The wierd thing is that me with my odd sense of humor kept having to stop myself from saying,"Falling off a swing, oh, SURE, Kelly!" To me it would be funny because this woman is such a good mother to her kids. She's an incredible mother, so it would be obvious that there's no way she'd ever do anything to hurt that child, but you just can't joke around about that stuff.

And as we watched this little urchin *helping mama* and snuggling to her moving mom, showing us our workout moves on the deck, I remembered an incident with Russell when he was about 18 months old where I just felt like the worst mother in the world. I put him on top of a pile of laundry that I'd stuffed into a stroller to take to the laundry room and I ran in the house because I'd forgotten the soap, and during that 15 seconds he fell off the laundry on the stroller and broke his little thumb. I felt like the worst case child abuser ever.

And when I was explaining what happened in the emergency room, I realized that I'd totally goofed up and that the medical staff was questioning me to make sure I hadn't abused him. And then I felt worse.

I had always stuck him on top and pushed him out there while holding onto him because he really liked the ride and leaving him there while I got the soap wasn't the norm, but just a dumb mistake. Once, I got him and the clothes wheeled out there, I usually sat him on the washing machines and he just loved to hold my roll of quarters and watch me load machines. After that incident, I made him walk out there with me, but I never forgot that questioning in the emergency room, where they kept asking me over and over what happened, like they were trying to catch me in a lie or something--like being a single mom isn't enough of a guilt trip.

I think the other problem was that he'd been in twice in the previous 3 months for stitches to his head, so the emergency room personnel had seen me a couple of times and were suspicious. Both incidents had occurred at his daycare and were just accidents. One time he'd been down the hall and the daycare person found him after he got hurt and screamed. She couldn't figure out what he'd hit his head on because all the doors were shut and finally figured he must have hit his head on the door hinge because that was the only thing available. Another time, he was running through the kitchen, lost his footing and smacked his head into the cabinets. His care provider, Sherry, was more of a mess than Bear because it was the second time in 3 months and he was so little. But at 18 months old, he was still learning the basics of walking and he had such a time with his equillibrium because of all the ear problems, that I just understood that this was part of him learning and being behind a little and just took him in for stitches and cried when he did. There wasn't much else to be done, really.

There is so much to be guilty for as parents: the times you lose it and yell at them, the time you didn't recognize the symptoms of that ear infection sooner, or you accidentally knock them over because they are under foot just trying to be near you and you were oblivious to them being there because you were trying to get dinner on. And there's more, of course. I think sometimes I feel inadequate because there's not lots of money in our house and I wish I could do more. It's not that I'm trying to keep up with the Jones', but rather that as a parent, I want something better for my children and sometimes better is so much more expensive than I can afford.

As Russell gets older, I get better at this. I am sure his sister will appreciate the lessons he's taught me when she gets there. I am so glad he's so patient and forgiving of me. He teaches me so much about being a good parent and being a good human being. He told me the other night, "You don't yell much any more, Mom." I about cried. My parents always yelled at me and my brother and spanked the stuffing out of us. I remember helping my brother put my mother's paddles in the pot belly stove to burn. She said she used the paddles because it hurt too much to use her hand because she hit us pretty hard.

Unlearning those lessons I learned as a frightened child, in order to be a loving parent is probably the most difficult thing I've ever done. I use his timeouts to think things through. To think about what I want him to understand and how I want to phrase it in the most positive way. I have cried and raged on my own timeouts from time to time, taking a stomp through the parking lot, while Mike watched over his timeouts.

I feel so privileged to be this child's parent. I think Jaxana is the one who will luck out because her brother is training me to be a good parent.

I feel bad sometimes when I'm faced with the trials of being a diabetic. There's nothing worse than a low-sugar period in the face of a child in meltdown. I get so irritable and grumpy and I want everyone to get the hell out of my way, so I can get some food. What I've had to do often with Russell, is simply ask him to get out of the kitchen because my sugar is low and I'm too grumpy to talk. He squawks about it, but at least he's warned that way. And he gives me enough time to gulp down a couple of crackers and get dinner cooking. I didn't have half this trouble when I was not taking insulin, but there wasn't a long time of that. I'll be interested to see if I have the same degree of severity with the hypoglycemic incidents as I do now. Because nowadays, it doesn't take much for my sugar to floor out after exercise.

The best thing I can do is to keep talking with him. It gives us good practice for when I'm not likely to be hypoglycemic, but rather just sleep deprived.

Before he was born, I had a card reading about him that indicated he was going to be a jack of hearts and I was going to be the queen of hearts. He turned himself to be nearer to my heart in-utero and still he works so hard to be near my heart. He opens doors in my heart that I had closed when I was a child out of fear and now, gladly reopen as a parent to let him in. He is a light looking for all the cracks he can find to shine and shine.