situation involving the little boy and the gorilla at the Cincinnati Zoo. Everyone is all worked up about whether the gorilla should have been shot and what the parents were up to and how in the world a zoo even has a gorilla enclosure a little boy could get into. But what I've learned from this episode is, in fact, that it's not okay to make a mistake on the internet and then try to correct yourself.

I reposted that picture that's going around. The one about Harambe, "doing a better job" watching the kid than his parents. But I posted it in an attempt to get attention for my question: Why couldn't they have just sedated him? I didn't think of the picture as a comment about the parents, but as a comment about how surprisingly docile and loving the gorilla seemed to be in the videos I saw.

To clarify: I was never trying to suggest that the mom was at fault. I have a three-year-old boy. We go to the zoo. He has tried to climb in a pit-style cape buffalo enclosure, but has never made it past sticking his head over the wall and lifting one foot. My three-year-old sometimes scares the hell out of me with how quickly he goes from being right by my side to being in the middle of the street (I might not even want to take him outside if we didn't live on a quiet street) or halfway down the escalator at the mall. I can imagine how a kid his age gets into trouble like this, even with vigilant parents. And I said as much in the first comments on my post.

Before I made that post, I looked at four different articles (accompanied by videos) about the incident and came to the conclusion, based on the text and the video combined, that he was protecting the kid and being incredibly nice. It was obvious that the videos were edited, but it has only since come to my attention that what was cut was the scary part. Interestingly, the news outlets were choosing to take the edited video and write about the incident as though nothing dramatic happened.

So, it turns out I was wrong. The gorilla did do some dangerous and scary stuff with the little boy. Watching the full video made me uncomfortable. But my question still stood. Why couldn't he have been sedated?

Harambe was a healthy and impressive representative of an endangered species. In my original post, I said, "I understand that the gorilla needed to be subdued in order to extract the kid." but it's sad to lose an individual like that. Why couldn't he have been sedated?

Since my post, Cincinnati Zoo director, Thane Maynard, "has said that tranquilizers may not have taken effect in time to save the boy while the dart might have agitated the animal, worsening the situation. Animal expert Jeff Corwin agreed that tranquilizers may have taken too long."

Okay. The picture was probably insensitive to begin with. I guess I didn't realize how it would be interpreted. I guess I thought of it as more of a joke than an accusation. Then, I was corrected as regards the gorilla's seemingly docile behavior from the first several videos I watched. Then, I got the information I wanted. Both of these things happened within hours of each other. I took the post down.

But I'm still dealing with it.

First, I didn't think anyone really cared what I said. Hardly anyone reads this and as far as I can tell, basically no one pays attention to my facebook. But one of my real-life friends attempted to gently correct me (and others) by posting an article focusing on a bystander who feels that the incident was not the fault of the parents.

I felt I needed to explain my position. I didn't mean to suggest that it was the parents' fault. I was simply pointing out that the gorilla seemed oddly calm and maybe didn't have to die. I just wanted to know why he wasn't tranquilized (this was before I learned why).

The responses to my explanation have been... aggressive. One person points out that I obviously didn't look into it because the video shows the gorilla being violent and tells me, "So congratulations, you called the parents worse than psychotic abusive assholes." But I did look into it. I read four different articles and all of them chose to use edited videos and present the information as though nothing concerning happened while the boy was in the enclosure. I think this is a serious problem we should all take note of. Why were/are so many sources choosing not to tell the whole story? When many different news outlets are misrepresenting the story in the same way, it's hard to know that you didn't do your research well enough.

After I explained the circumstances that lead to my post, this same person goes on to ask me how I would feel if I "had a hand in causing this mother to commit suicide because of all of the hate directed at her."

By this point, I had already taken the post down because the zoo had made a statement, providing the information I was looking for, and I saw the full video, showing the dangerous behavior.

I admitted I was wrong. I took the offensive post down. I made a mistake. It's cool though, deliberately giving me shit on the internet because I made a mistake anyone could have made that almost no one even saw is different from me accidentally giving another mom shit on the internet because she made a mistake anyone could have made that everyone saw.

Seriously, it is different. Because basically no one could even see my mistake, and it was redacted, it's over. I admit I made a mistake. I was insensitive and I apologize. I didn't realize I was wrong or being insensitive, because of the circumstances. In contrast, everyone is seeing this story and they think they know what's going on. News coverage has been leaving out details and people are angry that Harambe had to be shot. They're blaming this woman and the internet is awash with misinformed, unforgiving pointed fingers. I'm just dealing with one of those fingers.

I try to teach my kids that it's important to make mistakes. If you haven't made a mistake or failed at something today, you haven't tried hard enough at anything difficult or new, you haven't put yourself at risk. Putting yourself at risk is important because that is how you learn and grow and where you will find satisfaction and success. But when we make mistakes that affect others, we might need to correct them and apologize.

I corrected my mistake and I am sorry for being insensitive and wrong. I'm glad someone pointed out that by posting that picture, I was lumping myself in with a hurtful crowd.

There are things to be learned from this:

• There are larger problems with news media than I even realized
• It's surprisingly easy to be a jerk on accident
• It's hard to take it back
• Even nice people are jerks on accident sometimes and it's probably important for the accidental jerk and the victim to both remember that
• People who don't know you will judge you and you can't take them seriously. They also make mistakes
• And we should probably never design a gorilla exhibit like that ever again

My Ex Still Hurts Me

No Way I'd Undo My Past Though

This is going to be a difficult topic for me. I don't like to admit it because I feel like it reflects poorly on me. My self-talk says if I were stronger and would just stand up to him more he wouldn't be able to do this to me. But, this week, I had an experience that helped me realize that it's not true. If I stand up to him, he uses it against me.

I don't think I've ever said this publicly before, but I left Ex because he was emotionally abusive. It took some uncomfortable counseling to figure that out, because I thought something was wrong with me. Unfortunately, it seems like a lot of people don't take emotional abuse seriously. Some people seem to truly believe that if your spouse isn't hitting you, it's not abuse. I can tell you, it's much more complicated and subtle than that.

First, some history.

When we were married...

Ex would go through periods of emotional ups and downs. During the ups, he would take me and our three girls to the water park (even though they were pretty terrified of being in deep water at the time) and be cheerful through the whole multiple-kids-throwing-tantrums-simultaneously experience. He would buy a brand new couch, a TV, a cutting edge video game system, take us to the movies... and never seem upset or stressed out about anything. This would go on for weeks. Then, one day, he would have a totally reasonable grouchy moment. For example, we would be on the road, almost at the end of the half-hour drive to the place we liked to grocery shop, with all of the kids in the back. I would say, "shoot. I forgot the diaper bag." and he would get upset. Not mean, but a little panicked about how we were going to handle a whole grocery shopping trip without diapers. I would suggest that, since we're going to be stopping at Target, we could just pick up a pack of diapers and some wipes.

That was the precursor to weeks of being angry, stressed, and even calling me from work in tears. These were the weeks when he would decide to give the twins increasingly more swats each time they tried to drink water after dinner and they would end up with lasting welts... and he would keep going. These were the weeks when he would choose to put C in a tiny play yard where our dining table used to be, with her mattress and a potty, indefinitely, because she needed to hurry up and get potty trained. These were the weeks when he would get frustrated by the difficulties of installing new flooring and yell at me to "get the fuck out"... so I quietly (trying not to start an argument) took the girls to the beach park we loved, 7 minutes drive from our house, and he almost immediately started calling me incessantly, accusing me of running off with someone else or at least being off doing something I shouldn't be.

Ultimately, he would blame me for these things. He would focus on the ways I could have and should have stopped him. I should have known he was just mad. I shouldn't have left. I should have answered my phone every time he called. He also blamed me for his diet failures because I kept chocolate in the house, and he couldn't maintain his diet if I had chocolate around... and his exercise failures because he didn't want to leave me alone with the kids for 15 or 20 extra minutes in order to go for a run... and his meditation failures (which he claimed were the source of all of his problems) because I couldn't keep the kids quiet enough.

When I pointed out (while he was on an up) that he was having these noticeable mood swings and that I could tell when they were starting, he said I should tell him when things are starting to look bad. I took on that responsibility, thinking I had the power to fix the problem. So, on that trip to Target, I told him. He denied it and said it was a totally normal reaction and I was just making it out to be something worse than what it was. I told him it always started with what seemed like a pretty normal reaction, but he doesn't react like that until things are about to turn sour. He denied it some more... but that was the beginning of the mood swing that turned into the incident at the park.

Weeks later, when I said that he had just recovered from one of these moods and I couldn't stop him because he wouldn't listen to me... he said I should have tried harder.

Do you see how things were always my fault, even after the fact, and even when I was set up for failure?

That's emotional abuse.

Now for the present phase.

We're divorced. We have been for some years now. After a counselor pointed out the cycle of built-in failure I had been living in, I said I wanted Ex to see a therapist or I wanted out. He made a number of excuses for not seeing a therapist, and it took two years for him to finally let me go. In that time, he implicitly blamed me by saying he just needed to find someone who valued marriage, and explicitly blamed me by saying I just wasn't willing to try to fix it. Even after I told him I had tried to work on our relationship several times and in many ways, he clung to that reason and it came up in almost every conversation we had leading up to, and even after, the divorce was finalized. But it didn't matter. I was free.

Except I'm not. My ex husband still abuses me. He lives five minutes from my house and sees the girls for a few hours at a time, two or three times a week. Papa and I have tried to implement a system by which he is at our house a little as possible, but he is frequently late or has to cancel and he hangs out in our house for 30 minutes or more every time he is here (30 to pick them up, then 30 to drop them off). That's 2 or 3 hours a week. I'm spending more time with him than I spend with my friends.

While he's here, he blames me for my medical problems, because I should exercise more or eat better or whatever... because he's an expert on my life apparently. He blames me for my grades (3.4 GPA), because I should have studied more or tried harder or formed a study group or something. He tells me that the medicine that multiple doctors prescribed for C is bad for her and she shouldn't be taking it. Then he refuses to give it to her when she's with him for the day and, shockingly, she's in bed in pain a couple of days later. I end up angry by the end of more than half of his visits.

When I try to tell him that there's a problem with anything, he doesn't care because it's not a real issue because it's something I caused and/or all in my head. My problems with him are, "... not about [him]. They're about [my] idea of [him]." ... all in my head. (words only substituted to match point of view) 

It's a tough situation to be in. Since we have kids, I can't just walk away and I'll never be able to make him see my point because he refuses to accept ever being wrong. The legal buzzword "co-parenting" makes me wince.    

I'm a Feminist but I'm Not Going to Get Naked

I cut all of my hair off and Papa says I look like I have a feminist blog.  So, here goes.I guess I'm a bit of a feminist.

I think women should be paid equally. I think women should be treated equally. I think no one should rape anyone and no one should abuse anyone and it doesn't matter if the victim is a woman or a man... so I guess that falls under feminist.

I think anyone should be able to be first lady/gentleman, regardless of whether he or she has been publicly nude or even photographed nude. In fact, I think those same people should be equally able to be president. Michele Obama's arms should be a complete non-issue, and Melania Trump's nude photos shouldn't be an issue, either... even if I don't think Trump should be allowed to be president.

Presidency aside, women should be allowed to be whatever they want to be. There are no jobs that are more feminist than others. Nothing should stop a girl from dreaming of (and achieving) being an astronaut or a field researcher or a pilot or a nanny. My daughters should not feel guilty if they choose to be a mother. No one should ever suggest that they are "only a mom". Being a mom is hard work, and the more pressure we put on our moms to be more than "just a mom", the more children are being left with strangers. And worse, the value of our children is slowly chiseled away by that pressure. If we make women believe that the only feminist thing to do is to break the gender stereotypes and climb the corporate ladder, we are basically telling them that their jobs are more important than their children. The only feminist thing to do is... exactly what you want, without letting anyone else decide for you.

I cut my hair because it was frustrating. It was always in the way. I have four children I'm always having to look down to. I spend two days a week in a botany lab, looking down into a microscope. I like to be outside. I like to camp and hike and ride my bike. My hair was always in a ponytail, so I decided to just get rid of it entirely. I made that decision for myself.

In the time since I cut my hair this way, I got an invitation to a campus feminists group. I wouldn't say it had anything to do with my hair style, but the two events coincided. When asked what the group was about, the girl, who is probably close to my age and also has children, was very excited to announce a list of lecture topics and activities. One of those activities was a slut walk.

I don't have a problem with slut walks. I think it's important to bring the secretive issue of rape to the attention of the public. I also understand that not everyone gets naked for these events... but I actively think you shouldn't.

As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, people who have been publicly nude should not be limited or shamed by their choice, whether male or female. Somehow, we've got to make nudity less of a taboo in this country. Slut walks, though, are probably inadvertently associating nudity with violence. Sure, just because you're naked doesn't mean someone can have their way with you, and you're trying to stand up for that message while demanding attention for the cause. People can't ignore naked (or mostly naked) women in the streets with picket signs. But if this is the only time we see women dressed like this (I don't know about your life, but this and Pride Fest are basically it for me) it starts to seem like naked women are associated with rape culture. eww.

Besides, I've never been called a slut while I was naked or wearing shorts and a bikini top. I've been called a slut while wearing stilettos and a knee-length skirt, or a low-cut top, or a shirt that fell to just below my ribs. I've never been called a slut when I was extremely exposed... only when I was just a little more exposed than standard.

I think it's like the uncanny valley. If you're too far from what society considers acceptable, you're just clearly not normal. If you're just slightly outside of the norm, you make everyone uncomfortable because they can't figure you out.

Sure, the point is to enforce the idea that, no matter what you are or aren't wearing, you don't deserve to be raped. So naked would be one extreme. But, of the 60 percent of the Harvard class of '15 who responded to a survey, "31 percent said they had experienced some sort of unwanted sexual conduct at Harvard."

So, wear your short shorts, your belly shirts, your high-heeled boots, and your skirts, or your regular clothes but don't think you need to go naked.

Nine Years

A couple of years ago, I told you all about the drama and craziness of my first birth experience. My twins made me a mom, nine years ago today.

In the span of mere seconds, I can be both terrified by how quickly the years seem to pass me by, and overwhelmed by how distant nine years ago seems right now.

I remember I once said that if I believed in a creator, I would say it must have given me twins on its first attempt because it knew I'd never do this again. I really thought that was it for me. I was 19 and I figured I'd never want to have another baby. That was pretty terrifying since I hadn't seen or heard from their dad in months and it seemed like it would be pretty difficult to find a partner who was okay with never having his own kids. Somehow, in a wide variety of ways, my life changed a lot over the course of the next few years (and then again over the few years after that), and I had two more.

In addition to the fear of never finding a guy who didn't want me to have more babies, I knew I had to be picky about the people I allowed in our lives. When I brought them home, I nearly immediately broke up with my boyfriend. He was a guy I met several years before and had been friends with for all of that time. He was an amazing person and an amazing boyfriend... except that his mom didn't like me and definitely didn't like the idea of "us"... and the babies really sealed the deal. I just knew I couldn't deal with his family and their judgement in my life anymore. So, having destroyed my relationship with someone I once thought was the perfect guy, I figured I'd be single forever.

Then, I married their dad. That was a mistake and a mess that I just kept having to apologize for while I pretended to be happy. I don't particularly want to talk about it in greater detail, but you can read about the official end of it (after two years of bitter and painful divorce proceedings) here. Maybe someday I'll put it in a memoir. Like many people fresh out of a situation like that, I was pretty sure I was unlovable and I pretty much hated myself. Still, long-story-short, I wound up stumbling rather gracelessly, and with a lot of baggage, into the prefect relationship. We've been together for four and a half years.

In nine years, the twins and I have lived in five different states. I've owned houses and rented apartments. We've lived in our own place, and military housing, and spare rooms with family and friends. We've been through a lot. At times, I thought our lives would be a series of "we'll figure it out"s. Somehow, we landed in the suburbs in the state that was always my first choice for "when I grow up" collages, with a mortgage on a house we've lived in for over three years. Not bad.

When the twins were born, I had resigned myself to being working-poor for probably the rest of my life. I had graduated high school and, before I found out I was pregnant, I was considering college options. It felt like it was too late once they were born. Then, I realized I wanted to offer inspiration for them by building myself up again, so I went to college online through Westwood. I thought that was all a mom could do. It was expensive and non-transferable and a huge waste of my time and money. I just felt like I had created a deeper grave for my career prospects and filled it with student debt. I went back to the "working-poor" theory... but when I got fired from my job that only paid just enough to cover child care, I decided I needed a change.

All of this is why nine years ago seems so far away.

As of today, I've been a full-time student a legit university for almost two years, working towards my bachelors in biology. We've lived in this house, which we own, for more than three years. I've got four, awesome, frustrating, smart, healthy kids. I've had the same incredible relationship for more than four years. And, in this time, I've learned that being a parent is never easy. It's always difficult for one reason or another... and it won't be the same reason for long, or you'd get used to it. Also... things rarely go as planned, or as you feared.

We're celebrating the twins' birthday on Saturday. They've been in gymnastics for more than two years. They're starting taekwondo next month. They went ice skating for the first time about a week ago and seem to have found a new passion. They still pretend a LOT. They also read a lot. C loves Calvin and Hobbs, lately. S likes reading about animals. They saw their first orchestra performance on Sunday. Here are some other neat experiences from this year:

April: Helped build a chicken coop
May: Built a crazy fort in the woods and participated in their first gymnastics expo
June: Used the sewing machine for the first time
July: Fired guns for the first time
August: Road public transportation for the first time
September: Camping for the first time
October: Their first Zombie Crawl

They're growing up so fast, as cliche as that sounds. That's why I'm terrified by how fast the time is passing me by.

Costa Rica: It Begins

I started writing a blog entry the day I arrived in San Jose, Costa Rica. Here are some excerpts:

When I got here, I felt intensely out of place because I don't really speak Spanish. Thankfully, everyone I've had to communicate with has known enough English to help me hobble through the conversation. Clearly, they deal with people like me all the time. 

...

Several minutes later, he (the guy who called my taxi and said it would arrive in 5 minutes) said this, "Five minutes is twenty minutes in tico time." So, welcome to Costa Rica.

...

There's nothing like being in a Central American country in the back of a crappy van, careening down loud streets in a neighborhood where all the houses are surrounded by bars and many barred fences are topped with razor wire. I'm so glad I didn't have to drive. I never want to hear another United States citizen complain about drivers from other states. If you haven't driven in Central America... you don't know!

I wasn't the first to arrive. Several of my classmates flew in early so they could enjoy a bit of a vacation before class officially started. When I met them, I worried I wouldn't fit in. Not only had they bonded before my arrival, but they were still in vacation mode and I was ready for class. In retrospect, I was feeling a little stuffy (and it wasn't congestion).

Over the course of the 10 day class trip, I worked my tail off. Some days I had scheduled activities before breakfast and/or after dinner. I often felt like there wasn't enough down time to get any useful work done on my field notebook (which is required for the class), and I know I'm not the only student who felt that way. I was winded, I was sore, I got noodly arms on an 8 or 9 mile kayaking trip (having never kayaked before in my life), I was sweaty, I was tired, I was itchy, I was sun-burned. And I had the best time of my life so far.

I saw an incredible array of animals and plants in this biodiversity hot spot, and I learned more than I think I have ever learned in a class. There's a tree in Costa Rican forests called a suicide tree because it produces seeds only once, then dies. Sloths only really come down from their high perches to poop. They dig a hole with their nubby tails, poop in it, and make their way back to the canopy. Darker roast coffee is roasted for longer and loses more of its caffeine. Sugar cane is full of potassium. You can tell an insectivorous bat from a frugivorous bat by the shape of the uropatagium (tail membrane). All of that academic excitement aside, let me share with you the most important thing I learned while in Costa Rica:

I learned to slow down. Don't take things so seriously. Everyone I met while there was patient with me while I was struggling to communicate or understand. And, with the exception of chasing the "bonk" of an out-of-season bellbird, none of the natives were in any particular hurry and they never made me feel rushed. I think "Tico time" isn't a derogatory term for chronic lateness in natives, it's a label for the comparatively more leisurely and enjoyable way that Costa Ricans live their lives, without strict time pressures.

I also never felt judged. When you walk into a new class on campus, you feel the heat of dozens of eyes examining you... sizing you up and deciding where you belong. I never felt that from a Costa Rican native.

There were hammocks and chickens and care-free dogs everywhere and people seemed to love what they were doing. That is how life should be.

Marriage is Like a Tattoo

I just watched people get married in front of millions of people in times square so they could sign the forms later and be "the first couple of 2016". Papa and I have been watching Friends and we just got through the story arch that involves Rachel and Ross drunkenly getting married in Vegas.... and then divorced. In light of all the people getting crazy tonight, I want to talk about marriage and divorce.

I've been married and divorced. I have dated people who wanted to rush into marriage. I've dated people who didn't believe in marriage or, it turns out, monogamy. That's fine. I've seen a lot of polyamorous relationships end in a spectacular conflagration, but I've seen the same from monogamy. Fine. Pick your poison.

Anyway, I'm not the only person I know who has gone through/is going through a divorce. That's really comforting. Misery loves company, right? But, in this case, it's more about not feeling broken. Is there something wrong with me? Am I unlovable? Am I always going to be miserable? Is it my fault? How did this happen?

I didn't intend to end up divorced. No one does. I wasn't the sort of person who takes marriage lightly. You know those people who write facebook posts proclaiming that they will never give up on their marriage? They say they'll work everything out like adults because they're not quitters. Yeah. That was me.

Whenever you make proud assumptions like that about yourself, you might be setting yourself up for a lot of pain in the future. If you would never formula feed your babies, you will be destroyed if something prevents you from breastfeeding. If you'd never drop out of school, you'll be devastated if, for some reason, you have to. If you'd never get a divorce... it will eat you up inside if your partner is hurting you and you have to say goodbye.

But marriages are like tattoos, so it's going to be okay.

Tattoos are traditionally permanent and your parents tell you to wait because you don't want to do something you'll regret. But that's because, in their time, it was not as possible to undo.

These days, you can have a tattoo removed. Good thing, too, because people often get tattoos under... less-than-optimum circumstances and soon regret them. You can cover it up with another tattoo, or you can just have it laser removed and never get another one. You will never really be the same, but you don't have to live the rest of your life with a tattoo you hate.

Some people never get tattoos. Some people get lots of tattoos. People might judge you for your decisions about tattoos, but it's none of their business and, if it makes you happy, they can shut their stupid faces.

You can have tattoos that no one knows about. You can have tattoos specifically so people will see them. You can get tattoos because you think other people will think more of you if you have them. You can get tattoos because you want other people to leave you alone. For some people, tattoos are extremely meaningful and have incredible depth. For others, they're just for fun.

Some people get tattoos, are disappointed, but keep them anyway... but you don't have to. That's what's important.

You don't have to stay.

I don't advocate divorce. It's difficult, expensive, damaging... it seems to always hurt someone. Still, no matter how many people you know are saying they would never leave their spouse no matter what he/she did... even if you've told yourself that... you don't have to stay.

I still don't take marriage lightly. I still believe in working it out like adults. I am divorced. It was a painful and complicated decision and process, and it was absolutely the right decision. I am scarred and a part of me is still a little sad. I will never be the same. I am still learning not to kick myself for my past, but it gets better all the time.

If you never want to get divorced and you want to work it out like adults, good for you. If that works for you, I'm glad. That is how it should be. But remember that a marriage involves two people. One person is complicated. Two are doubly so. Marriage is complicated and difficult even when it's healthy. But when it's not... if you've tried to fix it... if it's dangerous... don't put it on yourself to make it right. You can get that tattoo removed.

I Failed

Remember that math test I was pretty sure I failed? I did, in fact, fail. What's weird is, I felt better, not worse, when I saw my grade. In fact, I felt a lot better. I felt relieved. I don't exactly know why, but I think it's something like this:

• I hadn't failed a test in my adult life previous to this, so now I've set a record... and a bar. It's okay to make mistakes. It's okay to fail. It happens sometimes. I know I've been pretty busy and had a lot of crazy stuff going on in my life lately, so I don't take this one too personally. And, so far, I've only failed this test, which came at a bad time for me and included a lot of difficult stuff and, it turns out, everyone else did surprisingly poorly as well. Which brings me to the next point.

• It was an anomaly. I got A's on my other two tests in that class. I've gotten perfect or near perfect grades on the homework. It wasn't a surprise, because I went into the test knowing that I wasn't really prepared. Still, it was an exception, not part of a trend.

• No one was upset with me. Some people expressed some sympathy (or empathy, since anyone who has ever tried to get a college degree has probably failed a test), but no one was disappointed. That includes my professor. She recognized that this was unusual for me and the rest of the class and is offering us an opportunity to get some extra credit by reworking the problems we missed and turning the test back in on the day of the final.

I will still probably get a B. Like I said, I did really well on the previous two test and all of the homework and I'm not too worried about the final. I just need to study this weekend.

I failed a test and it was okay. It means I'm trying something new and difficult.

So, here's what I learned about parenting, and this is an important topic that a lot of people seem to be talking about lately: It's important to teach your kids that failing is... not only okay, but essential. If you are pushing yourself, trying something new, expanding your boundaries, you are going to fail sometimes. It's important to see that failure for what it is and learn from it. You don't have to feel bad about it. Feeling bad about it is a waste of your time and emotional energy. Besides, there's really nothing to feel bad about since everyone fails sometimes.

I think I expected disappointment. I expected to be disappointed in myself, but I also expected everyone I told to be disappointed. I don't want to disappoint people I care about, so I had an uncomfortable lump of fear. When no one reacted the way I expected, I thought, "Well, of course. I'm not in compulsory school anymore. My failure or success is entirely my own and no one has the power or reason to berated me for my shortfall anymore."

But why does anyone berate anyone for their shortfalls? Why do we breed fear of failure in our kids? They get pressure from every different direction. Their siblings judge them for being less capable in some way or another. Their teachers pressure them by giving them definitive grades and expecting them to learn at the set pace of the classroom (this reminds me of a blog about the pressure of grades I wrote over a year ago). Their peers label them for struggling with a concept. They don't need more pressure to perform... it just becomes more fuel for fear of failure.

I want my kids to fail, because I want them to be trying. I want them to be changing and growing and pushing the limits. I want your kids to do the same. The kids who don't fear failure will be the future innovators who stand on the edge and say, "we can make this jump". Maybe they fall, but they can get back up, armed with new information and try something else. They will be the leaders who change everything because they're not afraid to try.

Ask your kids what they failed at today... and be proud of them. Talk about what they learned and be glad that they tried. Make it a friendly, comfortable topic. Destroy the fear.